“Can you hand me the blueprints for the room?” Grant asks hours later, not looking up from the paper in his hands.
I find the blueprints and lean across the table to hand them to him. In the process, my top gapes at the neck, giving too much exposure to my lacy bra. Grant doesn’t hide his appreciation. The smile on his mouth has me believing he likes what he sees.
“See something you like, Mr. Lancaster?” I tease before I think better of it. I’m still very much in his home. The home he shares with his family, including his estranged wife.
“Very much, Miss Miller.”
My cheeks heat at his compliment.
He peruses the blueprints for several minutes before letting out a puff of air and putting the papers down on the table with a thump.
“I can’t look at these anymore. Let’s do something.”
“Like?”
“What’s one thing you haven’t done in a while that you’d like to do?”
I think about it for a moment. There are so many simple pleasures I don’t get to enjoy anymore. I’ve been tied to work practically twenty-four seven, since I started at The L. Even when I’m home I find things to do revolving around the hotel.
“Watch television. I’m so behind on The Walking Dead.”
“Seriously? The Walking Dead?”
“What? It’s suspenseful and the actors are awesome.”
I’m only halfway through season one, and if I’m being honest, I had to stop because it was creeping me the hell out. There are some things one must not watch while living alone.
“I can’t claim to have watched it. I don’t watch much television at all. I never have.”
“We can start at the beginning. You can’t start in the middle of it.”
He smiles. “You’re willing to delay your progress for me?”
“Of course. It wouldn’t be fun any other way.”
Grant walks me to a room close to Isabella’s, not wanting to wander from her. We settle onto a large L-shaped couch and he throws me a comfortable blanket. “Here, in case you get cold.”
I smile up at him, loving how he cares for me at times. He turns the large TV on and starts to search Netflix. I can’t help but smile at him while he does this. It doesn’t seem like much, a simple gesture, but I’m so used to him at the office, to him being larger than life, that seeing him like this, relaxed and searching for a show, acting normal makes me happy.
Once he finds the show he wants, he reclines back. He’s so close to me I can feel his leg adjacent to mine. I can also feel the hand that he has placed on his knee. The tip of his pinky finger is gracing the material covering my thigh, and if I move closer, we’ll be touching. My heart pounds in my chest.
Should I move?
Should I diminish the space between us?
I debate the discussion in my mind, berating myself for thinking about this when I know I shouldn’t.
I can’t.
Not here. Not now.
I make myself look at the TV and pay attention, instead of thinking about what it would feel like to have him embrace me in his arms. It’s hard to concentrate on the show, but I push through all the resistance in my overactive brain and look up just as a zombie on the screen leans in to kill someone. I twitch in response to the gruesome scene playing out in front of me, and my pulse accelerates . . .
But not from the show.
My silent wishes have been brought to fruition. Grant has pulled me closer. His arm is now around my shoulder, comforting me. All the tension in my body releases as I settle into his embrace. My eyelids lower as my breathing slows. Being in his arms brings me peace, but then I hear the sound of a door opening and he stiffens. He pulls away from me quickly and stands. I look at him in confusion.
“She’s home.”
My heart lurches in my chest at the she he’s referring to. “I should go.” I want to say before she sees me. But I don’t. I can’t stand the idea of seeing his wife right now. Of seeing them together in their house. That would crush me. I pull out my phone and order an Uber. “My car will be here in five minutes. I’m just going to wait outside, I have a lot of work to do before tomorrow,” I offer lamely and he just nods. A part of me breaks that he doesn’t object.
But I knew he wouldn’t, so I give a weak smile and show myself out.
The days pass fast. With the opening around the corner, there is little time to think about anything but work. I still find myself thinking about the kiss, but when I do, I busy myself with tasks or call Lynn.
“So, what do you have going on tonight?” Lynn asks me through the phone.
“It’s actually the soft opening party.”
“Are you serious? Already?”
“Yep.”
“You’re so lucky. Only you would weasel your way into one of the hottest exclusive parties in the city,” Lynn chides.
I chuckle. “Weasel? I’ve worked my ass off for this. The least they can do is invite me to a party.”
Lynn laughs. “You’re probably right. That Karen may have been a bitch, but she sure as hell hooked you up.”
“You have no idea. She might’ve thought she was sticking it to me, but what she really did was find me the perfect job.”
“You love it that much?”
“I do. I really do.”
Working in the hotel industry has been so much more than I ever dreamed. What I’ve learned in this short time has been monumental for my future. Even if I haven’t been doing marketing this temporary job has helped solidify my path, and for that, I’m so grateful. The whole experience has been wonderful except, of course, for the early part with Grant and the consistent uncertainty of where I stand with him.
“You’re going to have so much fun, Bridge.”
“I can’t wait. Although I hope it’s not one of those awkward parties where everyone just stands around looking at each other. That’ll kill the whole exclusive party vibe.”
“Dear God, it could be epically bad if that happens. You’ll end up saying things just for the sake of making conversation and inevitably make a fool out of yourself. Please, don’t do that.”
She’s right. I do have a habit of talking just to make conversation. I really wish she wouldn’t point out all of my downfalls. It makes me feel self-conscience. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, biatch. There’d better be champagne.”
“This party is being hosted by The L. I guarantee there’ll be champagne.”
“You’re probably right. Listen, I gotta run, but wanna do lunch this week?”
“Yes, totally. Have a blast at the party and call me tomorrow. I want to hear all about it.”
“I will.”
I put down the phone and stare at my closet. This is my first work party and I’m starting to freak out. This opening, soft or not, is huge for The L. Hell, it’s huge for New York. The whole city is abuzz with the exclusive invite-only opening. I don’t want to screw up my first and potentially only high society event. My palms grow sweaty and a bead of perspiration settles on my top lip as the pressure mounts.