“Why would you ever go into business with her? You could’ve built this on your own.”
He nods and then begins shaking his head back and forth in frustration. “We don’t have a pre-nup, Bridget. Anything I build is hers too. She made sure of that.”
Oh God. With all the money the Lancasters have, a pre-nup should have been standard practice. What the hell was he thinking?
“If all I have is hers, at the very least, she would work for her half. That’s the stance I took. There wouldn’t be any handouts, especially after she showed her true colors. My father saw through her from the beginning. He knew what she was after, and when he tried to tell me, I wouldn’t listen. He was smart to cut me off.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
He huffs. “No. That relationship was ruined years ago.”
I see the turmoil and hurt in his eyes. The loss of his family weighs on him and it’s heartbreaking, but why doesn’t he try? Isn’t his family worth trying to salvage? I want to ask him all of these things, but getting him to open up has been a feat and I’m not ready for him to stop sharing, so I turn the subject back to Chelsea.
“So, you’ve both carried on affairs for years?”
He laughs, but it’s not humorous at all. “There hasn’t been anyone else for me until you.”
My mouth hangs agape. “You haven’t slept with anyone in—”
“About four years.” The words hang in the air, hovering above us. Four years. Not since the birth of their daughter, Isabella.
I’m speechless. How is that even possible? He’s Grant Lancaster. Women fall at his feet. Why wouldn’t he sleep with his wife? Fighting aside, he must have still wanted her, at least sexually. What happened there? I shake the thought away. Thinking about him and his wife, even if I know they aren’t together like that, makes me sick.
“I hated women for a very long time. I was so burned I didn’t want to be with anyone. I surrounded myself with work and raising the funds, securing the location and most importantly being a dad. My whole life has been Isabella and The L. Until you.”
“Until me?”
“There was something about you that drew me in. I don’t know, but when you’re around, you make me forget. You make me want to move past this feud. You make me hope for a better life, even if it’s only for a brief moment. You make me believe that maybe one day I can have more.”
“So, why is Chelsea still around, Grant? If you want more, why don’t you take it?”
He hangs his head. “Chelsea will never let me go.”
“I don’t understand. She sleeps around on you. You said she wanted to leave.”
“She wants the illusion. She wants to pretend we’re the perfect power family. She wants the money. The reputation. Trust me. If I could, I’d leave her. But I’m leveraged to the max.”
“It’s just money, Grant.”
“No, Bridget. It’s not just money. It’s The L. My own achievement. I can’t lose it, and even if I were willing, there’s so much more. Things that mean so much more.”
“What is it?”
“Isabella. I won’t allow Chelsea to take her from me.”
“Come on, Grant. This day and age, fathers get custody all the time. She can’t keep your daughter away from you.”
“But she can.” His head falls back as he runs his hands down his face. “She has me by the balls. Not only do I have no pre-nup, but she . . .” He pulls at his roots. “You have to believe me when I say I can’t. She really does have me by the balls.”
There’s something he isn’t telling me, but I don’t press. Today has been chock-full of information overload, and I don’t know how much more I can take. Besides, looking at him, I get the sense he’s done sharing. There’s more to uncover about the Lancasters, but for today I’ll throw him a bone.
“I understand.”
“You do?” He seems surprised and a bit confused.
“Of course.” I know he feels he has no other choice but to stay. I know it all the way through me to the marrow of my bones. Why? That’s the million-dollar question.
“So, now what?”
“I truly don’t know, Bridget. I should let you go. I know I should. It’s not right to do this to you. It’s not right to put a giant bull’s-eye on your back, to bring you into my shit. But Lord help me, I can’t stop. I want you, Bridget.” He stands and steps around to lean over me. “Don’t say no.”
My mind screams he’ll break me, but I don’t care. I can’t say no to Grant Lancaster.
The next day we’re at an impasse. Neither of us is acting normal. It’s as if we don’t know what we’re supposed to do in this situation. Are we doing this? Are we not? I’m so confused. I’m in a fog the whole morning.
By two that afternoon, I still haven’t spoken to him. I’m about to go in search of him when we’re all called into a meeting to go over the timeline of the launch.
The table in the conference room is empty. I take a seat and one by one employees file in. Most of the seats are taken by the time Grant comes in. There’s one vacant seat across from me and another next to me. Before I can consider the ramification of him next to me and what it will do to my nerves, he sits there. I swear I feel the heat of his body, his chair is so close. He begins to speak, but I don’t hear the words over my beating heart. Someone from accounting answers him regarding the release day budget.
After her, Alyssa from marketing starts talking. I’ve been working closely with her for weeks on some ideas I’ve had. Secretly, I’d hoped to be transferred to that department, but with everything going on with Grant, I can’t decide what I want. Alyssa introduces the idea of using social media influencers that I pitched to Grant. As she starts rattling off my work, Grant places his hand next to my leg. His fingers graze the skin beneath my skirt. My breath hitches.
What is he doing?
She continues to prattle off details as his hand travels farther up, pushing under my skirt until he’s right at my lace thong. Oh my God. He wouldn’t. Would he? I keep my head facing forward, desperate to not give anything away to the people around us. He keeps rattling off questions as if his hand is not on me, as if his finger hasn’t just dipped inside the scrap of material separating him from me.
He can’t possibly . . .
He does. His finger swipes at my core, almost dipping inside me. Teasing me, barely breaching. My body secretly protests, begging him to enter. He doesn’t. He just sits there on the precipice. Circling his finger. My body is on fire and my core tightens in need, but that all changes in an instant. In walks Chelsea and the fire that raced in my veins a moment ago is extinguished by what feels like ice-cold water. She takes the one empty seat at the table directly across from me. I don’t want to meet her eyes, but something sick and twisted inside me has me looking up and finding her glare.