“Morning.” Gracie’s voice is raspy, but she looks refreshed. Her eyes are bright and her face is pink from the shower.
“Morning,” I say in return and stand up. She walks right over to me and wraps her hands around my waist. I can smell the coconut scent of her shampoo in her damp hair and I wrap my arms tightly around her in return.
“Sleep well?” I ask and she nods against my chest. “Good. Breakfast will be here soon. The car is coming at seven thirty.”
That’s when I feel her tense. “I’m just going to take a cab,” she says. “I don’t want anyone to see us—”
“No one will,” I interrupt her. “We’re dropping you off. I have a meeting with my lawyers first thing this morning and I need to sign paperwork for the house, so I won’t be in until later.” I feel her body tense and she inhales sharply. “But, Gracie,” I continue before she says anything, “you’re going to have to get used to riding in the car with me to and from the office. We’ll maintain a strictly professional relationship in the office, but people will eventually find out about us. The only thing we can control is how we act. We’ll be nothing but utterly professional in their presence and show them there is no favoritism, and they have nothing to worry about. Least of all, us riding in a car together. That is not unprofessional.” I say this as I lightly sway us back and forth.
She doesn’t respond, but she also doesn’t argue. Baby steps. “I’m going to go finish getting ready,” she says, pulling out of my embrace. Fifteen minutes later, she comes out in black dress pants and a white blouse with ruffled sleeves. Her long legs look even longer in the black pants and black high heels. Her hair is down and she’s brushed through her waves so her hair is almost straight. Her make-up is simple, but damn if she isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
A knock on the door tells me our breakfast has arrived. I have them set up everything on the dining room table. Gracie checks her phone and packs up the large shoulder bag she carries with her every day before sliding into her chair at the table. When I say “her chair,” I literally mean it. The woman is a creature of habit. I’ve learned a lot about her in the last week. She sits in the same spot at the table every day. She also sits in the same chair in the conference room at the office. She powers up her laptop first before she does anything else and checks that the ringer on her phone is off twice before she’s confident it really is.
I love that about her. She has her quirks and I love all of them. “I got you a present,” I say before shoving a piece of croissant in my mouth. Her hand pauses, sending her coffee swirling around the mug mid-air.
“Why?” she asks, her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Because I saw something you needed.” I shrug.
She argues with me. “I don’t need anything, Drew.”
“I beg to differ.”
Now she’s annoyed. She sets her mug down on the table with a thud and sits back in her chair. I know she can take care of herself—she’s more than proven that—but I want to take care of her, and I hope she’ll let me.
“Here.” I reach under the table to pull the bag off the empty chair next to me. I hand her the small bag and she takes it.
I hear her sigh when she looks inside and pulls out the new umbrella.
“Drew…” she says, twisting it in her hands.
“I told you that you needed it,” I say smugly. On the inside, I feel all fucking warm watching her turn the thing over in her hands.
Her eyes are full of gratitude as she sets it on the table. “Thank you,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” I tell her. I mean it. I like helping her, even if it’s just the littlest of things. I want to be that person for her. Her person. If she’ll let me.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in my lawyer’s office, reviewing the final closing documents for my new condo. Thankfully, everything is perfect and there are no last-minute issues. Janet actually got this pulled off in four days instead of five. She’s definitely getting her extra three percent. Who would’ve thought that two weeks ago I’d be relocating my life from the West Coast to the East Coast? Certainly not me. If any one of my friends had considered relocating their life for a woman they met in a bar, I’d call them crazy. I guess I’m crazy.
One quick stop by the bank to finalize the wire transfer and I’m all set. It was a long yet productive morning opening a new chapter here in New York and my heart thrums with excitement.
Tony drops me off in front of my office and I jog inside, the rain still coming down in sheets. Something about the dark skies and rain reminds me of San Francisco and my stomach turns in eagerness as I think about bringing Grace there. I can’t wait to take her to the wharf and show her the Golden Gate Bridge. But Napa, wine country, will be exceptional.
The elevator drops me in the main lobby of AM Global, and I greet the receptionist with a smile. I mentally make note of a few lobby improvements I’d like done, starting first with the name on the office suite. That needs to be updated as soon as tomorrow.
The office is abuzz when I come through. I glance at my watch, which tells me it’s only two-thirty in the afternoon, far too early for happy hour or late afternoon office shenanigans. Then again, I’m not sure what the office is used to. Everyone has been working so hard since I purchased it, I realize I haven’t gotten to know the team on a personal level. Well, except for Gracie.
A large group is gathered around Gracie’s and Jamie’s desks. I can’t see what’s happening, but everyone is laughing and the air is buzzing with energy. “Are we celebrating something exciting?” I ask, shouldering my way through the group. I like that everyone is happy and cheerful; it makes for a great work environment when people get along and have fun together.
The crowd grows silent before parting when they realize it’s me who is asking, but it’s what I see that causes the blood to drain from my face. There is Gracie pressed against Aaron Maxwell.
Aaron. Fucking. Maxwell.
He whispers something in her ear and twirls her away from him in some sort of fancy dance move before pulling her back and wrapping his arm around her waist.
“And that’s how it’s done, ladies and gentlemen!” Aaron announces. Everyone laughs and claps while I stand back, seeing fucking red. Aaron smirks when he finally sees me and Gracie’s smile falls when her eyes meet mine.
“To my office, NOW!” I bark at Aaron. I notice Gracie flinch at my tone, but I can’t explain now. With that, the fun is turned off like a switch. Everyone scatters like mice.
Gracie narrows her eyes and tilts her head in confusion. “He was showing everyone a dance move one of his clients in L.A. just perfected on that show where they get judged—” Gracie starts.
I simply hold out my hand to silence her. It’s a dick move, but I’ll explain later. I need to deal with Aaron right now.
“To my office,” I grumble under my breath to Aaron, who stands with his arms crossed, an evil grin on his face.
“I don’t know where your office is,” he says in a cocky tone, taking a step toward me. He’s about an inch taller than me, with lighter brown hair. He looks every part the bastardly Southern California publicist that he is.