by Ava Harrison
I turn my head to look him in the eye. “This is such a bad idea, Grant. I can’t be here. I’ve kissed you,” I whisper. I’ve kissed him plenty, but this is a step too far. This is their home. Their daughter is here. I think about my parents, and what my mom has felt all these years with the betrayal of my father, and I instantly feel sick. I’m the other woman. I’m the interloper.
“Bridget, I might technically be married, but that relationship has been over for years. I don’t give a fuck about Chelsea. It’s Isabella I want to protect. Do you understand that?”
“Of course. That’s why I think this is a bad idea.” I can’t do this to her. What will she think of me?
“You’re my employee. She won’t know anything beyond that. Ever.”
His words sting. He’s right and I know what he says is true, but it still hurts. No girl who’s been kissed by a man wants to be referred to as just his employee. Especially not one who’s finding herself falling for her boss.
I’m the loser in this equation.
“You’re right. I am your employee, and you are my boss, and we have work to do. Let’s get things going. I have things to do tonight.” I walk past him, tall and determined.
“Hold on. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
I stop and turn to him. “You didn’t hurt me, Grant. I’d never let you.”
He flinches slightly at my harsh tone but doesn’t say another word as he leads me toward a closed door. “This is my office. If you’d like to get set up, I’ll go check on Isabella and relieve the nanny.”
I nod.
Ten minutes later a concerned Grant comes barreling through the door. “Isabella is running a fever too. She failed to mention that. She’s been such a great nanny up until recently.”
“Where is she?” I ask, standing to follow him. I have very little experience with children, but I remember what my mom did for me when I was sick.
Grant walks us down a hall, stops outside an open door, and moves aside for me to enter. The room is beautifully decorated in pale shades of pink. A large canopy bed is situated in the middle of the room, and lying atop a mound of fluffy covers is a little girl. I move toward her sleeping body. Putting my hand to her head, I find that she is, in fact, running a fever.
“Do you have a thermometer?”
“I have no idea.”
“Does Chelsea have a medicine cabinet for Isabella’s medications?”
“I believe Margret has a cabinet in the kitchen with Tylenol and some other things.”
“Great. Grab me some children’s Tylenol, a thermometer if you have one, a towel, and cool water.”
He nods and leaves. Several minutes later he comes back with a box full of the items I asked for, thermometer included.
“Her fever is high, 103.5.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we need to get meds in her and get the fever down.” I shake Isabella lightly to wake her. When her little eyes blink open, she’s confused and a little alarmed to see my face first, a stranger. “Hi, Isabella. I work with your dad.” I motion my head toward him so she can see he’s there. “I came to help you feel better. Can you sit up for me?”
She shakes her little head. “Who are you?” she questions.
“I’m Bridget. Can you open your mouth and take this for me?”
She opens her mouth and I dispense the Tylenol. “Good girl. Okay, now I need to put this towel on your forehead. It will be a little cold, but it will help you feel better. Is that okay?”
“O-Okay,” she whispers in a little voice.
I position the damp towel on her forehead and help fluff the pillows so she’ll be comfortable.
“Can you read me a story?”
I look at Grant, hoping he’ll help me, but he’s no longer there. “Sure,” I say, not wanting to upset this poor little girl. “Do you have a favorite?”
She nods. “Can you read that one?” She points to a small table and on top is a book called Fancy Nancy something or other.
“Of course.”
She scoots over and pats the bed for me to sit with her, so I do. We get comfy and I begin reading the story. Before too long, Isabella is asleep, her head resting on my arm. I look down at her and smile. She’s such a cute kid. When I raise my gaze, Grant is standing against the doorframe with an odd look on his face. I can’t tell whether he’s upset or not. I immediately feel awkward and out of place.
“She’s asleep. Can you help me move her?”
He comes to my side and obliges. I tuck her little body in and check her forehead. The fever has gone down.
“She’ll be good.”
“Thank you, Bridget. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, placing a small kiss on my cheek. My body heats at the gesture.
“I’m happy to help.”
Our eyes lock, and there’s no mistaking the fire burning in Grant’s eyes. If I just leaned in a little more . . . Before I have another second to contemplate it, Grant moves, his lips gentle on mine. I pause for only a moment before opening to him. Our tongues caress each other, losing ourselves in the moments, neither of us gives a thought to his sleeping child or the fact we’re in his home . . .
Chelsea’s home.
As soon as that crosses my mind, the moment is broken. I quickly step back, breaking our connection. “I-I’m sorry. That was . . . a horrible thing to do.”
“Bridget, please. You did nothing. I initiated the kiss. I needed to kiss you.”
“Why?”
“The way you were with Isabella. You were so caring. Chelsea can’t be bothered with her and it kills me. I do my best to give her all the love she needs, but I can only do so much. I try. I really do, but it’s not enough. I want to give her the world.”
His words affect me greatly. How can a mother not care for her child? The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but his love for his daughter warms my heart at the same time. I can see how much he loves that little girl and it endears me to him.
“I really am sorry, Grant. She deserves better than that. You deserve better than that.”
“She loves you,” he says, motioning toward the sleeping Isabella.
“She’s a kid. I read her a story. Of course she likes me.” I laugh.
“It’s more than that. She takes a while to warm up to people, but she didn’t with you.”
“I like her. She’s special, Grant.”
He beams. “She’s my world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”
I want to ask just how much he’d do for her. Would he stay in a loveless marriage? He alluded to the fact they’re together but not together in the sense of a true marriage. Perhaps he stays for Isabella. I can tell how much he loves her, and it’s clear nothing would ever come between them, especially a woman. I know how important a father is to a little girl. She needs him as much as he needs her.
“Since you’re here I have a few papers in my office I’d like to go over with you. Can you stay?”
I nod, and he inclines his head before walking down the hall. I follow, eager to get my mind off him and back to work.
“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?”
&
nbsp; “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.
Get yourself together. It’s a freaking party.
The internal pep talk works and in the end, I settle on a skintight black dress. One can never go wrong in a little black dress. A pair of red Louboutin pumps that I borrowed from Olivia a while back and I’m all set. I pull my hair into a low, loose knot and allow a few tendrils to fall around my face. I want to look elegant yet sexy chic. Looking into the mirror as I put on the finishing touches of my makeup, I’m pleasantly surprised by how well I was able to throw myself together despite my nerves. With a quick peek at the clock, I see I’m finishing right on time to head out the door.
The whole way by taxi my leg bounces up and down. I feel like Cinderella must have felt being late to the ball, although I’m not late, and I’m certainly not losing a Louboutin tonight. My sister would kill me. Besides, there isn’t an available prince waiting to sweep me off my feet. This isn’t a fairy tale.
When I arrive, I give my name to the doorman. As I walk inside, a gasp escapes my mouth. The entire place has been transformed and I can hardly catch my breath. The amount of time and work that went into tonight has paid off in spades. This place is incredible. It’s straight out of a Hollywood movie. Great Gatsby, eat your heart out.
As I blink myself back to reality, a waiter walks by with a tray of champagne. He holds one out to me and I take it with gratitude. Lynn was right. It’s the sort of party where champagne will be in abundance. I take a sip and the bubbles pop down my throat. I spot Jared in a dark blue suit, grinning at me. He has a young, boyish charm I generally don’t go for, but I can’t deny he’s cute. With all of the uncertainty surrounding Grant and me, Jared might prove to be a very nice distraction.
“Hi, Jared. The place looks incredible.” I beam.
He looks around and grins as if he were the one responsible for
the whole thing. Which, as an intern, he certainly couldn’t have been. I know he helped plan it, and the proud expression on his face gives him away. “It is. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since I joined the team.” He marvels at the handiwork of the party planners. “I knew it would be nice, but I never dreamed it would be quite so amazing.”
“It really is amazing, Jared. Grant will be so thrilled.”
Jared’s brow rises at my use of Grant’s first name. Around here nobody else would dare. I should be more careful. I intend on correcting myself, but Jared lets it go. “I’m happy they let me help pull it together. So, how’s work going with Mr. Lancaster?”
“It’s certainly interesting, I’ll say that. He’s tough, and I’m constantly feeling as if I’m going to fuck up big time. But at the same time, I’ve learned so much from him. It’s truly been a great experience.”
“He’s a hardass. I’ve heard it from everyone, so don’t let it get to you. I’m sure you’re doing great.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You have to be, or he would’ve sacked you already. Lancaster isn’t known for charity with employees. He fired several before you came along, so I’d take it as the highest form of a compliment from him that you’re still here.”
“Well, thanks for that,” I say dryly. Just how many did he have? And why did he fire them? My mind runs wild with possibilities, and some are not fun to consider. Was there any other assistant he was . . . close to?
“Here, let me get you another glass,” he offers as he picks up another glass of champagne for me off a passing tray. I quickly down my drink and take the new one.
“He stresses you out that much, eh?” He winks, and I return it with a coy smile.
“Sorry. I should probably sip a little slower.” I chuckle awkwardly.
“No need to ever be embarrassed when it comes to overindulgence in alcohol. I can easily match your game,” he says and downs his glass.
I chuckle. “Impressive.”
I finish my third glass while Jared tells me all the dirt he knows about the hotel. I wait for him to tell me something about Grant, but he never does. Instead, he lifts his chin to someone he knows across the room.
