by Julia Harlow
One thing she was more certain of each day. She needed to apologize to Grant for putting her work at Omni ahead of her relationship with him and allowing Luke Parker to harm them both. She would never be able to move on if she didn’t. And she needed to do it in person.
Chapter 16
Dorrie and Blanche cut their stay in Pine Bluff short by two days and headed back to Bronxville. Blanche assured Dorrie she understood her need to face Grant one last time and explain what had taken place in Palm Beach last fall. She knew Dorrie could not move on with her life until she had.
So it was on a gentle Sunday evening in April that Dorrie dialed Grant’s cell number and felt the blood whooshing in her ears as she waited for him to answer. She stood at the window, watching a robin pull a juicy worm out of the ground. It wriggled and bobbed like curling ribbon from the bird’s beak.
At the sound of his deep voice, the sexy British accent that had murmured sweet love words in her ear what seemed like a lifetime ago, she almost hung up. But he was sure to know it was her calling from the read-out on his fancy BlackBerry display.
“Hi, Grant. It’s me. Could we meet for coffee sometime tomorrow?” Instead of her voice sounding friendly and light, the way she’d rehearsed ad nauseam ahead of time, it was strained and crackly.
“This is a surprise¸ Dorrie. How are you?”
“Better than the last time you saw me. Thank you for taking me to my grandmother’s, by the way.”
“I had to do something, Dorrie. You were in a really bad way. How is Blanche?”
“Worried about me, of course. So, do you have any free time tomorrow?”
“I have to say I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’ve both moved on, so why stir up old feelings?”
“You don’t owe me anything, but I’m asking this as a favor. It will only take a few minutes. Please, Grant.”
There was a long pause. Dorrie wasn’t sure he was still there. It didn’t seem like him to just hang up on her. And then he answered in a clipped voice. “Fine. Russian Tea Room at noon.”
Dorrie exhaled the breath she’d been holding as her eyes followed the robin flitting up and landing on a green-budded branch in a maple tree across Lake Avenue. She wondered if there was a nest full of open-mouthed baby birds cheeping for that plump worm. The thought somehow seemed to peel away another black layer of char from her heart. If she could get through this ordeal tomorrow, she just might be able to cobble her life back together and move on.
~~~
The eleven o’clock train from Bronxville was not very crowded. Blanche had left for work at eight thirty, as usual, but had allowed time for a pep talk before leaving. “Just tell him the truth, clear the air between the two of you, and you’ll feel so much better. And then we’ll go out for a glass of wine before dinner tonight. Just for fun.”
Dorrie had planned to dress in something plain for coffee at someplace casual, but because Grant had chosen the Russian Tea Room, she’d had to go to plan B. Most of her clothes were still too big for her even though she’d gained back some weight. So she wore a white blouse and a black pencil skirt with a wide leopard print belt cinching the extra skirt fabric just a bit. She styled her hair in a chignon and donned gold earrings. The brisk outdoor walks in Pine Bluff had added natural blush to her cheeks and a glow to her skin. She threw a raspberry red sweater over her shoulders and strode to the train station, breathing in the fresh earth smell of spring and spying golden and lavender crocuses peeking through rich brown soil.
She’d brought along plenty of reading material for the ride into Manhattan, plus a notebook to jot down possibilities for a new career, but didn’t read a word or jot a single idea. Instead, she reviewed over and over in her mind what she wanted to say to Grant.
A red awning, the signature beacon of the Russian Tea Room, loomed on West 57th Street. Dorrie’s nerves were already frayed. She took several deep breaths before entering the famous restaurant. She’d never been able to afford coming here before and knew she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the experience today. Pity. Maybe she and Blanche could come another time.
Grant was leaning against the bar, wearing his signature three-piece suit, a pristine white shirt, and shiny designer shoes, everything appearing to be not only brand spanking new but also custom made. He looked so beautiful she could barely breathe. When she’d first seen him on the airplane, he was a stunningly gorgeous man, but she didn’t know him. Now she knew him to be intelligent, funny, honorable, humble, and it made him so much more desirable, if that were even possible.
When Dorrie didn’t move from inside the door, a petite hostess led her to him as soon as she gave her name.
She grasped the big, tanned hand Grant proffered and felt the tingling up her arm at his warm touch. Instead of meeting his deep blue eyes, she focused on the collar of his shirt. She knew if she looked at him, all those feelings would come rushing back. The searing pain and crushing hurt. Then he leaned in to kiss her cheek and his intoxicating scent almost overwhelmed her with memories of hot sex and sweet love. Memories of things past.
“Hello, Grant. Thank you for meeting me.” Dorrie pulled back awkwardly as Grant’s eyes raked her from head to toe.
“Wow, Dorrie. You look so much healthier than the last time I saw you.”
“My grandmother’s been taking care of me with her no-nonsense cures: daily exercise, healthy foods, positive outlook, and deep soul-searching. I wanted to meet with you regarding the latter. Is there someplace quiet we can talk?”
Grant nodded and led her to a quiet table reserved for them near the back of the restaurant. He held a chair out as she took a seat and scooted her in before settling next to her. The expression on his face was so apprehensive that she had to laugh in spite of her own jangled nerves.
“Relax, Grant. I just want to clear the air about what happened between us. It’s past time and you deserve to hear what actually happened.”
The tension seemed to drain from him as a server placed menus in front of them. “Okay. So what sounds good?” He leaned back, opening his menu and reaching inside his jacket pocket for his glasses.
“Just coffee for me, please.”
“Oh, come on. Have something. We’re at the Russian Tea Room! Don’t make me call Blanche.” He lips curled into a half-smile.
“What are you having?”
“The borscht to start and then the red caviar omelet.”
Dorrie opened the menu and after a quick perusal announced, “I’ll have a smoked salmon omelet.”
Grant ordered for them and sat back, patiently waiting.
Dorrie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Just after you left my room at The Breakers, there was a knock at the door. I thought it was you wanting another goodbye kiss, so I opened it. It wasn’t you, obviously. It was Luke Parker.” She paused as the server brought a silver pot and poured coffee for each of them.
Dorrie stared down at her coffee cup and continued, “I tried to close the door on him, but he forced his way in. I was in the process of calling hotel security when he started playing a recording. At first, I didn’t know what it was, and then I heard the sound of a wooden door banging and recognized your voice. And mine.”
Grant stopped stirring his coffee and clenched his jaw. “Go on.”
“Luke had been spying on us all along and reporting to Omni. That night he followed us up to my room, took time-stamped photos of us entering the room and of you leaving, and recorded the sounds we made when we made love.” She watched as Grant tightened his fists into balls.
The server brought a steaming bowl of borscht and set it in front of Grant, saying, “Enjoy!” From the expression on his face, Dorrie didn’t think that was in the cards.
“I’m sorry, Grant. I wanted you to know what happened that night, but I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He scowled. “You’re not the one upsetting me Dorrie.” He ignored his borscht. “Let’s hear the rest.”
“Luke had Arianna’s and Mr. Ever
hard’s email addresses open on his phone and said he would send the photos and recording to them if I didn’t let him . . .”
“Say it,” Grant seethed through gritted teeth.
“Screw me,” Dorrie whispered. “I was so sickened that I was prepared for him to send the emails.” She twisted the napkin in her lap until it was rope-like. “You’ll never know how deeply I regret that I didn’t tell him to go straight to hell that night. I thought my job, my career, meant so much to me, only to realize after the fact that it wasn’t my career that was important to me.” Grant had to lean toward her in order to hear this last part; her voice had dropped so low.
“Please, eat, Grant, while it’s still hot.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.” He frowned, the little lines between his brows deepening.
“Okay. I’ll finish what I have to tell you and leave.” She scanned the dramatic décor of the restaurant for the first time since she’d arrived.
He grabbed her hand. “That’s not what I meant, Dorrie. I don’t want you to go.”
She met his eyes, took another deep breath, and continued. “I know now that the intent of Luke Parker’s devious scheme all along was to hurt you. His only interest in me was to get at you. He barely paid attention while he was . . . doing it. He told me exactly what words to say, and like an idiot, I said them. Just to get rid of him. When you sent the note, I realized he must have recorded the encounter. I knew you wouldn’t have believed his word alone.
“It was horrible. I felt like, no, I was, a whore trading my body for my career. But if you believe nothing else, please believe this: I never wanted another man to touch me after I’d been with you.”
Grant stared into her eyes and then abruptly lifted his hand to call the server. “Please hold my borscht and our omelets for now. I’ll let you know when we’re ready. And bring us a bottle of your best vodka and two glasses.” The server nodded, removing the bowl in front of Grant. “I don’t know about you, but I really need a drink.”
Dorrie slipped a tissue from her purse and dabbed at the moisture around her eyes. After the vodka and glasses arrived, Grant poured some for each of them and clinked glasses with Dorrie.
“That’s what I meant when I wrote ‘Luke won.’ His plan succeeded. He ruined our relationship, his goal all along, and pretty much ruined my life; although he probably doesn’t have a clue about the collateral damage. He’s a shallow, immature ass.” She took a sip of vodka and shuddered at the bitter taste. Grant belted back his entire glass with no reaction.
“He will know. Believe me. The depth of my wrath is going to rain down on him.” The quiet determination in his voice was more frightening than if he’d roared the words.
“No, Grant. There’s no point. It’s all in the past. You’ve moved on. I’m trying to. Just leave it.”
His azure eyes bored into her. “After what he did to you? To us? You seriously think for one minute that I’d just leave it?”
“Please, listen. I came here today because I know I hurt you and I wanted to apologize in person. You didn’t care enough about me to hear my side of the story and that hurt me. Not to mention the fact that you hooked up with Carly Ann the same day we broke up.
“But I was in the wrong. I succumbed to him to save my career when what I should have saved was us.” As her careful control began to crumble, she choked back a tiny sob.
Dorrie lifted the twisted napkin from her lap, and after watching it uncoil, placed it on the table. She managed to croak, “Thanks for seeing me today.” And with that she scooted back her chair and stood up to leave.
“You can’t be serious!” Grant reached for her arm and pulled her back down in the chair. He’d spoken louder than he intended, and several diners at nearby tables began to stare at them. He lowered his voice. “How can you even think about leaving now? After what you just told me? We’re not finished talking here by a long shot.”
He took a deep breath and with a slightly shaky hand poured them each another glass of vodka, splashing a little on the tablecloth. He sighed. “Please, Dorrie. You asked to see me today as a favor. Now I’m asking you to stay awhile longer. That’s only fair, right?”
By closing her eyes and exhaling the breath she’d been holding, Dorrie attempted to slow the hammering of her heart. This was far more painful than she’d ever imagined it was going to be. It wrenched her heart to be this close to Grant and not be able to stroke his cheek or squeeze his hand. All those sweet little gestures they’d shared in the past. Not to mention his alluring scent awakening those erotic memories. She needed to leave. Now.
But Grant was right. She owed him a little more time.
“Okay, Grant. Of course you’re right. You were gracious enough to meet me today, so I’ll stay.” She retrieved her napkin and was spreading it in her lap when Grant leaned over and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. As she raised her eyes, she saw a warmth in his eyes she never thought she’d see again.
“Why don’t we have lunch first? Then I have some things I’d like to say afterwards.” When Dorrie nodded, he asked, “Have you ever been here before?”
“No. This is my first time.”
Grant signaled the server and asked for his borscht and two spoons. “So, what are your plans now? Are you staying in New York?”
Dorrie heard a buzz. Grant’s phone was ringing in his pocket. “Do you want to answer that?”
He frowned, creases appearing in between his dark brows, as he reached in his pocket and turned off the phone without glancing at the display.
“Sorry. I meant to turn it off before. So, your plans?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.” The server arrived with a fresh, steaming bowl and two gleaming silver spoons. This time Dorrie noticed the bright crimson color of the soup and the large white dollop of sour cream in the center of the bowl. The smoky, savory aroma drifting to her nostrils kindled her dormant appetite. At the same moment, everything came alive around her as if the curtain had been lifted on a stage and all the actors were in the midst of chatting and laughing. She heard the clink of forks on plates, the clatter of cups on saucers. This stunningly beautiful restaurant was lively and vibrant, and she had noticed none of it until now.
Grant offered her a spoon and situated the bowl between them. “You won’t believe how good this is. Take a taste.” She lowered the spoon, filled it about halfway and brought it to her lips. Grant’s eyes were fixed on her. The spoon slipped between her lips, and the burst of flavors caused her to moan. He squirmed in his chair.
“I hadn’t realized until now how much I’ve missed watching you savor food. Carly barely eats, and when she does, it’s just eating to live. For her, it’s all about fitting into that size six.”
As she swallowed, her eyelids fluttered and then closed. Finally, she murmured, “Oh, Grant, this is so delicious: sweet and savory at the same time and so rich with beet flavor.” She lowered the spoon again and raised a brow at him. “May I?”
He nodded, crossing and uncrossing his legs. It seemed to Dorrie that he was suddenly inordinately focused on buttering a thick slab of rye bread and cutting it in half. He slid a piece onto her bread plate. “Try the rye with it.” His voice was low and husky. She peered at him while sliding the bowl in front of him.
“What’s wrong, Grant? Why aren’t you eating? You’re the one who ordered it.”
He carefully scooted the bowl back between them and took a quick spoonful, but his eyes were trained on Dorrie as her teeth sank into the rye bread. Shaking his head, he seemed to be clearing his mind of some thought.
“Are you definitely leaving Omni?”
Dorrie set the spoon down on the plate under the bowl and licked a bit of butter off her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. When Grant snatched up his napkin and covered his mouth, it sounded as though he was stifling a groan.
“Yes. I can’t work there anymore.”
“Why? It’s a good company and you’re in demand now. Why not take advantage
of it?”
She shook her head. “Too many bad memories.”
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “Please don’t make me spell it out.”
“Dorrie, I’m trying to understand. It’s a good paying job. You’re not far from Blanche. You’re a talented writer—”
“Why do you care?” She tried not to make it sound snippy but failed.
“Look. Once you offered me career advice, and I really appreciated it no matter how boorishly I may have acted at the time. You’ve worked bloody hard to get where you are; you should enjoy your success. Why don’t you go back for a bit and see how it is before chucking it all in?”
The conversation flowed easily back and forth, eventually moving to other topics. The empty soup bowl was cleared away and their omelets served. One delectable bite followed another as Grant detailed the newest Netflix series he was watching and Dorrie told him about a new biography about a race-car driver he’d enjoy as they unconsciously inched their bodies closer to each other.
Two hours passed, plates were cleared, and they still conversed enthusiastically about their shared interests. Finally, Dorrie became aware of the quiet around them. The lunch crowd had disappeared, and only one table remained occupied besides theirs.
She glanced down at her watch. “Oh, Grant, it’s two o’clock. I’m really sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”
Grant shook his head as if to collect himself. “I hadn’t realized so much time had passed. It only seemed like minutes. Do you need to be somewhere?”
“No. I thought you’d have an important meeting or something.”
He met her eyes and grinned. “Whatever it is can wait.”
In leisurely fashion, the bill was paid and they made their way outside with Grant’s hand firmly clasping Dorrie’s waist. Sheltered from the afternoon sun under the red awning, he leaned in to kiss her. “I’m really happy you called me, Dorrie. I’ve missed you.”
