“Grace, you there?” Lisa asked.
She picked up the receiver, “Yes. So three girls . . .”
***
Two hours later, Grace sat across from Maria in a booth at ShadowDancers. “All of the fighters have been confirmed, and the press release for the meet and greet went out last week . . .” She tapped her pen against her planner. Why did it feel like she was forgetting something? The venue was booked, the body painters were confirmed, and the fighters had been sent their press kits with the details of the event. Even the merchandise for signing had already arrived at the office. Things were under control, but there was always something. She bit her lip as she scanned her list.
“Quit stressing,” Maria told her. “The event will be great as usual. I’ve got a full crew on board for that night and the caterers are confirmed. Of course I’ll be short a bartender . . .” She raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry, we need Walker behind the meet and greet desk, posing for pictures and signing autographs.” She failed to hide her annoyance as she said, “After that interview aired on Knock Out, he’s suddenly a fan favorite and no one has even seen him fight yet.” She took a bite of her salad and chewed furiously.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Maria studied her across the booth in the empty bar.
She swallowed the soggy lettuce. “Yes, of course it is.”
“But . . .”
“But he’s going to lose and probably get hurt and never get another fight.” She shrugged.
“So I’ve sponsored a crappy fighter?” she asked. “Figures.”
Grace shook her head, pushing the plate away. “He’s not a crappy fighter. He’s an amazing fighter. He’s just not ready.”
“Then why is he fighting?”
“We needed a replacement and Erik was running out of options.” She sighed. He hadn’t stopped by her office after his meeting with Rex; instead, his assistant had called her office to let her know he was rushing out to pick up Carlos Alward and his coach from the airport. The fighter was already under contract for a fight at the end of the year and he’d decided to move his training to Vegas. It wouldn’t surprise her if she didn’t see Erik at all that day. And any other day, it wouldn’t bother her as much, but he’d promised her a celebratory birthday dinner.
We’ll have lots to celebrate, he’d said.
At this point, she’d settle for a “Happy Birthday” message on Facebook.
Her phone chimed with a message on the table next to her. Erik. No doubt an update on Carlos. “Excuse me,” she said to Maria, before reading the text.
Dinner reservations at Toledo for eight tonight, birthday girl.
“He remembered,” she said with a smile.
“Who remembered what?” Maria asked.
“Erik remembered he’d promised me dinner for my birthday tonight.”
“Isn’t that what a boyfriend is supposed to do?” she asked.
Grace waved a hand. “We’re both crazy busy. We don’t worry about canceled dates or forgotten birthdays or holidays . . .”
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “‘We’ don’t care? Or ‘he’ doesn’t care, and you have no other choice?”
“It’s really not a big deal to me either,” she insisted.
“Really? Is that why you lit up like a firework just now?” she asked with a wink, gathering their plates and sliding out of the booth. “Honey, my track record with men comes down to two ex-husbands and several restraining orders, but let me tell you something—it’s perfectly okay to want your boyfriend to pay attention to you.”
As Maria headed toward the kitchen, Grace reread the message. Was Maria right? Did she give Erik too much slack when it came to their relationship? Should she insist he put work aside more often to keep his promises to her? Would his work schedule always be this crazy, and would she always have to be okay with postponed dinner dates and forgotten anniversaries?
What was the alternative? A guy who put her first? A guy who bailed on his other commitments to make her soup when she was sick? A guy who made her body react in ways only he could, but whose future was a mystery, his success an uncertainty?
She sighed.
Given the choice, would she ever truly be happy with either of those options?
***
“Are you sure you don’t want to order a drink or an appetizer while you wait?” the server at Toledo, located inside the Wynn Hotel, asked for the third time.
Sitting at a table near the lagoon in the center of the restaurant, Grace checked her watch. Eight twenty-five. Erik was almost a half hour late already, and she was starting to feel foolish sitting in the expensive restaurant, holding up one of their best tables, alone. From the outside looking in—surely it looked like she was being stood up on a first date.
In actuality, it was worse. She was being stood up by her boyfriend on her birthday. Thank God, he’d reserved one of the more intimate tables set under a canopy, separated from the rest of the restaurant and providing some privacy from onlookers. At least the number of guests who could shoot her sympathetic looks was limited.
This was ridiculous. She really should tip the waiter for his patience and the use of the table and leave. She turned in the wicker-frame, cushioned chair and glanced around the side of the canopy. A long line had formed at the restaurant’s entrance—a long line of couples and friends, people eager to enjoy a meal together. Erik was nowhere in sight.
She sighed. Five more minutes.
But, she would order something in an effort not to look so pathetic. “My boyfriend should be here any minute, but yes, I will order a drink.” Picking up the wine menu, she scanned it. Twenty-four dollars a glass? Screw it—it was her birthday. Hopefully, Erik would be there soon. If not, this was her depressing consolation prize. “A glass of the Riesling would be wonderful. Thank you,” she told him, setting the wine list aside.
He didn’t look convinced, but somewhat relieved she was at least going to order a drink and perhaps several more and spend the evening running up an expensive tab drinking her pathetic self stupid. “Great.”
When he left the table, she checked her phone again.
No calls. No texts.
Normally, she would accept it for what it was. He’d probably gotten stuck at work, perhaps in a late meeting with Rex, but that evening, her annoyance was too powerful to ignore. She hadn’t seen him in four days, she’d barely even spoken to him, and it was her goddamn birthday. She dialed his cell.
Four rings then voice mail. The sound of his receptionist’s voice initializing his voice mail always irritated her. Who didn’t have time to put their own voice on their voice mail? At least she’d hear his voice once in a while when she spoke to the machine. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and sat straighter, ready to give him an earful.
“The mailbox of Erik Johansen is full. Please try your call . . .”
Unbelievable. The one time she was ready to demand he choose her over work—just once, on her birthday—and she couldn’t even yell at his voice mail.
She disconnected the call and slammed her phone down on the table, earning several frowns from guests enjoying their dinners nearby.
This empty feeling of loneliness on her birthday was exactly the reason she didn’t tell many people about it and never made a big deal about celebrating it. There wasn’t a single birthday in her memory that had gone well. As a child, her mother usually had to work, and there was never money in their tight budget to plan a birthday party. Not that she’d ever invite any of the kids from school to her tiny, cluttered, disorganized home anyway. Even the year Kylie had planned a surprise pool party at her own home for her when she turned twelve had been ruined by her first period showing up. She’d ended up watching the fun from the pool deck, wearing one of her mother’s diaper-sized pads, afraid to move, while everyone else had a good time.
Nope, birthdays were not her favorite event.
Her wine arrived and the waiter poured a drop inside her wineglass, waiting for her t
o give her approval.
“I’m sure it’s fine. Keep pouring, please.” At twenty-four dollars a glass, it better be the best wine she’d ever had.
He rolled his eyes at her lack of class and filled the glass. “Can I get you anything else right now?”
“No, thank you.” She took a big gulp of the Riesling, barely tasting the smooth flavors, her annoyance making it impossible to even enjoy the expensive wine.
Opening her purse, she retrieved several bills and tossed them on the table as she stood. She couldn’t wait any longer for a man who had no intention of showing up. A man whose apology later that evening would be a short two words that were empty, meaningless, and intended as the final words in an argument that wouldn’t happen.
She reached for her jacket, and her heart stopped.
Walker and Faith were walking toward her table, along the stone walkway bordering the edge of the lagoon.
The guy was sleeping on her sofa and making eight fifty an hour. What the hell was he doing at Toledo? With a date. On her birthday. Obviously it was part of the universe’s plan to make her wish she’d never been born.
The hostess stopped at the gazebo next to hers and gestured to their table.
She turned quickly, pretending not to see them, her mind racing. Should she grab her coat and exit in the opposite direction? Or sit and wait for Erik a bit longer—torturing herself with a view of the other couple through the gazebo curtains?
“Gracie, what are you doing here?” Walker said, catching sight of her, as he helped Faith remove her jacket.
Erik never once had helped her remove her jacket, or pulled out her chair, or opened a car door. But no one did that chivalrous shit anymore . . . except apparently Walker. She swallowed hard. “Oh, hi, you two.” Think fast. What excuse for being there alone could she give that sounded the least pathetic? “I was finishing up after a meeting with a fight promoter.” Okay, so she was going with a lie.
Thank God the waiter was nowhere in sight and she’d left enough cash on the table to make it look like she’d entertained company. Enough money to secure a save-face escape with the couple. That alone was worth the small fortune.
“So you’re leaving?” Faith asked, though it sounded more like a command.
“Yes.” She slid her arms into her coat and freed her hair over the back.
“Why don’t you stay and join us for dinner . . . or drinks, I guess, seeing as how you’ve already eaten,” Walker said.
Did he know the truth? That she’d been stood up? Thank God, he had no idea it was her birthday. And it was going to stay that way.
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your evening.” And besides, she was so hungry, her stomach growling would bust her for the lie. There was no way she could watch the two of them eat the delicious food of Chef Saul Toledo and not order something.
“You wouldn’t be interrupting. Faith was about to tell me about a new segment they are introducing on the show. Technically, this is a business dinner.”
His words earned him daggers from Faith and a look of disbelief from her.
Both were lost on him. “You should probably hear about it too. Right, Faith?” Walker asked.
The blonde looked annoyed, but she nodded. “Of course. Stay.” The one syllable seemed to stick on her tongue.
“Stay.” Walker touched her arm beneath her coat as she attempted to move past them.
She should have left five minutes ago. “Okay,” she mumbled. Picking up the glass of wine and waving to her waiter, she followed them to their table.
At least if Erik did show up, she wouldn’t be sitting there looking like an idiot.
Instead she was going to look like a third wheel on another couple’s date.
“Sorry, when I made the reservation, I said two . . .” Walker said apologetically as they reached the intimate, two-seater table beneath the canopy. A bottle of champagne sat on ice, and a single rose sat in a vase in the center of the table.
She hadn’t gotten a rose. Business dinner, her ass. “You know what? It’s fine, I should be going anyway.”
Faith nodded.
Walker shook his head, reaching for an empty wicker chair from the table she’d vacated. “No way. We can make room. See?” He slid the chair awkwardly into the space where the waiters walked by with food, near the lagoon walkway.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that.” Awkwardness and embarrassment competed for her top emotion. “It doesn’t leave much room for the waiters to pass in front of the water.”
“There’s plenty of room. It’s fine. Sit,” Walker said, sitting in his own chair.
“Okay . . .”
Next to her, Faith removed her sweater as well to reveal a plunging neckline on a light blue satin dress that left no question about whether or not she was wearing a bra, and placed it over the back of her chair. She tossed her blond hair over her shoulder, revealing her long, tanned neck and collarbone.
Grace kept her jacket on over her sleeveless white blouse. Sensible and boring. Like her. She couldn’t compete with Faith. She never could compete with the Faiths of the world. Living in the desert, she’d have hoped that eventually her skin would tan, but she just freckled worse than she already was, so she stayed covered. Right now, she almost wished she’d taken the gamble on skin cancer.
Her cell phone rang in her pocket and, noticing Erik’s office number lighting up the screen, she silenced it without answering. He was still at the office. He wasn’t even on his way. At that moment, she had no interest in hearing his excuses for why he wouldn’t be making it there that evening. A text message immediately appeared as the call went to voice mail.
I’m sorry.
What else was new?
“Everything okay?” Walker asked, glancing at the phone in the hand.
She forced a smile as she tucked her phone away. “Everything’s great.”
***
Something was up. And he suspected it had to do with being stood up. He knew she was lying about the dinner meeting, as he’d been in the front of the restaurant since eight o’clock waiting for Faith. He’d been tempted to join her, but after too long had passed, he was afraid it would embarrass her.
She’d looked so beautifully lonely sitting there, glancing around, checking her phone and sending the waiter away repeatedly. He’d wished those lonely eyes would settle on him, giving him the courage to join her. She was the one he wanted to be having dinner with that evening. Faith’s date request had been wrapped in a veil of more promotion opportunities for his career and a not-so-gentle push from his coach. He certainly wasn’t there out of desire.
Erik Johansen was a fool. How anyone could leave a woman like Gracie waiting, he’d never understand.
Across from him, Faith was talking about the new fighter profile segment Knock Out Sports was launching, where a reporter and photographer followed a fighter in the weeks leading up to a fight and recorded their training and pre-fight routines, mixed in with segments of their personal life.
“You know, to add that human element to the segment,” she was saying.
Gracie was frowning. “Have you gotten approval from the gyms?”
Faith shrugged. “I’m sure that won’t be difficult. Promotion and publicity keeps these sports alive, right?”
Walker didn’t think so. “I think the sport stands on its own merit. And honestly, Faith, I wouldn’t want anyone shadowing me while I train.” He took a sip of his water and sat back in his chair.
She frowned, but then quickly replaced the look with a flirty smile as she reached across the table to touch his hand. “Not even if it was me following you around?”
No doubt the angle she was planning to use to get the gyms on board. He forced a laugh, moving his hand away. “That would be tempting,” he said to save her ego, “but it’s so intense in the weeks leading up to the fight.” He shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to argue, and there was no question this segment would go ahead anyway, the gyms were so despe
rate to secure any publicity and promotion they could get to stay open. “But who knows? Maybe it’s a good idea.”
Grace shot him a look and clamped her lips together. She checked her watch. “You know, it’s getting late and I’m supposed to be meeting Erik, so I’m going to go.”
“Gracie, wait . . .” He held out a hand, but it was too late.
She’d slid her chair backward, just as the waiter was passing with a tray of pasta dishes, and all he could do was close his eyes as the plate of spaghetti fell from the slanted tray and landed on Gracie’s lap.
Her mouth gaped and her cheeks burned as she quickly lifted the plate from her lap and stood, apologizing to the irate waiter.
“What the hell?” the guy was saying, moving around her. “There’s not supposed to be a chair there,” he yelled.
Walker stood. “Hey, man. The lady apologized, and you did cover her with spaghetti.” He scanned her light gray pencil skirt and sheer satin blouse, now covered in tomato sauce. But all he could focus on was the gaping buttons of the stretched fabric at her chest. The hint of lace visible through the fabric. That would be one fantastic way to eat spaghetti.
“She’s not supposed to be sitting there,” the man said.
“I’m leaving . . . I’m sorry . . .” Gracie said, wiping her skirt and moving around him.
“Not until this guy apologizes,” Walker said.
The waiter scoffed.
Gracie shook her head. “Not necessary. It’s fine, really.”
“Walker, it was her fault,” Faith said. “That chair shouldn’t have been there.”
Walker tensed, ready to knock the guy out and leave Faith alone at the table as he left with Gracie.
But Grace placed a hand on his arm, having a strange, calming effect on him. “It’s fine. Enjoy your evening,” she said, before taking off in a hurry across the crowded restaurant, passing the onlookers and snickers as she left.
He took a deep breath as he took his seat. The waiter wasn’t worth losing his fight license over, and technically it was his fault for putting the extra chair in the path.
Breaking Her Rules Page 11
