Fighting for Her

by Amy Brent

  Then, just as I was about to open the door, Fletcher called me back. “Grace.”

  A hopeful smile came alive on my lips as I looked at him. He was standing by his liquor cabinet, looking all disheveled and sexy. “Yes?”

  “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, okay?”

  I sighed, and my shoulders sagged, but I kept my smile on as I nodded. Without another word, I walked out of the office and returned to the party—and to the loyal company of Valerie’s punch bowl.

  Fletcher

  I woke up with the sun slicing through my bedroom curtains. The brightness made my head hurt and my eyes blurry, but I mostly sure I was home. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here, but that was beside the point.

  As hard as I tried to remember the previous night, I only had flashes. I remembered drinking two glasses of Whiskey as I got ready for the office party—God, I hated those things—and then drinking more once I got there. I remembered shaking hands of a lot of nameless people and then drinking even more. Aside from that, my memory was shit.

  In hopes to stop the room from spinning so fast, I pushed myself into a sitting position on my bed and instantly regretted it. Although my tolerance for alcohol was higher than most people’s, I was just as susceptible to hangovers and every nasty bodily reaction that accompanies it.

  Feeling my stomach turn, I got up from the bed and walked as fast as my spaghetti legs would allow to my bathroom. I arrived there just in time to hug the toilet and purge the contents of my stomach.

  Once my stomach was finally empty, I got up and turned on the shower. As I waited for the water to warm, I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a faint red line that went from the top of my neck to the curve of my shoulder and then disappeared behind my back.

  Confused, I turned my face and looked down at it. It seemed like a scratch, but I knew for a fact that I hadn’t slept with Charlotte in the past few days, so I had no idea how that had gotten there. Hoping that the shower would help clear my head, I pulled down my boxer briefs and stepped underneath the stream.

  As the water fell onto my back, I felt the sting of, what I assumed, were more scratches. Decided to remember how those got there, I closed my eyes and forced my mind to relive the events of the previous night.

  I remembered all the things that were already somewhat clear—the drinking, the handshakes—and kept forcing. That’s when my body erupted in a wave of goosebumps, and my blood ran cold.

  Behind my closed lids, in the middle of all the fog, I saw Grace’s red dress. I saw it moving around her sexy body as she danced with her friends. I saw it swaying around her legs as she ran to the bathroom. I saw it moving with her breaths as we talked in the elevator, and then I saw it laying on the floor of my office as I fucked her.

  Oh, Shit! I fucked Grace.

  My stomach turned to stone and pulled down towards my feet. I had imagined what it would be like to have Grace for years, but no matter how much whiskey I got in me, my desire never went beyond thoughts and a few drunken kisses. It was how it had to be, and we both knew it. She wasn’t a part of my world; I wasn’t a part of hers and the company police I had created prohibited it.

  With my eyes still closed, I let the water fall over my face and forced myself to remember everything that had happened. The sex had been even better than I had imagined, but somehow the regret was even worse. There was no way of keeping her without putting to waste everything I had worked for in my life. Still, now that I had made her mine I literally couldn’t imagine not having her again. It was an impossible situation; one that could cause me the one employee my company and I couldn’t function without. My head was in a war of desires that would have only one clear loser: me.

  I stood underneath the water for long enough to use up all the hot water, but still, it wasn’t enough to clear my head of my mixed desires. One thing, however, was clear. I had to find a way to sober up and fix the situation.

  Out of the shower, I went to my closet and got dressed in casual clothes. Then, I went to the kitchen and downed couple tablets of Vitamin B with a glass of tomato juice—my mother’s secret recipe for curing a hangover. Feeling slightly better, I picked up my phone and dialed Grace’s number as I had promised her I would.

  The phone rang four times before she finally picked up. When she did, her voice was groggy as if she was still half asleep. “Fletcher?”

  Hearing her say my name first thing in the morning made me smile. As much as I shouldn’t, I couldn’t help but imagine how she looked at that very moment.

  I shook my head, purging the thought from my mind. “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” I could hear the lie in her voice but decided against commenting. “What can I help you with?”

  Honestly, I had no idea what to say. It was rare for me to be in this situation. For twenty years, my life had revolved around my company—a place where I was assertive and always in control. But with Grace, I felt like the world was upside down. I had no control over myself and no confidence on how to act. It was an annoying novelty, and I was over it.

  “Can you meet me for coffee?” I asked in the nicest tone I could muster. “I want to talk to you.”

  Something crashed to the floor in the background, and she swore under her breath. Having never witnessed such a reaction from her before, I smiled at my first glance at the real Grace.

  “Okay,” she said in a strained voice like she was reaching to grab something far away. Then, she added, “But I drank about ten cups of Valerie’s punch last night, which equals to a hundred normal drinks. It may take a while for me to get ready.”

  The idea of Grace hungover was yet another thing that made her a bit more real in my eyes.

  I did my best to keep my voice neutral as I replied, “That’s fine. Would an hour be okay?”

  “Yeah, that’ll work.”

  Before we hung up, I told her the name of a café I liked close to the office. I had no idea where she lived, but guessed it was close enough to the office to make it doable for her.

  I took care of some personal business and then left my apartment with twenty minutes to spare. Instead of calling my driver, Charlie, I decided to take the car out myself. Driving was not something I did often, but being behind the wheel never failed to help me think.

  The Lemon Squeeze was one of the oldest cafés in town and the last one to still hold on to its old-school charm. It had the perfect mix of coziness and greasy food for a day such as this.

  I sat at a little table by the window and ordered a French press of their strongest blend and a variety of doughnuts. My order had just arrived when Grace walked in.

  Her looks were yet another surprise to me. Instead of her elegant dresses, perfect hairdos, and flawless makeup, she was sporting a cotton maxi dress, fresh face and huge sunglasses which she propped atop her head.

  Raising my hand, I gave her a little wave and got a smile in return. However, the smile quickly fell off her lips, making space to an awful awkwardness.

  She sat down and groaned. “Sorry it took me so long to arrive. I had way too much to drink last night.”

  “That makes two of us.” I chuckled. “I ordered their strongest blend,” I informed as I poured some coffee into her cup.

  “God bless you,” she said as she p.icked up the cup and took a gulp.

  As she enjoyed her coffee, I enjoyed the sight of her. The golden glimmer of her chocolate. skin, mixed with the natural perfection of her relaxed attitude made my cock twitch, and my mind hate the social standards that separated us.

  “How was the rest of the party?”

  Not having too much practice at it, I knew my attempt at small talk was pathetic, but there was still a hint of appreciation in Grace’s deep eyes. She relaxed a little. I didn’t.

  “It was eventful,” she started with a grin. “Bill from sales hooked up with Stella from reception in the bathroom and her boyfriend saw it. It was a huge scandal. Valerie threw up in the elevator and which pissed off the cleaning crew, and all th
e accountants ended up with ties around their foreheads and acting like morons.” She stopped talking for a moment and stared at me with slightly widened eyes. “I don’t think I should have told you those things.”

  My brows pulled together. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re the b-o-s-s and I don’t want to get people into. trouble.”

  I wanted to laugh but didn’t. “No one is getting into trouble. It was a party. People making stupid mistakes is expected.”

  Although not at all intended towards what had happened between us, my words wiped the smile right off Grace’s face. There was a part of me that wanted to explain that she hadn’t been a mistake, but what was the point? We both knew that was a lie, so I just stayed silent and drank my coffee.

  She nodded slowly and took a doughnut—another thing I liked about her. Most of the women I knew wouldn’t be caught dead eating a sugary, deep-fried treat covered in chocolate.

  “I’m not going to say anything about what happened, Fletcher. You don’t have to worry,” she said without looking at me. “As much as I’d like to think otherwise, I know it only happened because we were both stupid drunk. We’ll just pretend it never happened. That’s what you want, right?”

  The tone of her voice made me feel like an asshole. Although this was how things should be, it wasn’t how I wanted them to be. I wanted things to be simple; just a man and a woman who are attracted to each other. However, the life of a billionaire is never simple. Money comes with expectations and responsibilities that spoke louder to me than my desire to be with Grace, and apparently, she understood that—maybe even better than I did.

  After a deep, steadying breath, I nodded. “I’m sorry, but yes. Last night was wonderful, but we don’t mesh.”

  She looked up at me, and the look in her eyes cut me. It was clear that I had hurt her, which was maybe for the best. Still, she didn’t know that and, as I looked at her, I saw her hurt turn into anger.

  “Seriously, Fletcher? We don’t mesh? That’s it?” Her voice was hard, the question a warning of what was to come. For the first time, I didn’t feel good at hearing my name come out of her beautiful mouth. “You don’t pay me enough to deal with this crap. You do know .that, right?”

  That was not what I expected to come out of her mouth. In a surprised shock, I asked, “What?”

  “You heard me. You don’t pay me enough to deal with all this bullshit, and, just for the record, I’m not asking for a raise. What I’m asking you is to get your fucking act together and stop leading me on when you know we don’t mesh.”

  I looked at her, gaping like a fish out of water, not knowing what to say. She had never spoken like that to me—or to anyone else, for that matter—and seeing such strength and resolve in her voice made me admire—and desire—her even more.

  With a straight face and all of my confidence, I nodded. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this, but rest assured that I’ll do everything I can to keep things between us as professional as they can be. You’re a valued employee, and I won’t allow my personal problems to affect your work any longer.”

  For some reason, my reply seemed to make her even angrier, but I couldn’t care about that. I couldn’t care that she looked hurt, or that I’d never taste the sweetness of her mouth again. I couldn’t care that I wanted to toss her over this table and fuck her until she couldn’t walk straight or that my words had felt awfully wrong. I had to remain strong and firm in the knowledge that I was doing the right thing for myself.

  We stared at each other for a few loaded seconds. Then, Grace flipped her huge sunglasses back onto her face and stood up.

  “Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Cox. I’ll see you Monday.” With that, she walked away.

  Grace

  It’s fine. I don’t care.

  I kept repeating those words to myself like a mantra as I left the café and walked down the street. These kinds of things happened all the time between Fletcher and me, and even though sex was a lot more intense than just a kiss, it was still the same thing. I should have been used to it by now, but I wasn’t.

  Although Fletcher had no real feelings for me, I had some for him. I liked him—like really liked him as more than a boss and more than the escape from reality he treated me as. I would have given him everything I had and everything he could possibly want if he only gave me—and us—a chance, but I knew he never would. His status in society was far too important for him to get involved with a valued employee with whom he simply didn’t mesh.

  A loud, vicious groan that made the .people walking by stop and stare at me erupted from my throat. I was never a violent person, but hearing Fletcher’s words had made me want to punch his teeth right out of his mouth. I had no idea where he came up with the crap he said, but I knew I was through hearing it.

  Still hungover and with my head buzzing with anger, I decided to forgo a cab and walk to my apartment. The walk was about half an hour long which was too much for when I was late for work or tired after twelve hours in the office, but today the walk was very much welcome.

  I was about half-way to my apartment when the cell phone rang. The sound annoyed my still pounding brain and made my heart race. There was a part of me that felt almost giddy with hope that the caller would be Fletcher saying he had made a mistake and knew that we did, in fact, mesh.

  With a reluctant smile on my lips, I dug into my purse and retrieved the device. I didn’t even bother reading the name on the screen before I pushed the button to answer the call.

  “Hello,” I greeted in an excited voice.

  “Grace?” a voice that didn’t belong to Fletcher replied and my shoulders and smile sagged. Not recognizing the voice, I frowned and opened my mouth to ask who it was. However, before I had the chance the man on the other side said, “It’s Harrington.”

  Instantly, my lips turned into a broad smile. Harrington and I had been inseparable all throughout high school. He had moved away to Boston to attend a prestigious engineering college, and I had stayed behind, which caused us to lose touch. Hearing his voice again gave me the best kind of nostalgia and lifted my spirits just a smidge.

  “Oh, my gosh! Harrington ‘Hairy’ Jones. How long has it been?” I asked in an upbeat tone.

  He chuckled. “Eight years and four months, which is far too long but somehow still not long enough for you to forget that unfortunate nickname.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not my fault. An afro that big can never be forgotten. It’s something that just stays with you, ya know?”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t. I spent the past eight years trying very hard to forget all about that bird’s nest, and I’m completely over it now.”

  Once more, I laughed. Unlike some people I worked for, Harrington never failed to lift my spirits. It was one of the many things I had missed about him.

  “It’s great to hear from you. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing pretty good, actually,” he said in his signature tone. “And I’m in town. My mom just sold her house, and I’ll be here for a few weeks to help her move. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up?”

  My eyes rounded and the awful feeling of my hangover lifted a little. “Of course, I do. Are you free tonight?”

  He laughed at my enthusiasm and said he was. We made plans to meet at around seven at this a new pub called Rat and Parrot. It was a trendy place close to my apartment I had been dying to go.

  With a new pep in my step and with my worries about Fletcher almost forgotten, I made my way to my apartment. Once there, I took a quick nap to get rid of the rest of my hangover and then started getting ready to meet Harrison.

  Because he was one of those ridiculously good looking men, I put some effort into my look. I smoked out my eyes, put on a bright lipstick, high heels and a cute dress that was flattering but not too form fitting—I didn’t want to give my old friend the wrong idea, after all.

  I arrived at the pub at exactly seven and saw his smiling face right awa
y. I couldn’t help but grin back as I walked through the dim lit corridors towards his table at the back. Boy Harrington had been good looking, but man Harrington—with his buzzed head and broad shoulders—was something out of a fashion magazine ad.

  He stood up and hugged me. He smelled like Tabaco and cologne, a combination that would usually be nasty but worked well on him.

  “Holy shiz . . . You grew up good, Hairy.”

  Laughing, he released me and kissed my cheek. “So did you, Gracie.”

  The nickname gave me mixed feelings. On one side, it brought back so memories of our past together, and on the other made me cringe with thoughts of the other man who called me that.

  “I was thinking beers and whatever fried platter they have. You in?” Harrington asked.

  “As long as there are wings involved, I say hell yes.”

  With a pitcher of beer and a ton of deliciously greasy food in front of us, we spent time catching up. The conversation flowed freely between us as it always did. We talked about college and work, we remembered the past and discussed our plans for the future. All in all, I was super proud of the man my old friend had become. Aside from his nasty smoking habit, he had grown into a pretty decent guy.

  The food was mostly over, and we were half-way through our second pitcher when Harrington started to fidget in his seat. He was never much of fidgeter, so I narrowed my eyes at him which made him laugh.