by A. J. Pine
“Clear!” the cameraman yelled.
Grace let out a long breath, and Whitney grinned.
“You did really great,” Whitney said. “We’re almost done. But I have to honor all contracts tonight, which means…”
She didn’t have to hesitate long because a station assistant was ushering Mark onto the “set,” attaching a mic to his suit jacket.
Grace’s stomach churned. She wanted to avoid even looking at him, but she caught him fidgeting with the inside pocket of his jacket when a red velvet box tumbled out of his hand and to the floor.
“What the hell is that?” she asked, her words full of ice and venom. She wasn’t even sure it was her own voice coming out of her mouth, but who else’s could it be?
“Dammit,” he said, kneeling to scoop up the box, but Grace beat him to it.
She didn’t hesitate throwing it open, gasping at the diamond ring—two carats at least.
“You asshole,” Grace spat under her breath. “You have the nerve to take everything from me and then come here with this?”
Mark held up his hands in surrender. “I had a really good run at the tables these past few months, Grace. I won back what I lost. What I borrowed from you—”
“Borrowed?” Grace whisper-shouted, still aware that her family was less than fifty feet away, looking on. Aware that if she blew Mark’s cover, he’d do the same to her father. “That eight thousand dollars was all I had, and I was willing to lend it to you for us, for the home we were supposed to be buying together. But you used it for a game. You gambled away my dream, Mark. You threatened my family. And now you think you can make up for it with this?” She snapped the box shut and slammed it against his chest. “I have held up my end of our little deal, but I draw the line here. Don’t bother asking,” she said. “I think you know what my answer is.”
“Grace,” he pleaded. “You’re right. I was an asshole, but I was in trouble. I was only going to use the money I took from you to pay off my debt and then pay you back as soon as I could. But you wouldn’t listen to reason, so I had to throw your family into the mix to buy us time until my luck turned around.” He held up the box. “And I am feeling pretty damn lucky these days.”
“Ugh,” Whitney said. “You really are a piece of work, Wright,” she added. “You stole from Grace, blackmailed her, and now you think she’ll marry you?”
“What the fuck?” Jeremy pushed his way past the light stands and onto the makeshift set. “I know Whitney couldn’t cancel your contract, but you really fucking proposed to her after what you did?”
“I will on camera,” Mark said. “And I think Grace knows what the wiser choice is here,” he said.
Jeremy grabbed Mark by the lapels of jacket.
“What makes you the wiser choice?” he asked. “Because you have esquire after your name, and I go to work in a T-shirt and jeans? Is it education? Because the only difference between you and me is the majors listed on our degrees. It can’t be how you feel about Grace because you had the chance to love the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and you pissed that away the second you emptied her bank account. At least I’ve got that. I realized from the start that it would be a fucking privilege to love her.”
Grace wanted to intervene, to try to stop whatever Jeremy was going to do next because she knew Mark would find a way to bring him down, too, but she was frozen where she stood. Jeremy was fighting for her. Maybe he’d messed up tonight, and maybe Whitney was right—that even without the words, she should have known that he loved her, that he’d been fighting for her the whole time—fighting for them. She was just too scared to see it.
“You want to know what lucky is?” Jeremy asked, his knuckles white as he gripped Mark’s jacket tighter. “Lucky is her loving you back. You don’t deserve her, man. And maybe I don’t, either, but at least I get that. You’re just delusional.”
He let go and stepped back. Whitney let out a nervous laugh, but Grace was still frozen.
“Shit, Jer,” Whitney said. “I thought you were going to hit him.”
Jeremy’s jaw clenched, and Grace watched the muscles tick on either side. He shook his head.
“He’s not worth it.”
This time Mark laughed. “Wish I could say the same.” And before anyone saw what was coming, he landed a right hook across the left side of Jeremy’s face.
Grace finally unfroze and yelped.
Jamie appeared from beyond the lights and grabbed Mark, slamming him up against the bar.
And Jeremy stumbled backward, dazed, but he didn’t fall. He simply lifted a hand to his cheek, one that came away bloody from where Mark had split the skin open.
“Sixty seconds!” the cameraman yelled, and Whitney grabbed his arm. “Bobby, I know we weren’t live, but tell me you were still rolling tape.”
The guy grinned. “We got all of it,” he said.
Whitney strode up to Mark, where Jamie still had him pinned against the bar.
“Well, Mr. Wright, I may not have esquire after my name, but I’m pretty sure I see an arrest or two in your future—assault, theft, gambling, blackmail—some of those are against the law, yes? I’m thinking maybe even disbarment. The possibilities are limitless.”
Mark spoke through gritted teeth. “If Grace knows what’s good for her, she’ll make sure none of that happens.”
Annie and Wes led Jeremy to a chair near her parents’ table. Wes laughed and asked, “So how does it feel to be on the receiving end, buddy?”
Grace’s father rose from his seat and helped get Jeremy situated while Annie ran for something to help stop the bleeding. She was back in seconds with a towel in one hand and a bag of ice in the other, but when Grace made it to Jeremy, she knew the bleeding wasn’t going to stop on its own. The cut was too wide.
She knelt in front of him, her hands on his knees. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy.” She looked up at Annie. “We need to get him to the hospital. He needs stitches—and maybe an X-ray to make sure nothing’s broken.”
Annie and Wes both nodded.
“Finish the show,” Jeremy said with a wince. Then he looked at Wes. “She’s not coming with, okay?”
Grace swallowed back the lump in her throat. He didn’t want her anymore.
Annie mouthed I’m sorry to her.
“We got it,” Wes said. “Come on, man. Let’s grab a taxi.”
Grace moved out of the way, and they helped Jeremy up. His eye was swelling shut, and her heart was cracking into a million pieces as Annie and Wes walked him toward the door.
“Gracie,” her dad said, and she heard the realization in his voice. “We heard all of that, honey. Mark knows, doesn’t he? About my little…situation?”
She nodded, and her father pulled her into his strong arms.
“Oh, sweetheart. It was never your job to protect me from him. We should have seen it. We should have protected you.”
And she should have protected Jeremy. She should have been open with everyone about what was going on from the start. Then they wouldn’t be where they were now. And maybe she wouldn’t have met Jeremy, then. But at least he’d be okay. They’d never know what they were missing, right?
“I’m sorry, Grace. But we’ve got thirty seconds.”
Whitney had her hand on Grace’s arm.
Grace pulled away from her father, her tear-soaked eyes fixed on Whitney’s.
“I’m out,” Grace said, and started backing away.
“But,” Whitney said. “Your contract. Kiss someone. Anyone. It doesn’t matter who. But I can’t cut that check if a kiss doesn’t happen on air.”
“I need the money.” Grace shrugged. “But I don’t want it. Not like this. That was never the point of what I was doing. If I kiss someone else just for a check? I’m betraying myself,” she said. “And Jeremy, too.”
Because she loved him, and he was supposed to be her first. That space she’d been trying to fill inside…it wasn’t going to happen with a check. It was going to happen by doing things th
e right way and for the right reason. Not because some book told her to or a contract said so. But because Grace said so.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, her voice shaking despite her resolve, “there is a man I’m supposed to kiss tonight. But he’s not here. So I have to go find him and see if I’m not too late to fight for him like he did for me.”
Then she grabbed her coat and bag from where Jeremy had it stashed behind the bar and hoped she could get to him before he decided she wasn’t worth the wait after all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Jeremy lay on his couch with his eyes closed and a hospital-grade ice pack on his face. Well, one eye was closed voluntarily. And the other? He really had no choice. Five stitches, a strained muscle in his neck, and confirmation of a chipped bone in his cheek, and he would be lucky if he could stand upright for Jamie and Brynn’s wedding tomorrow.
Brynn left him a voicemail, promising him the wedding photographer was so good with Photoshop that she’d be able to hide his injury in the pictures. Then Jamie called to say they could talk about the contract after the honeymoon, that he hadn’t meant to pressure him if he wasn’t ready to sign. Annie and Wes waited at the hospital until his X-ray and CT scan were done, his face was stitched, and he was finally released. His sister had wanted to spend the night to make sure he was okay, but it wasn’t like he had a concussion. He was just a little busted up, inside and out. Nothing that wouldn’t heal with time—at least the outside part. After much insistence, Annie and Wes finally left ten minutes ago, once Jeremy had faked falling asleep, and now here he was, in the last place he wanted to be.
Because Grace wasn’t here.
He opened his good eye and checked his phone again. She hadn’t called. He was sure she would have at least called to check on him, but there was nothing.
Then again, he’d told her not to come with him to the hospital. He thought she’d understood, even though that moment had been his least articulate.
Who was he kidding? Fist to the face or not, he lost all rational thought around that woman. Tonight, though, it might have lost him the woman he loved.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
Great. It was going to be a big sister slumber party after all.
“I thought you left the key under the mat so you could check on me in the morning. And you better at least have some morphine with you because this ice pack is so not doing the trick.” His voice was gravelly and his throat dry. “Okay, fine,” he added. “Maybe you could grab me a bottle of water from the fridge.”
He heard the key slide into the lock, and then the door clicked open.
“Sorry,” a soft voice said. “No morphine. But I can get the water.”
Jeremy pushed up from the couch to confirm what he heard. Grace. She stood there in nothing but her denim jacket and what looked like her pajamas, a T-shirt, yoga pants, and snow-covered moccasin slippers. Her hair was dusted with snow, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“You look like you could use a hat,” he said. “Or maybe an umbrella. I’m pretty sure you have one.”
She still hadn’t moved from the doorframe. “I wasn’t really thinking straight. I just needed to get here,” she said. “Then I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here, so I paced up and down your block a couple of times. And then my feet were wet, and I was cold, so it was either hop in a cab and go home or take my chances. So here I am.”
“Grace,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “I always want you here, no matter where here is.” He slid himself back against the arm of the couch so he was sitting and let out a long breath. “When I didn’t hear from you tonight, I thought you’d given up on me.”
She shook her head wildly. “I know you didn’t want me there, but I left before the broadcast was over and went to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me see you since I wasn’t family. I called your phone, and it went right to voicemail, and I—I didn’t know what to say. And then I didn’t want to say what needed saying over the phone, so I went home.” Her breathing hitched. “But I didn’t want to be there. Not without you.”
She sniffled, and he could see a tear slide down her cheek.
“I messed up,” she said. “I thought a book was the answer. I thought protecting my parents was the answer. I thought I had to hear you say the right words. What it came down to was I thought there had to be a better way to getting it right than what I was doing, but I fucked it up anyway.”
He laughed again, the ice pack sliding off his face, then winced. He really could use some morphine.
“Grace Bailey, did you just utter a profanity?”
She let out a sort of laugh/sob. “It’s after midnight,” she said. “My six months are up.”
His chest ached. “Shit. You didn’t finish the broadcast? You violated the contract? Grace—that’s why I told you to stay.”
Her mouth formed a perfect O, and he watched as recognition bloomed. Shit. She had thought the worst, that he didn’t want her there, when the truth was he wanted her anywhere and everywhere, but he couldn’t ask her to give up that money.
Yet she did it anyway.
Grace cleared her throat. “I think my dad helped Whitney keep her ratings.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
She forced a smile. “He stole Mark’s thunder once he found out what was going on. He turned the broadcast into his own little press conference of sorts, publicly declaring his stint in rehab. Mark was arrested. The cops were waiting at my apartment when I got home to take a statement. I think you might have to give one, too,” she said.
He nodded slowly.
Shit. He might have taken the punch, but Grace had her whole world turned upside down tonight. He pushed himself to his feet, not caring about his physical pain—not when Grace was here. And hurting. And still fucking frozen where she stood.
“But your store,” he said.
He took a hesitant—and slightly uneven—step around the side of the couch, afraid after all she’d been through that he might scare her off and send her running. But she didn’t move.
“I’ll figure it out,” she said, swiping at another tear. “Jeremy, what I said tonight, about things falling in your lap—I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I was scared we were falling for each other out of convenience and that soon you would realize there was nothing convenient about being with me.”
He made it to the back of the couch and paused, resting against the frame. He groaned. The meds they had given him were making him dizzy. Jesus. All he wanted to do was rush to her and wrap her in his arms, but if he wasn’t careful he’d give the air next to her a giant bear hug and fall flat on his face.
“What hurts?” she asked.
He let out a bitter laugh. “My pride, to start. I should be apologizing to you for breaking your trust. I should be thinking up some big grand gesture to win you back. And believe me, when I’m not such a fucking mess—which seems to be my norm when you’re around—that is going to be top on my list. Because I don’t care how we met, Grace, if it was convenient or not. I’m not walking away because it’s not easy. Nothing is easy. I get that now. I kept myself safe for three years after I thought Whitney destroyed me, but that was nothing. I’m fucking powerless against you.” He shook his head. “I remember, you know. What I said when you spent the night. Amazing what a blow to the head can do.” Her eyes, shining with tears, widened. It killed him to think what it had been like for her to hear those words—and for him to have had no recollection of saying them. “Just because I was drunk doesn’t mean my words were any less real. And just because I fucking forgot that I said them doesn’t make them untrue. I love you, Grace. And I’m a complete ass for not saying it again, but I think I was afraid of spooking you.”
“You weren’t spooked?” she asked.
“Only at the thought of losing you,” he said. “You have my whole goddamn heart—always—even if you don’t want it.”
She let out a hiccupping sob and closed the distance be
tween them in a few long strides. Her fingers brushed the bruised skin underneath his stitches, and pain or no pain, he shuddered at her touch.
“You made me stay behind so I wouldn’t lose the prize money?”
He nodded.
“You would have wanted me there?”
Again, another nod.
She kissed his temple next to his swollen eye, and Jeremy sucked in a shaky breath. Her lips. On his skin. He wasn’t sure he could take what he fucking hoped was coming next, not without losing his mind.
“You got stitches for me,” she said.
He laughed. “Don’t forget the chipped cheekbone.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, but he pulled it away, holding it against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he said.
She tried to smile. “And you said all those things to Mark, about it being a privilege to love me.”
He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her palm.
“It is,” he assured her.
“I think if you wrap all of that up together and throw in the umbrella, drinking kale, letting my father give you the third degree on Thanksgiving, and waiting for me to finish this thing I started—it’s all a pretty spectacular grand gesture. I was just too scared to see it.”
He gave her a tentative grin. “Did it work?”
She leaned into him, resting her other palm on his chest. “I think Lady Luck is on your side today.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath as her forehead fell against his, her palms cradling his face.
“I love you, too,” she said. “You also have my whole goddamn heart. Always.”
He laughed. “I should maybe work on my phrasing, huh?”
But she shook her head. “It’s perfect. And to prove it to you, I think I’d like to perform a grand gesture of my own,” she said softly, the warmth of her breath on his lips.
He hardened beneath his sweatpants, but before he lost all reason, he said, “Wait!”
She flinched, pulling back, and he laughed.
He reached over the back of the couch for his phone, opened up the camera app, and swiped to the video option.
