Only with You

by Lauren Layne

  And polite wasn’t good enough.

  Ian dug a hand into a bag of peanuts. “Ashley will be disappointed. She’s been trying to marry you off forever.”

  “She has?” Gray asked with genuine surprise. He’d always figured that women didn’t see him as the husband type. He either got labeled as a consummate bachelor or a love-’em-and-leave-’em prick. It wasn’t a reputation he fostered, per se, but he’d become resigned to it. He obviously lacked something that women were looking for when it came to long-term commitment.

  At least that’s what Jessica had told him.

  Ian’s voice jerked him back to the present. “Sure, Ash always has about a half-dozen single women in her book club alone who are dying to meet you. She’s described you as being the strong, silent type. Women love that shit.”

  Gray grunted.

  “So what happened? I thought you liked Brynn.”

  “I do,” Gray said truthfully. “That’s the trouble. I like her. That’s it.”

  Ian paused in munching his peanuts. “Sounds simple. Maybe simple’s what you need after Jessica…”

  Gray remained silent as he watched the Mariners’ third baseman hit into a double play. “It’s kind of boring,” he said finally.

  “No offense, but ‘boring’ is kind of your thing these days. I thought you liked things predictable.”

  “I do,” Gray said, his mood turning increasingly surly. He didn’t like all of Ian’s questions. They were hitting disturbingly close to a nerve he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  He felt his friend watching him out of the corner of his eye and tried not to squirm. “What?”

  “It’s the other one,” Ian said with a slightly awed tone.

  “What?”

  “Your girlfriend’s sister. Your employee.”

  “What about her?”

  “You like her,” Ian accused. “That’s why things aren’t working out with the perfect sister. You like the imperfect one. The one that looks just like your ex-fiancé. Because that’s healthy. Not.”

  “I never should have told you about her resemblance to Jess,” Gray said shortly, taking a sip of his beer. “What gave you that idea?”

  Ian continued to watch him. “The way you talk about her. You should have heard yourself that first night you found out she’d be working for you. It was the most I’ve heard you talk in years.”

  Gray grunted. “Sophie is…Everything about her is wrong.”

  “Mm-hmm. Bet she’s hot,” Ian said, turning his attention back to the game.

  “She’s a mess.”

  “She’s gotta be hot,” Ian muttered again, under his breath.

  Gray noticed that for all his talk about “hot” women, Ian’s eyes had never left his son. Ryan was now wearing a big foam finger and, at the mascot’s beckoning, stood atop the dugout and helped to lead “the wave.” Ryan’s face glowed with pure youthful ecstasy.

  Had Gray ever been that happy? He couldn’t remember.

  Flagging down the beer vendor, Gray handed over some money and pushed Ian’s twenty-dollar bill away. “My turn,” he grumbled.

  “So if it’s not the younger sister who’s under your skin, why are you planning to ignore a beautiful woman who hasn’t done anything wrong?”

  Gray gave Ian an annoyed look. “Are we still talking about this? What are we, sorority sisters now? Shall I order us some ice cream and Chardonnay?”

  Ian continued to look at him.

  Gray sighed and relented. Maybe talking about Sophie would clear his head.

  “Okay, so Sophie might kind of be getting to me. But not in the good way, just…She’s just always there.”

  Ian whistled. “I was right. You are hitting on the help.”

  “Don’t call her that,” Gray snapped more sharply than he’d intended.

  Ian glanced at him in surprise, and Gray leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, the game temporarily forgotten.

  “Shit,” Gray breathed. “I don’t know what to do. This girl drives me crazy. And she’s my assistant, for Christ’s sake. She’s gorgeous but snotty. She has these massive self-esteem issues and yet is incredibly determined in what she wants. Most of the time I think she hates my guts, and yet sometimes there are these looks…”

  “Hold on, let me get us some tampons,” Ian said.

  Gray glowered, even as he deserved it. Babbling wasn’t his style, but he’d never been in a relationship that gave him so many headaches. Hell, this wasn’t even a relationship. It was just…an inability to escape from the other person.

  Sophie was too bubbly and unpredictable. Too much passion, not enough substance. Maybe that made her sort of magnetic, but should he be investing his valuable time thinking about her? Definitely not. He had a business to run, siblings to look out for, a godson to take to baseball games, and a girlfriend to make love to.

  Plus, he wasn’t her type. She went after the flighty, artistic types. The party boys. There’s no way she would think of him as anything other than an experimental fling. Not that he wanted her to.

  He just wanted…

  “Maybe I should take Brynn to dinner tomorrow. Somewhere fancy that requires her to wear a black dress. Women always wear sexy underwear under a black dress, right?”

  Ian frowned. “Wait, I thought we were talking about Sophie?”

  “We were. And we agreed that she’s completely inappropriate. So now we’re talking about Brynn. Who’s very appropriate.”

  Ian didn’t respond, and Gray’s head dropped forward slightly in resignation. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

  His friend lifted a shoulder. “Could be worse.”

  Gray pictured the colorful, obnoxious chaos that was Sophie. Brynn’s sister. And his assistant.

  Whom he couldn’t get out of his head.

  “Actually, Ian…I’m pretty sure that this is as bad as it gets.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  For the tenth time in five minutes, Sophie silently cursed Brynn for ditching her at yoga class. She’d thought there was nothing worse than having to fold herself into yoga positions next to perfect Brynn. But she’d been wrong.

  Having to fold herself into yoga positions without perfect Brynn to mimic was much, much worse.

  Sophie glanced at the woman next to her and tried to copy her constipated-cow position. The anorexic-looking instructor roamed around the room, reminding them to “just breathe.” As though breathing would somehow fix life’s problems.

  Sophie felt a firm hand pressing into the small of her back. “Bottom up to the sky,” the instructor whispered. Sophie hitched her ass into the air, feeling very much like a dog ready for mating.

  So much for Brynn’s claims that yoga would foster “constructive sibling time.” Tonight, Sophie was the lone klutz in a room full of aging Cirque du Soleil understudies.

  “Sister bonding, my ass,” Sophie grumbled under her breath as they moved into yet another awkward pose. Her swearing earned her a glare from the elderly woman. Sophie gave an apologetic smile, but the woman had already folded herself into a bow and wasn’t paying attention.

  Brynn had proposed yoga as something fun they could do together. Brynn had been a yoga master practically since emerging from the womb, but she’d signed them up for an intro class so that they could have “sister bonding.”

  Sophie could think of about a million different ways they could bond. Wine. Gossip. Reality TV. Nachos.

  Instead, she was writhing around on a little purple mat. Alone.

  Sophie swallowed her bitterness and tried to remind herself that her sister had a good reason for skipping the yoga torture tonight. A really good reason.

  Sophie knew from experience that breakups were the worst.

  And as of this afternoon, Brynn and Gray were no longer a couple.

  Which had shocked…absolutely nobody.

  Even Brynn hadn’t mustered the energy to act surprised. Her sister had been a half bottle deep in Chardonnay when she’d called Sophie, a
nd had been rambling on about how they’d been dating three weeks and hadn’t had sex.

  Sophie only hoped Brynn hadn’t heard her sigh of relief at that crucial revelation. Not that anything would come of it, but Sophie’s mind was at ease knowing she hadn’t been having sex dreams about the guy her sister was actually having sex with.

  Yes, sex dreams about Grayson Wyatt.

  Talk about a nightmare.

  A really hot nightmare.

  The instructor motioned to Sophie to tilt her pelvis up and Sophie nearly moaned as images of last night’s dream flashed through her mind.

  Gray’s head lowering to her neck.

  Her hands tugging at his belt.

  His lips on her—

  “Sophie, loosen your hips,” the instructor scolded. “Watch Margaret. You see how her lower body is open? You look closed-off.”

  Eighty-year-old Margaret looked seconds away from a yoga-induced orgasm.

  Sophie nearly whimpered.

  She surreptitiously checked the clock in the corner of the room. Only five more minutes and she could get her Friday night started. As usual, she had a truly exciting night awaiting her. Wine, a new romance novel featuring a surly duke, a nice salad. If she was feeling productive, maybe a little self-pedicure.

  Finally the torture ended.

  She smiled at the older lady next to her as they rolled up their mats. “You have great form,” Sophie said. “I haven’t seen you in here before, have I?”

  “This my first class, but I’ve been doing yoga DVDs for years. And I practice daily. I’m heading over to the Pilates class after this, if you want to join.”

  “Well, that sounds…” Awful. “…lovely, but I do believe I hear a nice Merlot calling my name.”

  The Merlot was actually in her gym bag. Along with a bottle of Chianti. Which pretty much meant she should be signing up for AA about now, but it’s not like she was actually drinking the bottles at the gym. She just hadn’t had anywhere else to put them after Will dropped them off at her office. He got a killer discount from an ex-girlfriend and was always hooking Sophie up with new vintages.

  “Oh, I don’t drink the alcohol,” the fitness freak was saying. “I prefer a nice cup of green tea.”

  Of course you do, Sophie thought.

  As if anyone needed any further proof that she wasn’t cut out for this yoga business, Sophie hadn’t rolled up her mat tightly enough and couldn’t snap the buckles around it. The flexible, antibooze grandma had to help her.

  Finally she was on her way out of the hellhole, her body begging for a hot bath and her baggiest clothes, when she realized she couldn’t find her keys in her purse. Sophie groaned as she remembered she’d last used them to open the printer toner box this afternoon.

  Which meant the keys were likely sitting on her office desk.

  So much for the imminent bubble bath.

  Sophie trudged back toward the office, praying that the security guard would be around to let her in.

  How had her Friday devolved from perfect to crappy?

  When she’d left her house that morning, she’d felt great. And looked great. The guy behind her at Starbucks had bought her latte, and she’d had a blind date set up for that evening. Then she’d gotten to the office and received an actual compliment from Gray on the report she’d put together on the potential Blackwell deal.

  But within the span of a couple hours, she’d spilled coffee on her dress, her date had canceled on her, and Gray hadn’t spoken to her the rest of the day.

  So now she had crotch sweat from yoga, her only date was a fictional duke, and she had to go back to the miserable office, where her boss had likely put another pile of work on her desk. At least she had the wine on hand.

  She might suck at everything else, but she was pretty sure she’d make a kick-ass alcoholic if she put her mind to it.

  The security guard was none too happy to be pulled away from his paperback, but Ralph was willing enough to let Sophie into the office once she promised home-baked chocolate chip cookies on Monday morning.

  If only all men could be managed so easily.

  Sophie found her keys buried beneath the expected pile of new work. She was contemplating “accidentally” knocking the files into the recycling bin when she heard the rustle of papers. She glanced toward Gray’s office, startled to see a lamp on, despite it being well after business hours.

  And there was Gray.

  Apparently she wasn’t the only one whose Friday night had a faint whiff of loser. Except that her boss wasn’t here because he’d forgotten something. In fact, he looked like he’d never left, and was hunched in the same position as when she’d left a few hours ago.

  He looked…lonely.

  Sophie’s stomach clenched. At least she knew Brynn was cozy at home, drowning her sorrows in ice cream with her girlfriends.

  Gray had no one.

  She glanced at her watch. It was nearly seven. If she hurried, she could probably make it home in time to see whatever trashy reality show was geared toward single women with no plans on a Friday night.

  Gray still hadn’t seen her, so it wasn’t like he’d know that she’d abandoned him to a Friday night even more pathetic than hers. Sophie might be alone, but at least she wasn’t working. She tugged her wine-stuffed yoga bag farther up her shoulder and quietly picked up her keys. Should she say hello? What if he just wanted some peace and quiet?

  Or worse, what if he didn’t want to be alone?

  Maybe she’d just pop her head in and say hi. He’d probably be horrified to realize she existed outside the hours between nine and five, but she couldn’t just sneak away.

  He turned his head slightly to grab another file and her heart lurched as she saw his profile. He didn’t just look lonely. He looked sad.

  And if there was anything Sophie couldn’t turn her back on, it was a sad creature. She clenched her fingers around the keys, inexplicably nervous.

  “Gray?” she called out, as though she’d just now realized there was someone else in the building. His head snapped around as he spotted her through the glass wall, and she was relieved to see that while he didn’t quite smile at her (that would be a first), neither did he look annoyed at the interruption.

  “What are you still doing here?” she asked, moving toward his office and leaning against his doorway. “It’s seven o’clock.”

  “Working,” he replied, gesturing to the stack of files and his laptop.

  “Have you eaten?” She didn’t know why she asked. She’d only meant to say hello and make sure he wasn’t, you know…like suicidal or something.

  But close-up, he looked even more lonely and pathetic than she’d expected.

  “Eaten?” he repeated.

  “Yes, Gray, food. Normal people consume it to give them energy, joy, maybe a little extra padding around the middle?”

  He stared at her, and she had the unsettling feeling that it had been a really long time since someone had cared about whether or not he’d had anything to eat.

  She sighed. “I’ll order pizza. You’re not a freaking vegetarian or something, are you?”

  “You saw me eat chicken at your parents’ house.”

  “Well, sure, but I also watched you drink black coffee, which I know you hate. I hardly think getting verbal confirmation of your eating habits is unwarranted.”

  “I don’t need any pizza. I can eat when I get home.”

  “Which would be, what? Frozen dinner? Scrambled eggs? Please. It’s Friday night. Come on, humor me. I can’t indulge in a meat lover’s combo alone.”

  “You’re eating pizza? Here? With me?”

  “Why not?” she said with a shrug.

  At least this pizza would totally be guilt-free. Calories didn’t count when you were just feeding your lonely boss.

  Once again, the thought of Gray being lonely caused a funny fluttering in her stomach, which she chalked up to hunger pangs. Thirty minutes later she was down in the lobby, tipping the pizza boy and eag
erly inhaling the scent of Romio’s house special.

  Trying not to drool, she stopped by the office kitchen to grab some paper plates and napkins. As an afterthought, she also grabbed a fork and knife because Gray seemed the fastidious type.

  Sophie paused and remembered her gym bag.

  Oh, why the hell not? She grabbed a corkscrew that some of the sales guys kept around for spontaneous in-office happy hours. Pizza went better with wine, as did awkwardly intimate dinners with one’s stilted boss. Armed with a bottle of red and a box of greasy heaven, Sophie walked back into Gray’s office without knocking.

  His eyes flicked to the pizza box. Then to the wine. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t go all prudish on me,” she said as she set the box on the corner of his desk. “It’s a Friday night, and I fully intend to enjoy this bottle of wine even if it’s not on my couch like I’d planned.”

  “Nobody asked you to stay, and I certainly didn’t ask you to bring your booze.”

  She must have become immune to him, because she didn’t even get riled at his lack of gratitude.

  “Oh, so you don’t want me to share?” she asked innocently as she wrestled with the ancient corkscrew.

  His answer was to stand and pull the bottle and opener out of her hands. His big hands proceeded to open it like a pro before pouring liberally into two plastic cups. Her lady parts purred. Now this was a Gray she could start to like.

  Sophie handed him a plate with two pieces of pizza before selecting a slice for herself. Just one, she thought as she mentally counted the calories. Her metabolism was pretty good, and supposedly the hellish yoga helped to keep her backside from wobbling. But even the best of genes would struggle to overcome these puddles of grease.

  “So what are you working on?” she asked once they’d settled into chairs.

  “You’re going to make me converse, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Absolutely. It’ll help build your character. Oh, and here, I brought you a fork. I figured a tidy man like yourself wouldn’t approve of eating with his hands.”