10. Then
TEN
then
Grayson’s green eyes searched mine for a long moment.
I didn’t know what he was looking for, but he seemed to find it. After a breathless beat, his face broke into the rueful grin I liked best. “Guess I’ve been distracted.”
He shrugged and started cutting up his waffle as though he hadn’t just admitted to having a crush on me for a month.
Of all the discoveries I’d made about him so far, his calm confidence was slowly becoming one of my favorites. He was generally quiet but spoke his mind easily, even when his thoughts betrayed his feelings. It made me feel like I knew him.
But there was still so much to learn.
He chewed his first bite and nodded at my school bag. “What year are you? I’m a senior at Columbia. Finance.” His gaze dropped to his lap for a brief second. “And, um, Architecture. But that’s more of a personal interest than a career path.”
Two majors? Great. He’s too beautiful and too brilliant .
“I go to NYU,” I replied. “I’m a junior.”
Genuine interest glimmered in his green eyes. “Studying?”
“Oh. Um. English. I’m going to try to get a job for an ad agency or a marketing firm after school. But I love books, so…”
His reassuring smile made my stomach flip. “Maybe you’ll write one someday. Or work in publishing.”
A blush crept over my face as I thought of the four unfinished novels sitting on my laptop. “Me and every other barista in Greenwich,” I mumbled, digging into my food. “Thank you for dinner, by the way.”
He nodded, inhaling another bite of his waffle. “This is good,” he told me, pointing with his fork. “I’ve never eaten chocolate for dinner before.”
That didn’t surprise me. Everything about him—from the way he dressed to the way he held his knife—exuded wealth .
Not just money. Lots of people had money. They wore flashy clothes and threw black AmEx’s around. That wasn’t Grayson. His dignified air hinted at more than just a bottom line in someone’s bank account.
He had breeding . Refinement. Class.
A charming, wealthy, Ivy League guy who looked like a Greek god.
I could not have been more out of my league.
But just in case it wasn’t totally obvious, my stupid mouth blurted, “We ate chocolate for dinner every year on Halloween. My sister was the worst. She almost always ate too much too fast and wound up ruining her costume by getting sick.”
I wanted to sink into a puddle on the floor.
Oh Lord, I did not just say that .
But Grayson grinned. “Is your sister older or younger?”
“Younger. Darcy. She’s fourteen now.”
His intent gaze gave the impression that he was actually interested in my pathetic life. Which—let’s face it—could not be true. But suddenly, I couldn’t seem to shut up.
“She lives in Maryland with my mom. That’s where I grew up. You probably knew I wasn’t from here after what happened last week.”
His smile turned teasing, but his eyes softened. “The map was sort of a giveaway. It takes a while to learn all the neighborhoods, even for natives. I grew up on the Upper East Side, but now I live on the West.”
The Upper East Side. I didn’t know anything about it other than what I’d seen on Gossip Girl—which was a lot of money.
Grayson went on, as if he knew he needed to explain more. “My father’s grandfather started a real estate development firm in the twenties. It does well.” He looked from his work shirt, back at his watch, and over to me. “I’m interning there now, actually.”
That explained all of his very professional—very sexy—outfits. And why he always got on the subway in the Financial District. And why he paid for dinner with a twenty that he peeled off a wad of cash half the size of my fist.
“What does real estate development entail?” I wondered out loud. “Probably a lot of negotiating.”
Gray’s eyes sparked while he looked at me. “Yes. And contracts. Zoning. Construction costs, profit margins.” His favored self-deprecating smile slid back across his lips. “But I mostly just sit in meetings and act like I know what the hell is happening.”
I laughed before I could help it. “C’mon,” I needled. “You can’t be that clueless. They haven’t fired you yet.”
Gray smirked again. “Yet.” Then he shook his head. “Nepotism, right?”
The thought clearly depressed him. And I wasn’t about to argue the point. Instead, I tried a different line of questioning. “Are your siblings involved, too?”
He flashed another grin, as wry as it was gorgeous. “Only child.”
My lungs squeezed while I forgot how to breathe. My brain once again blurted nonsense. “Oh, I see. You’re Spoiled Trust Fund Guy.”
Mortified, my lips clamped shut. But Gray gave a deep, rich laugh. The sound echoed through me in a warm wave, pressing my thighs together.
He regarded me with bright, shifting eyes. “And you’re Quirky Brooklyn Girl.”
I scowled, considering. “Yikes. I work in a coffee shop and everything.”
Gray’s grin widened, overwhelming me with its sheer perfection. “And I spend Christmas in Aspen. Guess we’re both predictable.”
I couldn’t keep a straight face when he smiled at me like that. “Hopelessly,” I agreed.
The more we talked about his parents’ ski chalet, their charity galas, their summers abroad, the more I relaxed. Because, I realized, I really had let my ego get the best of me.
This guy can’t possibly want to sleep with me .
There was no chance he’d ever look at me twice after hearing about my rat-infested student housing in Bushwick and bargain-bin shopping habit. I’d probably never see him again after dinner.
When we both finished our meals, he glanced out at the dark street. “You said you work near here?”
I nodded up Fourth Street. “Six blocks or so. Four Foxes.”
He stood in one graceful push. For a moment, I stared at the way his slacks hung around his?—
“I’ll walk you,” he insisted, grabbing both of our trays and turning to dump our trash in the can behind him. “I like this neighborhood.”
He’s just being gallant , I told myself, trying to steady my breathing. It’s nothing romantic. Just a nice, well-bred guy making sure I don’t get robbed on my way to work.
It was easy enough to tell myself that, but harder to actually believe it, especially when I caught him staring as we stepped out onto the street.
Rush hour had cleared, but the Village was just gearing up. Bodies bustled past each other, and sirens wailed. I could almost make out the echo of steel drums drifting out of Washington Square Park.
We crossed through a throng of taxis. On the other side of Fourth, I saw the sign for the Golden Swan Garden on the corner. Gray caught my wistful look and shot me an inquisitive glance.
“I’ve always wanted to go in there,” I admitted with a regretful shake of my head. “I walk by it all the time.”
Grayson looked over at it, then at me. His glowing green eyes traced the side of my face. “If you want to go in, why don’t you?”
“The sign says it closes at dusk,” I pointed out, gesturing at the darkness around us. “I work nights.”
Grayson fought another smile. He seemed to do that a lot. Almost like he was trying not to laugh at me.
It occurred to me that that ought to be insulting instead of adorable. “Something funny?” I asked tartly, narrowing my gaze at him.
He held up both hands in mock innocence. “Not at all. I just… You’re a rule-follower. And you’re cute. Sometimes, you say things that make me smile.”
My chest squeezed. Don’t panic. You knew he thought you were cute because he asked you to go to dinner. This doesn’t mean he has any interest in you as a woman. Breathe.
“And then,” he went on, turning his eyes toward the sidewalk ahead of us. “Other times, like when you bite your lip or sway those hips of yours, it makes me want to press you against a wall in one of these alleys.”
Oh. My. God.
He shot me another one of his sheepish smirks. “I’d never push my luck, though. It was hard enough getting you to let me buy you that waffle.”
Somehow, I continued to put one foot in front of the other. After a few moments, he glanced over at me again, frowning. “You’re pale.”
Even scowling, his mouth made my heart pound. I wondered what those lips would feel like if I let him take me the way he wanted to. If I let him press his hard body up against mine.
But then I would be between him and a wall. With no way to escape. My stomach seethed at the thought.
I lifted one hand to my head. “Headache,” I lied. “I get them sometimes.”
He looked around us, scanning the shops nearby. “Would water help? Or aspirin?”
I pressed my lips together, hoping my rising panic wouldn’t make my voice shake. “No. It’s fine. I have to get to work anyway.”
Four Foxes was still two blocks away. And I needed Grayson to leave me alone so I’d have time to calm down before I walked into the café.
I stopped on the next corner. “The Christopher Street station is just below us. The 2 will take you back up to the Upper West Side, right?”
“The 1,” he corrected, and then started to protest. “But, Ella, I?—”
“No, seriously,” I interrupted, “It’s okay. I’m good from here.”
His face would torment me later. He looked… confused. Wo unded. And, more than that, he seemed genuinely worried about me.
I couldn’t leave him with nothing, so I reached into my bag and pulled out the blue felt-tipped pen I used to take notes in class. Before I could overthink it, I reached for him.
“Here.” I slid my fingers under his heavy, warm hand and scribbled my phone number right in the middle of his palm. The feel of his skin sent a charge tingling up my arm.
I watched his chest expand on deep breath. “Ella…”
Ella, what are you doing? Ella, I don’t need your number. Ella, this was fun, but…
Our eyes locked when I looked up at him, waiting for him to finish his rejection. But half a breath later, he hooked his arm around my waist.
The heat from his body washed over the front of mine, bathing my breasts and chasing a chill down my back. The smell of him—that warm, expensive musk—strengthened the pull deep in my belly.
I thought the feel of his body would send me spiraling. Instead, it steadied me. My tremors started to fade. When I relaxed against him, the arm around my waist tensed. His hand spread across my hip, flexing restlessly.
Bending closer, Grayson lightly skimmed his lips from my temple to my cheek. I swore the caress echoed between my legs.
His face loomed inches from mine. Our gazes collided again, bewildered blue to smoldering green.
“I’m going to call you,” he murmured. “But I don’t—” Concern flared in his eyes. “I won’t chase you if you don’t want to be caught.”
He really was beautiful and brilliant.
And, suddenly, I really couldn’t breathe.
So I slid out of his grasp and backed up. Flashing my most believable smile, I did my best to convince him—and myself—that I could do this.
“Okay,” I said. “Catch me.”