Chapter 19
nineteen
I cannot deal with Grayson’s shit.
Specifically, his absolutely sickening adoration for his fiancée.
Who, sure, looks damn fine in some vintage orange mini-dress and thigh-high white boots. A look Ella mysteriously carries off without looking like a go-go dancer who charges by the hour.
Admirable. But surely not justification for Grayson’s googly eyes.
He watches her saunter up to the bar, his gaze saturated with devotion and possessiveness. “God. Those boots.”
Ella has a well-known penchant for ugly shoes, and these are no exception. Straight out of the seventies, the boots’ only redeeming quality falls somewhere around the bare strip of skin at the back of her thighs. Since I’m not allowed to ogle my best friend’s future wife, the shoes find no such redemption in my eyes.
“They are hideous,” I announce.
Grayson smiles, delighted. “I know. I love them.”
Christ . After another sleepless night and another trip to Chris’s dorm room at two in the morning—this time with gyros—I really don’t have the stomach for his mooning.
I take a long sip of my drink. “Never pegged you for a shoe fetish.”
His eyes glue themselves to her hemline. “Not shoes. Ella.”
Glowering, I search for something— anything —else to focus on. It’s too dark to see shit, though. I know we had to choose a place that’s too dark for other people to take photos, but this feels extreme.
Anotheroom —the trendy bar-slash-lounge in SoHo that Ella selected for the evening—doesn’t believe in lightbulbs. Small gas lamps give off just enough light to see the faces of whoever gathers around the tabletops or sits at the counter. People walking in the aisle between the bistro tables and the bar are no more than silhouettes.
At least they serve decent scotch.
“So, have you made much headway this week?”
Grayson’s off-handed question feels like a trap. Do I tell him no and play it cool? Or tell him I’ve spent the better part of two days banging my head against the wall, trying to figure out my next moves?
I pick at the seam of my lapel. “I’ve made enough.”
Grayson drinks his gin and tonic, eyeing me shrewdly. “It’s good to admit when you don’t know what to do. I had to learn that the hard way a few times. Feigning competence in the name of saving face doesn’t get you very far when the rubber meets the road.”
Sighing, I down more scotch. “I’m a bit out of my depth with the start-up side of the equation. But your contract is done, and I have your trades ready to lock in before lunch tomorrow.”
“Good.” He gives a nod, reaching into the gray tweed jacket of his suit and extracting a folded sheaf of papers from some pocket. “Here. I wrote out a list of everything I could think of to help you get going and included all the contacts I could, and the rates we have with each. Use my name, and you should get the same rates.”
In layman’s terms: He’s throwing me a lifeline. And he took time away from all of his own work—and his fiancée—to help my dumb ass.
The gesture humbles me. I can’t look him in the eye as I take the bundle of information. “Thanks, man.”
He slaps me on the shoulder. “You’re welcome. Don’t get too grateful, though. It’s a shitload of work. Don’t try to do it all at once.”
He wanders over to Ella to help her carry our drinks. It’s sort of hard not to stare. The purity of their connection bewilders me. Witnessing their relationship in the wild is like spotting a unicorn in the middle of Manhattan.
An eruption of giggles turns my head. Three women trail in off the street, pausing to shuck their coats in the doorway.
Juliet .
My body snaps to life instantly. Muscles tighten warily while my prick hardened in my trousers.
Goddamn it .
I haven’t seen her since our last meeting yesterday. But the time apart accomplished nothing. If anything, I want her more now.
Especially in that dress.
It isn’t quite as cruel as the red one she had on when we met, but it’s close. Another garment perfectly fitted to every delectable dip and curve. The neckline doesn’t reveal as much, but the divided skirt falls higher on her legs, offering an enticing slash of thigh with each step she takes.
As ever, she walks with purposeful strides and a seductive sway to her hips. As soon as she spots Ella at the bar, a breathtaking grin breaks over her features. She gives an animated wave, and Ella waves back before turning and pointing to our table.
To me , at our table.
All three girls stop short. Beatrice’s expression darkens while the wedding planner’s—Amy? Ashley? Antoinette? —freezes in a careful mask.
For her part, Juliet trails her eyes down my entire body and back up again, pausing on the details of today’s three-piece suit. Emerald cashmere, with a peacock-patterned vest and matching blue tie.
For the seventh day in a row, I’ve tucked the red pocket square into the front of the jacket. I try not to let myself think about why too much. Though I suspect it has everything to do with Juliet.
The woman makes me feel nearly invincible—like maybe she could be my one and only weakness. An unsettling notion that gives me more confidence than ever in her absence and completely fucks me over whenever she comes into a room.
While the other ladies hesitate, amusement lights Juliet’s expression. She shakes her head and closes the length of the bar between us with slow, languorous steps.
Her long glossy hair catches the dim light from our table’s gas lamp, shimmering in a dark curtain that frames the swell of her tits. The thin gold belt around her waist winks at me.
My fingers twitch as I fight the urge to trace over the metal links. Would they be cold from the wind… or warm from the heat of her body?
I remember the way she felt around my fingers—so hot and soft. Perfection. Would she be as wet if I touched her again? Would she grip me the way she did before?
She’s the only woman who’s ever taken me to the brink with such ease. I’ve spent every night since with my hand wrapped around my dick, imagining what other magic she might wield.
Her sardonic smirk sends a foreign burst of warmth through my chest. “ Pinchao ,” she sighs, eyeing my outfit with a look of mock solemnity. “We have got to talk about these clothes.”
A smile steals across my face. “You like the green?”
Her topaz gaze glimmers. “You look like you robbed a leprechaun. And how many peacocks had to die to make that vest?”
I take a sip of my drink to hide my grin. “Twelve.”
She rolls her eyes at my dumb joke. “ Dios ,” she mutters. “It’s brighter than any of the lights in this place.”
“Not as bright as Ella’s boots, though.” I notice her hands are empty. “You don’t want a drink?”
Part of me hopes she says no. If she doesn’t drink, I can stop fantasizing about getting her tipsy and putting my hand back up her skirt. I glance at her lap, wondering if she has any panties on today.
She squirms, smoothing her hands over her thighs before settling them over her skirt. “Tris is grabbing me something.”
“What do you drink?”
Why do I give a fuck?
Why do I want to know her favorite drink, her favorite foods, her favorite places?
Juliet seems to be asking herself the same questions. Her black brows knit. “Red wine.” She looks at my glass. “Let me guess—scotch?”
I may not know her, but she seems to know me. And, for the love of God, how does that make me hard?
I can’t stop my idiotic questions. “What kind of red wine?”
Juliet shrugs. “I’ll drink whatever Tris picks.”
But what does she want? That seems important . I’m annoyed I won’t find out.
To distract myself, I chance a glimpse down the front of her neckline, but her bright eyes catch mine instead. True to form, neither of us look away, each refusing to back down.
The hum of our sexual tension gradually fills the silence. Like static with a dial that someone keeps nudging. Higher… and higher… and higher. Until it blocks out anything but her, and the thick, burning pulse she pushes through my veins.
It eclipses my self-control. Obliterates all thoughts of maintaining my apathy or staying professional. I know right then, in one crystallized moment, that this fight is pointless.
Over, really.
I’ve already lost.
Her tongue slowly rolls over her lower lip as her gaze roams over my mouth. I can read every dirty thought flickering in her eyes; she wants my lips back on hers, my body pinning her again.
I clench my hand in my pocket, fighting the urge to lunge forward, sweep her up, and carry her out into the alley. Right now, I could fuck her in front of every person in SoHo just to show them how badly she wants me. Just to have her once .
Juliet breaks our stand-off first, turning just in time for Ella to throw her arms around her like they’re old friends.
My best friend’s fiancée then sets another scotch in front of me. She grins. “For you, shithead.”
Juliet’s husky laughter sends a fresh ache through my raging cock. She laughs harder than I’ve ever heard before and I can’t look away.
She squeezes Ella’s arm. “I knew I liked you,” Juliet tells her, cutting an electric glance at me.
“It’s my nickname for him,” Ella replies. “Though Grayson told me you have your own.”
Juliet’s expression turns sly. Sparks light her tawny eyes. “Only when he gets under my skin,” she returns. “Which is often, I’ll admit.”
Under her skin . My mouth waters even as I clasp my pocket harder, disgusted with myself.
The woman turns me into a rabid beast, literally salivating at the thought of shoving inside her. I want to punish her for it, somehow.
I almost taunt her by telling them my pet name for her , but I don’t want anyone else to hear it. The term I meant as a jab has become some sort of twisted endearment. It feels private. Embarrassing, almost.
I miss my moment. Grayson arrives with another gin and tonic for himself, a glass of champagne for Ella, and a bottle of merlot with three glasses.
Tris begins chatting away, pouring for herself and her friends. I put concerted effort into focusing on her face—the upturned nose, her wide smile and unique hazel eyes—hoping that I’ll experience some twinge of attraction. Anything to distract me from the buzz of energy radiating in the space between my seat and Jules.
No such luck. Tris is hot. I see it, but didn’t feel it.
After Ella and the wedding planner— Alice , as it turns out—squeal over wedding details while Grayson dutifully smiles along, the subject finally turns elsewhere. Tris mentions their new townhome and compliments Juliet on her expedited work.
“She is good,” I put in, hearing the begrudging tone in my voice. Even before Grayson’s quizzical eyes meet mine across the table, I hasten to cover my tracks, “For someone who likes to call me names.”
Tris pulls a face, clearly implying that everyone would like to call me names; most just didn’t have the balls. She turns back to Jules.
“Seriously,” she goes on. “I couldn’t believe it when I opened the portal this morning and saw all the documents completed. I came by your desk to take you out for a thank-you lunch, but Dominic beat me to you.”
Grayson stills with his glass halfway to his mouth. His face remains smooth; if I didn’t know him so well, I might not notice the censure lurking in his eyes. “Carter takes you to lunch?”
Beside me, Juliet stares at her fingers as she swirls the dregs of her third glass of wine. Tension replaces the sensual energy radiating from her body into mine.
My hackles rise. What did that motherfucker pull? The very first day all week that I’m not there, and he made her go to lunch with him?
Before I know what I’m about, my left hand creeps into the neutral zone between our bodies, resting lightly against her thigh where no one can see it. Her jaw clenches at the contact, but a second later she scoots ever-so-slightly closer.
“He didn’t take me to lunch. He just had some things he wanted to discuss with me in his office,” she finally says, offering a tight smile. “Some scheduling issues. I might need to come in to work with him a couple of weekend days. No biggie.”
Weekend days? Disgust simmers in my stomach at the thought of the two of them alone in the office. The hand pressed against her leg balls into a fist.
Grayson is pissed, too. Ella notices, casting me a nervous glance. When she sees my face, her lips thin.
“I’ll speak with him,” my best friend announces mildly, taking a long draft of gin. “Multiple people have vouched for your hard work and efficiency, Juliet. If there’s so much work to do that you can’t get it all done during the workweek, he should delegate to the other juniors or have a conversation with me about hiring more staff. There’s no reason for him to drag you in on the weekends. Or your lunch hour, for that matter.”
Thank fuck.
Jesus . Why do I care ?
Grayson’s arm winds around his fiancée’s waist and pulls her closer to him. She offers a smile, instantly dissolving his frown.
“All right, boss man,” she teases, grabbing him by the tie. “I think you and I should scram. Let all of your employees talk trash about you for a while. It’s good for company morale.”
Ella truly does make my friend laugh unlike anyone else. “Excellent suggestion, as always,” he chuckles. Then, to us, “I left the tab open for everyone. Have a few more rounds on me.”
The last look he gives me could only be described as a warning. “See you tomorrow,” he says, raising a sharp brow at the hand I have under the table. “Behave yourself, Everett.”