Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
EARN BACK HER TRUST
Connor
Lauren
We broke up and now you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t get it but I guess I have to learn to be alright with it. But will you please tell me if you’re okay? You ran out of the office this morning in a panic. I’ve called Drew and Reagan but they’re not responding either. I’m worried, Connor.
Me
I’m sorry. I promise I’m okay.
Can I call you later tonight so we can talk?
Lauren
Of course. I’ll be up. I want to talk to you.
The pressure in my chest releases. Do I know what I’m going to say to her? Not entirely, but I can’t run from it anymore.
I slide my phone into my pocket as Gretchen serpentines through the restaurant on her way back from the restroom.
She stepped out of the bedroom earlier and I almost kissed her.
No warning, no context, just damn near swept her into my arms and kissed her.
The light pink dress atop her olive-toned skin that hugs every curve from her chest down over her narrow hips and around to her backside had me weak in the knees.
The slit that opens over her right lower thigh is far from scandalous, but visions of another dress with a slit that sent my hands sweeping up the bare skin of her leg came to mind and I had to force those thoughts away.
Gretchen strides toward me from across the restaurant, the image of a goddess in perfect form. Her high heels give her legs for days on her five-seven frame.
A simple pair of diamond stud earrings are her only adornment.
Even her makeup is simple, the beauty of her natural skin shining through the faint layer of color she’s swept across her cheeks and eyelids.
She never tries to hide the light freckles dotting her nose. No fake lashes. No bold lip color.
She’s stunning with so little effort it utterly captivates me.
Gretchen lowers to her seat as she loops her loosely waved hair around to one shoulder, leaving her neck and collarbone on the other side exposed, less the narrow strap of her dress.
A noticeable breath pulls from deep in her chest before she releases it. Dropping the white cloth napkin to her lap, her gaze settles over her place setting before she nervously fidgets with the silverware.
I think she’s hiding something. Drew’s words from earlier slam into me. He’s trusting me to be here for her.
It’s not lost on me that the one person who probably shouldn’t trust me around his sister is the one who’s put all of his trust in me.
Meanwhile, the one person I want to trust me the most in the world feels like she’s slipping through my fingers, scared to give me these pieces of herself again because I didn’t tend to them the way I should’ve the last time.
Make her comfortable. Earn back her trust .
“Tell me more about this job,” I say.
Her shoulders relax a bit as she replies, “It’s an Executive Assistant position for one of the Buyers in the shoe department.”
“What exactly does a Buyer do?”
She takes a sip of water as I spin my own glass in my hand. “Buyers decide what items the store is going to carry. It’s a lot of shopping different designer merchandise, testing products and consumer research.”
“And you’d be involved in all that stuff?”
“Mmm,” she says with a shrug. “Yes and no. It’ll be a lot of paperwork and managing orders mostly. But assistants get to test out potential inventory sometimes, so I guess there could be a lot of beautiful shoes in my future.” She smiles and it’s the first moment I sense her guard dropping.
“Did you get to take a lot of inventory home when you worked there last semester?”
She chuckles. “No. I worked for the Buyer in the Men’s Sportswear department. Not much for me to test out. Plus, I was only an intern, so it was mostly grunt work for me.”
The waiter returns to the table and pours us each a glass of white wine. Gretchen eyes the bottle nervously as he leaves it on the table and walks away.
Leaning forward, she whispers, “Did you order this?”
“I did. Do you not like white wine? We can order something different if you want.”
“No, I do. It’s fine. Thank you.” She takes a tentative sip as the tension returns to her body, walls resurrecting, brick by brick.
“Gretchen, just so we’re clear, this meal is on me.”
“No, Connor. I am paying for dinner. You didn’t ask for any of this and I already planned to pay for it anyway.”
She means that I didn’t ask to be thrown onto a plane with only a few hours’ notice. She assumes that, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be here. She’s wrong. But even if she wasn’t, I’d still want to pay for her dinner.
“There’s no way I’m letting you buy me dinner,” I say through a humorless laugh as I peruse the menu .
“What is that?” she says, distaste lacing her words.
“What is what?”
“That,” she says so pointedly I can almost feel an invisible finger pressed into the center of my chest. “That condescending, male ego thing. You did it earlier about the sofa bed. I can pay for my meal as well as yours. Shocker, I know.”
Our gazes lock until the server returns to take our order.
“Look,” I say, watching the waiter’s back for a moment before fixing my attention back on her. “I’m sorry if I came off arrogant or…domineering. I know you’re capable and self-sufficient and you don’t need me.”
Her chin lowers, brows pinched as she swallows hard.
“And, for the record,” I continue, “I know I didn’t ask to be here.” Her eyes lift to mine. “But of all the people who could be here with you, I’m glad it’s me.”
I see it then—that flicker of hurt that still remains.
She wants to cry, but I know Gretchen. She’s strong and stoic, almost to a fault.
For a girl who cries easily, she doesn’t give her tears over to just anybody.
If you’re not in her inner circle, she’ll hold on to those tears.
She’ll blink them away all while pretending that everything is okay.
My heart splinters right down the middle, when she does exactly that.
“Gretch, if you’ll let me, I’d like to buy you dinner.”
The fact that it sounds like I’m asking her out on a date doesn’t stop me. A flurry of thoughts cross her expression in waves like the light bouncing off a disco ball.
If I say yes, does that make this a date? Does he want it to be a date? Why now? Why not then?
It’s time for a subject change. I can’t let my regrets or her spiraling thoughts dampen this night before the entrees even arrive.
Make her comfortable. Earn back her trust.
“We don’t have to decide right now. Tell me about your friend that was supposed to come with you. Drew said she was your roommate?”
Gretchen’s face twitches as she reaches for her wine glass. She empties it in three gulps before placing the glass back on the table and bringing a fist to her mouth as she forces the last bit down her throat.
God, I must be batting a negative thousand at this point. I cock my head, concern mounting. “Gretch, what’s going on?”
Cheeks flushed and hands trembling, she swipes the wine bottle and pours another glass. I reach out and lay a hand over her arm before she can toss it back.
“I’m not going to watch you get yourself drunk just so you can avoid talking to me. Tell me what’s going on. Please.”
I follow her gaze to where my fingers have circled around her wrist.
She pulls her arm away, whispering, “I lied to Drew. My roommate was never coming.”
“Okay,” I exhale as I lean back in my seat.
“So, the resort, the room…” My voice trails off, thoughts searching.
After several drawn out seconds, I lean forward, forearms on the table.
“Drew said you split the cost with your roommate and then she had to bail. But you’re saying that you paid for it all from the beginning? ”
She nods. “And before you jump in and demand to pay for half, just save your breath. It’s already done.”
I drag a hand down my face. Five nights at that resort must have cost her a fortune. She’s fresh out of college and not even working yet.
“Why plan a trip, fake your friend bailing and then ask Drew to come? Why not plan the whole thing together and split the cost?”
“Because…” Her voice fades, eyes glassy.
“ I needed to plan this trip. I didn’t want his input or his questions.
I needed to do this for me, on my terms.” She shakes her head.
“And it wasn’t about the money. I’d been planning this for a long time and I always imagined being here with…
someone else. I love my brother, but he wasn’t my first choice,” she confesses, the last part coming on a hushed breath.
Jealousy that I have no right to feel burns inside me. “Who was your first choice?”
She reaches for her wine glass, her answer hidden behind lowered lashes. “It doesn’t matter,” she says .
“Gretch.” I duck my head, begging for her to look at me. “What is this all about?”
I think she’s hiding something. The apprehension that stirs in my stomach morphs to dread the longer she doesn’t respond.
“It’s not a vacation,” she finally says to the napkin in her lap.
“Gretch, look at me. Please.” Her head lifts, her features displaying a confidence that I know is all for show. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”
Over a taut silence, her wistful eyes search mine for any hint of malice or dishonesty. She won’t find any. No matter what it is—however crazy or scary or illegal, even—it doesn’t matter because I’ll take it to my grave if she asks me to.
I’ll do anything for her.
“I found my birth mom.”