Chapter 8 Kensie
KENSIE
“Not to alarm you,” Gemma says, sidling up beside me. “But there’s a seriously gorgeous man over there who can’t keep his eyes off you.”
My eyes snap up from the inventory I’ve been doing behind the counter to see Grant standing across the gallery. Just like Gemma said, his eyes are glued to me, and my cheeks immediately heat at the intensity of his gaze.
“You know him,” Gemma practically squeals in my ear. “You should see your face right now! I demand you tell me the story. Have you slept with this man?”
“Be quiet,” I hiss back, eyes darting around the space. We’ve got several potential customers wandering around and the last thing I want to do is cause a scene. “He’s going to hear you.”
Across the room, Grant’s lips quirk up and I get the feeling he already knows exactly what we’re whispering about over here. I sigh as he begins to walk in our direction, all the while trying to pretend a flock of butterflies hasn’t taken flight in my belly.
Why is he here? He’s dropped me off at work a few mornings in the weeks since our intruder fantasy encounter, so he obviously knows where the gallery is, but he has yet to visit me here.
I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Grant says in that deep, rumbly voice that always makes my center clench.
“Well, hello,” Gemma practically coos, and I kick her under the counter. “And who might you be? And, more importantly, how do you know my dear friend Kensie here?’
My gaze locks with Grant and I just know we’re thinking the same thing. Well, boss, we met when I was referred to his services as a Dom and we’ve been fucking in increasingly kinky ways ever since. He smirks and I swear my blush goes ten shades darker.
“We met through a mutual friend,” Grant says, which technically isn’t even a lie. Not that I’d really call Jane a friend. I find the P.I./Domme who introduced us to be terrifying, honestly.
“How lovely,” Gemma says, sounding way too giddy about this whole thing.
She’s been trying to get me to start dating for ages, and I know she’s thrilled at her assumption I’m finally doing just that with the man at our counter.
I want to tell her it’s not like that, but describing what our relationship is actually like to my boss is one hundred percent not happening.
“Kensie mentioned that you might be able to help me source some investment pieces,” he says to my boss.
“But I was hoping she might do the honors and show me around.” He leans in close, dropping his voice to a charming murmur.
“I don’t know shit about art, but I’m hoping Kensie might teach me some things. ”
Gemma’s eyes are wide as saucers, and despite my embarrassment there’s a part of me that wants to laugh. I can’t blame her for being affected by the man. God knows he’s persuaded me to drop my panties on more than one occasion with just the purr of that voice.
“Of course,” she finally manages to squeak out, clearly flustered. “Kensie knows everything about every artist featured here. You’ll definitely be in good hands with her.”
His smirk is positively sinful as he looks over at me. “Oh, I’m sure her hands will treat me just right.”
Oh, dear God. A minute ago, I’d been trying to think of a way to get out of this, but now it’s clear that my first priority needs to be separating Grant from my boss before he tells her all our secrets. I grab his arm and pull him away from the counter.
“What’s the rush, Kense?” he asks. “I’m enjoying getting to know your boss.”
“You want to see the art, let’s go see the art,” I grit out, tugging on his arm.
“It was nice to meet you, Gemma,” he calls back to her.
“Oh, the pleasure was all mine.”
He’s chuckling as I march him over to a deserted corner. “What the hell was that?” I ask once we’re alone.
He shrugs. “What? I was being friendly.”
“You were being charming,” I shoot back. “There’s a difference.”
His face lights up. “Baby, are you jealous?”
“No,” I snap. “Of course not. I just don’t want my boss knowing all my personal business.”
“Relax.” His hand comes up to the back of my neck to rub soothing circles on my skin. “The only thing she knows is that a mysterious man has an obvious thing for you.”
That takes some of the force out of my annoyance. “You have a thing for me?” I squeak, making Grant laugh loud enough to turn several heads.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”
For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me right here in the middle of my workplace. But instead, he takes a step back, dropping his hand from my neck. “I was serious about wanting some art lessons,” he says. “Will you please show me around?”
I’m feeling far too flustered to give him a coherent tour, but I do my best. The weirdest thing happens though—after a few minutes, I stop thinking about how odd it is to have Grant in my professional space so unexpectedly.
I stop thinking about how hot and bothered he always makes me feel.
Once I start talking about the art, my racing mind relaxes, focuses.
And Grant stands by my side as I describe just about every piece in Gemma’s collection. He even asks questions, like he’s really interested, and not just appeasing me. It’s one of the nicest hours I’ve spent in a long time.
“You really know your stuff,” he says eventually. I look over to see his gaze once again locked on my face, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it.
“She’s the best,” Gemma gushes, coming up beside us. “I swear half my clients request her instead of me when they need something sourced.”
My face goes pink. “That’s an exaggeration.”
Gemma shakes her head. “My goal is just to get as much work out of her as I can before she gets snapped up to do private consulting. Or opens her own gallery.”
The idea of me ever owning my own gallery is so preposterous that I have to laugh. Neither of them join in.
“You must have worked up quite an appetite with all that walking around the gallery,” she says in a falsely casual voice. “How about the two of you head out to get some lunch?”
I stare at her. “Gemma, I took my lunch break two hours ago.”
She scoffs. “I saw that pathetic frozen single serve meal you call a lunch. I’m sure this handsome gentleman would love to buy you something more substantial.”
“But…” I stutter, all my embarrassment rushing back. “I’m working!”
She waves, unconcerned. “Take the rest of the day.”
“Gemma, that’s—” But she’s already shooing me to the door. Grant follows, a huge grin on his face.
“Go, go,” Gemma urges. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” From the look in her eye, I have the feeling she’s going to give me the fourth degree in the morning. Great.
“Nice to meet you, Gemma,” Grant says. “Thanks for this.”
“Just show my girl a good time.” Then she winks at him. Actually winks. I wish I could fall through the floor.
“I like her,” Grant says, laughing as he leads me out onto the sidewalk.
I grumble in annoyance.
A late lunch with Grant is way more enjoyable than it should be.
I expected him to take me to another high-end restaurant, like the one we visited that night he asked to take a larger role as my Dom.
But the place we end up feels more like a dive, a little hole in the wall in the arts district that promises a margarita special to go along with our Mexican food.
We both order street tacos, fish for me and birria for him.
The waiter brings over endless tortilla baskets and the best damn guacamole I’ve ever tasted.
Grant tells me about his day and the idiot intern he’s been trying to train as a favor to the kid’s father, someone Grant apparently has a lot of respect for.
“I’m gonna have to tell him it’s a hopeless cause,” he says, topping up my glass from the margarita pitcher. “The kid might be able to understand even a quarter of what I’m saying if he wasn’t out doing MDMA every night of the week.”
I shake my head. “Rich kids.”
Grant laughs. “Sometimes, I feel like I should thank my deadbeat dad for leaving me and my mom when I was a kid. She had to work way too fucking hard over the years, but at least it taught me the value of effort, of making something of myself.”
“I didn’t know your dad left,” I said softly.
He shrugs. “We were better off. He was an asshole. And my mom is the shit.” His face lights up, making him look more boyish than I’ve ever seen him.
It’s adorable. “The best thing about making my first million was being able to buy her a house and retire her.” He chuckles.
“Now she spends her days obsessing over her garden and meeting for boozy lunches with her book club.”
There’s no denying that this side of Grant is incredibly appealing. He clearly loves his mother very much, and I have the vague thought of sending her a gift basket to thank her for raising such a good guy.
But then he has to go and ruin my soft feelings.
“What about your parents? Are you close?”
Just like that my stomach drops, all the warmth going out of the conversation. “We, um, don’t speak much.”
He waits, watching my face. I don’t want to go on, don’t want to explain the messy relationship. Our situations couldn’t be more different. While Grant was abandoned by his abusive father, I’m the one who messed up my parents’ lives.
“We were close when I was young,” I finally manage to say.
“My parents own a dairy farm. I helped out as much as I could, so we spent a lot of time together.” I grab my water glass and take a sip, trying to relieve the sudden dryness in my mouth.
“Then I got married and we moved out of state. My ex…um…he didn’t like me to be in contact with them.
It was part of his control.” And like the spineless coward I am, I allowed him to cut me off from the people who had loved and cared for me my whole life.
Grant’s hand comes down on my thigh, firm and reassuring. “And since the divorce?”