Chapter 7 #2
“Careful,” he murmured, his face suddenly much closer to mine.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, though I didn’t pull away from his touch. “Just turned too quickly.”
“Right.” His gaze held mine. “Perhaps we should call it a night. The party is winding down, anyway. We already prepped the clean up crew with instructions.”
As if to prove his point, guests departed through the glass doors leading back to the terrace.
“But we have to stay until the end,” I protested. “We’re the planners.”
“The staff knows what to do. We’ve left very detailed instructions. And you’re in no condition to oversee the breakdown.”
“I’m not that drunk,” I argued, even as I swayed again.
His eyebrow rose. “How did you get here tonight?”
“I drove.”
“Then I’m driving you home,” he said decisively.
“That’s unnecessary. I can get an Uber.”
“It’s nearly midnight on a Saturday. You’ll be waiting forever. I’m driving you home, Landry. End of discussion.”
The commanding tone sent an unexpected shiver through me, triggering a flash of memory from our night together months ago. The way he’d used that same tone in a very different context. The way I’d responded to it.
“Fine,” I conceded, hoping he’d attribute the flush in my cheeks to the alcohol. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”
“Uh huh,” he said, clearly not believing me for a second.
After a quick round of goodbyes to Lia and Manny and confirming with the head server that everything was under control, Hudson guided me through the hotel to the parking garage. His warm hand remained at the small of my back.
“Nice car,” I commented as we approached his sleek dark blue Lexus. “Very on-brand for you. Practical but expensive.”
“Thank you, I think.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Try not to throw up in it.”
“I’m not going to throw up,” I muttered as I slid into the seat. “I’m a dignified drunk.”
“We’ll see,” he murmured, closing the door.
Once he was behind the wheel, he turned to me. “Address?”
My mind went completely blank. “Um...”
“Your address, Landry. Where do you live?”
“I know what an address is, asshole.”
I knew this. Of course, I knew this. I just... couldn’t quite access the information at the moment. I’d only lived there a couple of months, and it wasn’t like I got mail often.
“It’s in Lincoln Park,” I said confidently. “On... a street. With buildings.”
Hudson sighed. “That narrows it down to about a quarter of the city.”
“I’ll recognize it when I see it?” I offered.
“What were you planning on telling the Uber driver?”
“I don’t know.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is it on your phone? Can you look it up?”
I rummaged through my clutch and pulled out my phone, but it was dead. “No juice. Charger?”
He glanced at my phone and then shook his head. “Not one that would work for your phone.” Hudson stared at me for a long moment. “You don’t know your own address, and you have no way of looking it up.”
“In my defense, I just moved there a few months ago.”
“Brilliant.”
“Hey, this isn’t my fault,” I protested. “Okay, it’s a little my fault. But I’m usually very responsible.”
“I’m sure.”
“I am!” I insisted. “Ask anyone. I’m the fun responsible one. Anica is the uptight responsible one. I’m the one who remembers to bring snacks and knows where the nearest bar is.”
“Very useful skills.”
“They are! Life skills. People skills.” I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Which you could use more of, Mr. I-Need-Everything-Perfect-All-The-Time.”
“Yeah, I’ll definitely take the advice of a drunk woman who doesn’t know her own address.”
“Stop being an asshole, asshole.”
He sighed again, deeper this time. “Look, I can’t leave you here, and I can’t drive around Chicago all night hoping you’ll recognize your apartment building. So we have two options: a hotel, or my place until you sober up enough to remember your address.”
The thought of going to either was a little too enticing. “Your place?”
“It’s not far from here. You can sleep it off in my guest room, and we’ll figure out where you live in the morning.”
“How gentlemanly,” I said, unable to resist teasing him. “Are you sure you don’t have ulterior motives?”
His jaw tightened. “Despite what you might think of me, I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women.”
“That’s not what I—” I started, feeling suddenly guilty. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was joking.”
“Well, it wasn’t funny.” He pulled out of the parking space.
We drove in silence for several minutes, the alcohol in my system making me feel alternately giddy and remorseful. I hadn’t meant to imply anything about his character. If anything, I knew from our one night together that Hudson was nothing but respectful, despite his dominant tendencies.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said as we stopped at a red light. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
He glanced at me. “It’s fine. You’re drunk.”
“Not an excuse. And I’m not that drunk.” I straightened in my seat to prove it. “Just... pleasantly tipsy.”
“Can you remember where you live now?”
“Shut up.”
The light changed, and he accelerated smoothly. “Uh huh.”
I watched the city lights blur past, feeling the pleasant buzz of champagne and the strange comfort of being in Hudson’s car.
“You know,” I said after a while, “we never finished our conversation about Lia and Manny’s proposal.”
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“But what do you really think? Do you want to work with me?”
He glanced at me briefly. “I think we could create something impressive together. But that depends on whether we can maintain the balance we found for the engagement party.”
“That’s... not what I expected you to say.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you still might want to refuse.”
“I still might. The night is young.” He pulled into the underground parking of a sleek high-rise building. “We’re here.”
“Fancy.”
He came around to open my door. “Come on, you.”
As I tried to stand, the full effect of all the champagne hit me at once. The garage spun, and I stumbled. Hudson caught me, his arms strong and steady around my waist.
“Whoa,” I breathed, my cheek pressed against his chest. “That was almost bad.”
“Almost,” he murmured, but made no move to push me away.
I glanced up at him. Damn, his eyes were pretty. Better yet, they were intent on my face. The solid warmth of him, the smell of his cologne, the strength beneath his suit. It was almost too much, and my ovaries were a little too excited about it.
“I can walk,” I insisted, though I made no attempt to prove the statement.
“Sure you can.” His tone was indulgent as he kept one arm firmly around my waist. “But I like playing the gentleman every once in a while.”
“Not in the bedroom you don’t.”
“Watch it, Landry.”
“Uh huh.”
We made our way to the elevator, me leaning perhaps more than necessary against his side.
The elevator was mirrored, giving me a perfect view of us from all angles.
My hair had come partially undone from its updo, blonde waves cascading over one shoulder.
My dress had ridden up, showing more leg than I’d intended.
Hudson looked as perfect as ever, though he had loosened his tie, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there earlier.
“We look good together,” I blurted out.
His eyes met mine in the mirror. “What?”
“Nothing. Ignore me. I’m drunk.”
“So you finally admit it.”
“I admitted it earlier too, but you weren’t listening to me.” I turned away from our reflection. “I was just stating an objective fact. We’re both attractive people. We look aesthetically pleasing standing next to each other. That’s all.”
“Aesthetically pleasing,” he repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Yes. Like a good table setting. Or a well-designed logo. Visually pretty.”
“Okay.”
The elevator doors opened onto a hallway that was exactly what I would have expected from Hudson’s building; tasteful, expensive, and understated. He guided me to a door at the end of the hall, keeping one hand on my waist as he unlocked it.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, pushing the door open.
I stepped inside and stopped short. “Wow.”
The apartment was stunning. An open concept with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a spectacular view of the city.
The furniture was modern but comfortable-looking, in shades of white and black with occasional pops of deep green.
Everything was immaculate, of course, but it wasn’t the sterile showroom I’d expected. It actually looked... lived in.
“This is nice,” I admitted, moving further inside. “Though not as obsessively organized as I imagined.”
“Well, I didn’t know I’d have company, so I didn’t have a chance to clean up.”
I turned to find him with a surprised expression. “You’re telling me this is messy?”
“For me it is.”
“Huh. Weirdo. At least there are no plastic covers on the furniture.”
“I’m neat, not neurotic.”
“Debatable.” I wandered over to a bookshelf, examining the titles. Lots of business books, some classics, and, surprisingly, a substantial collection of fantasy novels. “A Song of Ice and Fire? You’re a Game of Thrones fan?”
“The books are better than the show,” he said, moving to the kitchen. “Water?”
“Yes, please.” I continued exploring, finding more unexpected details: a collection of vintage vinyl records, a well-used chess set, framed concert tickets on one wall. “You’re full of surprises, Gable.”
“How so?” He returned with two glasses of water, handing one to me.
“This place. It’s not what I expected.” I took a long drink, suddenly realizing how thirsty I was. “It has... personality.”
“You thought I lived in a sterile white box, didn’t you?”
“Something like that.” I sank onto his couch, which was even more comfortable than it looked. “Oh my god, this couch is amazing. I would definitely fuck with this couch.”