15. Ember
EMBER
I can’t believe I let that happen.
Let it happen? No, I wanted it to happen, just as much as Griffin did. And it was incredible, but it was also an incredible lapse in judgment.
Huge.
Enormous.
And not just because of his … attributes.
It was completely unprofessional, and I’ve compromised my working relationship with Griffin—and probably all the men—and yet, I still wanted more. A fierce, hungry part of me wanted to drag him down to the floor and do it all again as soon as we finished.
But if Gage and Kai find out, it could ruin all the hard work that led to them choosing me in the first place. I wanted so badly to prove myself, to show them they were right to trust me with this promotion, and all I’ve proven is that I’m weak-willed and can’t resist a sexy man.
My worst fear right now is being fired without references. Knowing that they’ve always been fair and kind, and wouldn’t likely be that harsh, doesn’t stop me from worrying.
I’ve stepped way over the line.
And yet, somehow my worries can’t stop me from thinking about what happened. I toss and turn all night, my dreams plagued by vivid moments from our encounter, like Griffin smiling up at me from between my legs, and I wake aching with need. When the sun comes up, I feel as though I haven’t slept at all.
Though I try to behave normally at work the next day, things are awkward. Griffin and I can’t avoid each other in our small workspace, but his usual grins and pranks are noticeably absent. Zeb and Frank must be able to tell something’s wrong, though neither of them says anything.
I’ll just have to tough this out. Eventually, we’ll get back to something of an even keel. But I can’t ever let anything like that happen again.
I’m scheduled to go on a lunch date today, but I cancel it. I’m not in the mood for anything even remotely romantic. It wouldn’t be fair to the man, no matter who he was. Instead, I order a sandwich from a nearby deli and eat it at my desk.
That’s where I am when my phone pings in the early afternoon. It’s my roommate, and her message is short and ominous: Call me ASAP.
Abby and I aren’t very close, and she seldom messages me. When she does, it’s never urgent. Trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach, I glance around to make sure everything’s okay, grab my phone, and take it to the office, ignoring the way my stomach feels being back in that room.
She answers immediately, and her first words do not reassure me. “Remember when someone in the neighborhood reported a gas leak a few days ago?”
“Yes,” I respond, my body tensing. Please don’t tell me our neighborhood blew up .
“And remember how the gas people came into our building while they were checking things out?”
“I remember. What’s going on?”
“You know how the stairs are. And the hallway and balconies, too.” By which she means so rickety they can barely support a houseplant.
Our building is old and not well maintained, which is one of the things that makes it affordable and allows me to help my family. The second-floor hallway, in addition to having a threadbare carpet, has a soft spot that all the residents avoid stepping on. We’ve reported it to the landlord, but he’s not interested in doing repairs, on that or anything else.
The tenants help each other out when we can. A couple of my neighbors have fixed things, like changing burned-out lights in shared areas, or getting the washer and dryer in our tiny, inadequate laundry room repaired. In exchange, we run errands for them, cook meals, etc. We know we could report our landlord, but none of us wants to lose our housing.
“Don’t tell me someone tried to stand on one of the balconies,” I say.
“No,” Abby says, “but they reported the building to the city. There’s a new code inspector, and somehow the old one never got around to checking our building. Someone said the landlord bribed him. Anyway, the inspector came out first thing this morning—and our building is condemned.”
I clutch my phone harder. “Condemned? What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means the building has been declared unsafe to live in, and all of us have to get out. Immediately.”
My stomach plummets. “Oh, no! Where are we supposed to go?”
“I’m moving in with my boyfriend.” Her voice softens. “And I’m sorry, but it’s a studio apartment, barely big enough for him, let alone me as well.”
“I understand.” My mind reels. What am I going to do? I don’t have any family in the area. I know Lexy or Ava would let me stay with them, but that wouldn’t work well for multiple reasons.
“They made us all leave,” Abby goes on, “but I grabbed your backpack and got some of your clothes and bathroom things into it. I also got your jade plant. There wasn’t time for anything else. All the kitchen stuff, our furniture and decorations … they said we’ll get them back eventually, but there’s no telling when.”
“Thank you.” My voice trembles. “I appreciate you doing that.” I love gardening, and while my current living situation doesn’t allow for it, I have one precious houseplant that I brought to Las Vegas with me.
“I’ll come by the shop and drop your backpack off, okay?”
“That’s a big help. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
I end the call and wander back out to the reception area, my gaze unfocused. The enormity of my situation is bearing down on me, and I can’t seem to form a coherent thought.
Griffin’s not here. I remember that I blocked off his schedule so he could go back to the main shop this afternoon. One of his longtime clients lives in that part of town, and they made the appointment before our move. Zeb’s with a client, but Frank looks up and immediately comes over, his expression less stoic, more worried than usual. “Ember? Everything okay?”
I try to speak, but the words won’t come. “Hey. Here, sit down.” He eases me into my chair. “Do you want some water?”
“I have some, thanks.” I tip my head toward the bottle on my desk.
“Could you use a hug?”
Surprised, but still largely numb, I manage to nod. He kneels beside me and wraps his big arms around me, and this simple act of kindness almost undoes me.
Despite my distress, I’m very much aware of the warm, clean scent of his skin, the softness of his t-shirt, and the firm muscles of his chest. His hug is careful, but when I lean into it, his arms circle me protectively, and for a moment, my cares lighten.
When he pulls away, I pick up my water and take a sip, feeling marginally better. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Frank grabs an empty chair and brings it around next to me, straddling it. “What’s going on?” His voice is gentle, more than I would have guessed he had in him.
I take another sip. “My apartment building has been condemned. I’m homeless.”
“Condemned?” In my peripheral vision, I catch the emotions that flash across his face in rapid succession: surprise, concern, anger. But then he gets himself under control and smooths out his features. “Well, that’s not good. But there’s an easy solution. You can stay with us.”