Chapter 32
32
Forty-five minutes later I end up at a pub on Eric’s side of the city. Actually, it’s more like a town house than a pub pub. Swanky but understated, lit by sconces and candlelight with bursts of laughter echoing around the room like fireworks. I meander through the crowd until I catch sight of a familiar figure. He’s at the bar, shoulders hunched as though invisible hands are pushing him further into the red velvet padded barstool.
“Big day tomorrow,” I say, sliding onto the empty stool beside him.
“Very big.” He doesn’t meet my eye, instead slides a fresh vodka martini with a twist over to me, just how I like to order it.
“Thanks.”
“What did you want to talk about?” he asks into his drink.
My finger rims the edge of the cold glass and I purse my lips. I decide to go straight in, not giving myself time to chicken out. Taking a huge gulp for courage, I wince as it goes down but push on: “I have something to tell you about Societeur . It’s Dharmash. I don’t know when it started but the press have been following you all this time because he’s been paying them out of Ignite’s pocket.”
I let out a lungful of air.
The dark side of his face flickers in the dim candlelight as he turns to the bartender. “Can I get another, please?” He points to his empty glass.
“You’re being surprisingly chill about this.”
“I know.”
“You know you’re being surprisingly chill?”
“No, I know . I know about Dharmash.”
My mouth hangs open. “What the fuck?”
“Well, I had my suspicions. I just didn’t want to believe it. Then I got a call from a friend a few days ago, when we were at Fair Play.”
I recall his stony face when he was on the phone, similarly hunched over.
“She said Societeur had called her for a quote about our ‘secret rendezvous’ the night before.” Seeing my face, he adds, “She’s an estate agent; we met up to discuss Iris’s options. Whether I could contribute to her rent or be her guarantor or something if she wanted to get a place of her own. I had it in my work calendar as Dinner with Isabella . The only person who has access to my work calendar besides me is Dharmash.”
“Have you told him you know?”
“Nope.” The bartender places a fresh frosted glass in front of him and he takes a sip; his jaw winces as the spirit hits his tongue.
“Why not? Surely he’d stop if you confronted him.”
He sighs as if he really doesn’t want to talk about this. “Because if I did, I would have to quit. And if I quit... who would hire me? Google ‘Eric Bancroft’ and the first ten search pages are filled with stories about me. The only company who would benefit from that kind of reputation is Ignite.”
My shoulders slump to match his. “I didn’t think about it that way.”
“Yeah, you’re not the only one with boss issues,” he huffs, gulping his drink.
“I guess we have more in common than I thought.” I solemnly clink my glass against his, watching as a dimple makes a faint impression on his stubbled cheek.
He shifts, placing his elbow on the bar and turning slightly toward me. “Did you come all the way here just to tell me about Dharmash?”
I cross my legs toward him. “We said no more secrets, right?” I hesitate before adding, “And despite everything, I still care about you.”
His weary eyes soften, traveling from mine to my lips as they graze the edge of the chilled martini glass. I’m unsure whether it’s the cold liquid or the icy stare that sends a shiver down my spine. Either way, the feeling keeps traveling until it lands between my crossed legs.
He clears his throat, a slight smile returning to his lips as we inch closer together until his knee is lightly touching mine. “I thought maybe you wanted to meet to tell me you regret going on your date.”
“I don’t,” I reply matter-of-factly.
“So, he’s getting a second?” He clears his drink and gestures to the bartender for the bill.
“No.”
His knee smooths against mine, twisting me and the swivel barstool until he and I are fully facing each other.
My cheeks flush as I admit, “I don’t regret it, because it showed me what I don’t want.”
We hold, our legs grazing as I balance my foot on his stool. Every part of me is on fire under his icy stare. I look down at his silk tie, touch it, let it glide through my fingers, resisting the urge to wrap it around my knuckles.
“I should go soon—presentations tomorrow,” I remind him and myself. My eyes lift to his lips, remembering how they tasted.
He stands up, pays the bill and rests against the bar, leaning in so close I feel his breath on my cheek. “Can I walk you home?”
I look up at him and stifle a laugh. “It would take like two hours to walk back to mine.”
“I didn’t say to your home.” His lingering look unspools any resolve I entered with.
We walk in silence, our fingers are intertwined. He took my hand to drag me across the road during a quick break in the traffic, and without us noticing our palms had molded together by the time we reached the other side. His apartment building is ten minutes away, but I would have stayed like this for hours, meandering the streets with him in a sweet, blissful silence.
He leads me into the familiar building, past the concierge who nods politely at us with a knowing smile, into the lift, where my chest starts to heave but he doesn’t move, just strokes my palm with his thumb. Nothing has ever felt better than his skin on mine. The elevator dings and we traverse the length of the sleek gray hallway until finally, finally we reach his door. He lets go of my hand to reach into his pocket; the keys jangle in the lock as the door creaks open.
He walks ahead, flicking on the lamps. Warm light trickles through the room like honey, illuminating parts of his home like synapses of the brain. My mind is firing on all cylinders as I absorb all the facets of his space from a different perspective. I linger awkwardly at the end of the entrance hallway at the threshold of the kitchen as he rounds the central island and fills two crystal highball glasses with water.
“Is Iris here?” I ask, having spotted the telltale sign of her earrings in the key bowl.
His head lifts toward a door further down the hallway. “She’s asleep in the guest bedroom.”
I wince, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Shit, sorry.”
He chuckles, still speaking at his normal volume. “Don’t worry. The walls are thick and, to be honest, she’d sleep through an earthquake.”
“How long is she staying here for?”
“As long as she wants, but knowing her it won’t be for much longer.” My heart swells at his protectiveness. Iris seems like the sort of person who wants to be independent, but knowing you have someone who can be relied upon when your parents can’t be is something everyone should have. A small voice in my head tells me maybe I could be that person for Eric, but it would be unfair to us both to promise anything until after we know our fate at Catch Group.
He takes off his jacket and pads into the living room, switching on his vinyl player, which already has a record sitting atop it. A live, slow jazz recording quietly fills the space as he paces back to the kitchen island, picks up the glasses and hands one to me. I realize what he’s doing. He brought me here, but this time he isn’t running the show. For the past few months, he’s been the one deciding whether something was going to happen—denying me or daring me. This time, he’s waiting for me. We stand there, staring at each other and sipping the ice-cold water. My stubborn nature wants to hold out, play this game of chicken with him all night. But my body wants to do something else. I compromise, downing the water in one gulp and handing him the empty glass. I slide off my loafers and shoulder bag and leave him in the hallway to begin inspecting his apartment room by room until I meet his bedroom.
I’m snooping, blatantly. Something I have desperately wanted to do since I first came here with a sprained ankle. I look at picture frames, books, little trinkets I didn’t expect him to have. The same strip of photos I saw the last time I was here is now poking out of a book on his dresser. I feel him enter the room as I slide the pictures out, revealing the mirrored images of my past self and him.
I grip the edge of the glossy strip, lifting it over my shoulder to him. “You knew I’d seen this?”
He lets out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I was fucking mortified when I realized that’s why you left so abruptly.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought you’d think I was a crazy person, telling you I never thought about you then using your face as a bookmark.”
I run the side of my finger over our happy, tipsy faces. “No crazier than I was at the Christmas party.”
He sighs, stepping in closer so his lips rest near my ear and hands rest on my hips. “I know you don’t associate that night with good feelings, but knowing something was there for you too was one of the best moments of my life.”
I swallow, breath caught in my throat as my neck cranes to feel his touch. Photo-booth Eric looks at Photo-booth Grace with something I thought I’d never seen in real life, but maybe I just wasn’t looking. I twist to face him, my back pressing into the wooden dresser. “I’m glad you did it, pulled away. I think if it had happened then, we never would have spoken again.”
“I would have tried.” He smirks.
I huff a laugh, biting my lip. “OK, fine, but I would have been too awkward to talk to you ever again.”
“I don’t know. Something tells me you would have come back for more,” he jokes, the dimple reappearing in his cheek.
My eyebrow cocks as I look him up and down. “Someone’s confident.” We shift, our bodies inching closer together.
“ Someone snuck into my bedroom,” he counters, placing his hands on either side of me on the dresser. My blood heats as he holds the position, patiently waiting for me to move closer.
“Well, I wanted to see where the famous Eric Bancroft magic happens.”
His voice lowers. “It’s close-up card tricks, exclusively.”
I stifle a smile. “And I was very concerned about your thread count.” I furrow my brow and press my hands to his broad chest to push past him.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, my legs dangle over the end of the mattress as I lie back and smooth my hands over the crisp white sheets like a duvet snow angel. “Upon closer inspection, I shouldn’t have worried.”
He remains silent until, eventually, I sit back up and find him standing in the same space I left him. He’s really giving me nothing here. My eyes travel down from his face to his suit trousers. Thick pleats form as he begins to harden under my gaze. I smile triumphantly, as if I’ve finally won this little game we’ve been playing since we left the pub.
His lips twist into an embarrassed smile as he tilts his head to the side. “That’s not fair.”
My eyebrows arch. “Don’t be a sore loser. It’s not my fault you have a tell.”
“When you’re on my bed, looking...” He clears his bobbing throat as he slowly steps forward. “... like that, it’s definitely your fault.”
He places his glass on the side table and slips his hands into his pockets, as if he has to restrain himself to not touch me. I reach out and gently tug on his black leather belt; the silver buckle clinks as I slide it undone.
“Sorry.” I pout. “I don’t make the rules.”
I pause for a moment at the button of his trousers, giving him the chance to pull away, to make everything easier and back out.
He takes my chin in his hand, eyes twinkling in the dim light. “If you are my consolation prize then it’s worth losing.”
We dance in between kisses, words and touches. Each one featherlight compared to the weight of the past weeks and months. I pull him closer, our foreheads pressing together as though we’re attempting some new kind of telepathy. His mouth runs the length of me, reacquainting himself with every curve and bend until I arch my back and see stars. My mouth explores him for the first time, learning what makes him moan and curse until neither of us can stand him not being inside me.
“You’re so fucking...” he says into the crook of my neck as he mercifully presses between my thighs, his lips parted but unable to finish the sentence as I roll my hips higher to accommodate him.
“Sadistic?” I smirk, running a hand to the back of his head through his messy hair.
He kisses up my arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps. “I was going to say devastating.”
“You’ve already used that line. I thought you were meant to be witty?” I bite his earlobe.
“Well, forgive me,” he says, kissing my jaw. “There is considerably less blood in my brain than usual.”
I huff a half laugh, half moan as he pushes deeper, filling me completely. “Do that forever and you will be absolved of all sins, always.”
“Thank you, God.”
“You’re welcome.”
The moonlight from his bedroom window spills onto our bodies like a blanket of fresh dew. Neither of us have spoken for the past ten minutes, or maybe ten hours, I’m not sure. Time seems to have slowed down as we lie chest to chest, naked and entangled, tracing our fingers over each other’s edges.
“What are we going to do about this?” he asks, finally breaking the comfortable silence as he smooths his palm down my bare spine.
Turning onto my back, I let out a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Are you going to run off like last time?” He smiles, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes failing to hide his nervousness.
“I’m pretty sure you were the one who bolted first,” I challenge, pulling the sheet up and tucking it under my arms.
He turns onto his side, the pillow dipping as he leans his hand on his elbow. “Only because the image of you leaving first to go on a date with someone else would have been burned into my brain forever. I couldn’t do that to myself.”
“I do have to go eventually.” I angle my chin to meet him. “I have to get home,” I confirm solemnly.
“It’s late—you could stay?”
A solid ache presses against my chest as I say, “All my stuff for the presentation tomorrow is at my house.”
He lets out a breath. “OK. I’ll get you a car. Just stay with me for a bit longer?” He slides his arms around me and pulls me against him.
My eyes prickle as I press my face against his bare chest and breathe him in, trying to tattoo the smell of him onto my memory. It’s painful, physically painful, not knowing if I’m being with him like this for the first or last time, lying here together in total flux.
The words build and build in my chest until they finally pour out onto his: “Let’s wait and see what happens tomorrow.” I clear the uncertainty from my throat. “We could make a decision now and tomorrow feel completely different. I don’t think it’s fair to either of us to decide now.”
He hums a noncommittal agreement, his chin resting on my temple as he pulls me in tighter.
I lift my head, my face meeting his. “If this ends badly, are we still going to be friends?”
He stares at me for a moment, then brings up a hand to cup my cheek and kisses me slowly, deeply, as though he’s savoring every last slide of my tongue against his. Finally, he pulls away, eyes glassy in the dark. “Grace, I already told you. I don’t think we’ve ever really been friends.”