Chapter Twelve
Grace
An hour later, I arrive at Merry, the gorgeous café in the lobby of the Aylster Hotel. It’s impossible to look at this building and not think of Huxley. I’ll probably never forget him—every time I see the place it brings to mind the most erotic experience of my life.
A valet in a crisp uniform takes my car. I walk up to the entrance, trying to ignore both memories of Huxley and the feeling that I don’t belong in this sea of expensive vehicles and casual affluence. But then, I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere since I met Nelson. I feel so alone without Mom by my side.
I stop by the ATM in the back of the lobby and take out two hundred bucks. It should be enough to pay the stranger for the ride. Or at least I hope it is. He mentioned his seat getting wet, and if there was any damage to the leather, he may want me to pay for it.
Can’t recall the exact make of the car. I was in a panic at the time, plus it was dark and raining. I can’t even remember clearly what the driver looked like. But I definitely recall that his car was one of those super-expensive ones Mick sighs over all the time.
If he wanted you to pay for the seat that bad, he would’ve contacted you already.
Yeah, true, but then why is he contacting me now and saying he wants to see me in person? This can’t possibly be over some cleaning bill… Can it?
Okay, no reason to get anxious yet . He hasn’t said why he wants to see me. And if I ruined his seat, I should pay for it. That’s the right thing to do. I just pray it doesn’t break my little bank.
The cash stuffed in my purse, I make my way to Merry. Named after the wife of the current CEO of the Aylster hotel chain, it’s one of the swankiest cafés in the city. Beautiful golden marble sparkles on the floor and walls, and Swedish crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceiling in a chic contemporary display. The place plays nothing but classical music at a low volume so people can linger over their drinks and converse with ease.
Coffee here costs a kidney and half your liver, but it tastes like liquid gold and has an intense jolt of caffeine to wake you up. I would never come here on my own—it’s way out of my budget—but Andreas loves the place.
I probably should’ve suggested a different place—some cheaper café, I tell myself as I stand in the entrance. But I was so surprised to get a call from the man who helped me out that I forgot to try to change the venue. Well, it doesn’t matter. No need to order anything. Just thank him again, give him the money and get out. How hard can it be?
I look around for the man. He said he’d be in a white shirt and khaki slacks. Most of the tables are occupied by well-heeled and even better-dressed patrons. Many of them have tall, asymmetrical tiered trays of colorful desserts and coffee and tea. Merry has an afternoon tea service, although most people get coffee. Andreas sure did.
“Grace?”
I turn and look up at the voice I never thought I’d hear again. “ Huxley? ”
He’s as gorgeous as I remember—the beautiful eyes with a hint of silver, the straight and narrow bridge of his nose and the fullness of his lips. The sight warms my blood as my libido relives the sensation of having that mouth between my legs.
“What are you doing here?” I manage a calm voice despite the urge to fan my suddenly overheated face and neck. “Didn’t you go back?”
His eyebrows pinch. “Back where?”
“To wherever you live? The front desk told me you weren’t here anymore, so…”
He looks lost for a moment, then realization dawns. “You thought I didn’t live in L.A.?”
“Well…yeah. Why else would we have come here that night?”
He laughs incredulously. “What a mess. I came here because I didn’t want to waste time going to my place. It would’ve taken too long, especially on a Friday night.”
I flush, embarrassed over my assumption. Then I notice that he’s in a white shirt and khaki slacks. Wait. Is he…? “Okay, um, weird question: are you waiting for a woman you gave a ride to a hospital two years ago?”
He cocks his head. “Yes. How did you know?”
Oh my God. A smile splits my face. “That was me !”
He laughs softly, then looks at me again. “That’s… Wow. Almost unbelievable.” He puts a hand on my elbow protectively as he takes me to a table. There’s some coffee in an elegant porcelain cup. “Want something to drink?”
“Uh… No, I’m okay. Maybe just some water?”
He gestures at a server, and a glass of water appears. I look at him, unable to process this turn of events. He’s the one who helped me when I was at my most desperate, with nobody from the Webbers willing to give me a ride and Adam out of town. And this same man was the one who came to my rescue when that drunk lawyer started to get physical at the bar.
“I looked for you,” Huxley says. “I ordered breakfast for us before going to sleep. But you weren’t there in the morning, and…” He spreads his hands. “Grace, why did you leave?”
I shake my head. “I’m so sorry. I thought it might get awkward the next day. I, um, would’ve liked to see you again—like, really would have—but I’m just not in a position to be able to do a long-distance thing.” Having Mom halfway across the country is more than I can handle.
He nods slowly. “And you thought I lived somewhere else.”
“Yeah. I did.” I can’t believe how dumb that sounds now.
The sugary scent of desserts in this place is positively tormenting. My eyes slide to the trays full of delightful little pistachio cakes, brownies and mini-berry tarts. My mouth waters—I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. But knowing how much it costs, I can’t bring myself to order anything. I drop my eyes and sip the cold water to fill my empty belly. A sandwich at home makes more economic sense. I’ve fallen behind on my savings goal for the month because I foolishly splurged on the shrimp for the “congrats to Peter for his promotion” dinner and the whiskeys I bought at the bar. No more spending money on unplanned food and drinks until I’m caught up. Mom’s going to be okay soon—I know it—and we’ll move to someplace away from SoCal—and Nelson. A place with a backyard where we can plant the flowers she loves so much.
Huxley tilts his head, and the server immediately rushes over. “One of each set,” he says, gesturing at the dessert trays. “And a bitter caramel tea.”
“Right away, sir.”
“That’s a lot,” I blurt out. On the other hand, he’s a big man, so he might want the calories. Why did I say that? I squirm, feeling a teeny bit awkward that I commented at all. What if he thinks I’m trying to get him to share when the main reason we’re here is for me to pay him? I clear my throat, paste on a bright smile and face him. “I’m sure you’ll love them all. Anyway, I just want to thank you—again—for giving me that ride. I’m grateful you didn’t just run me over, thinking I was some crazy woman.”
He laughs. “The thought crossed my mind, but something about you that night convinced me maybe you weren’t insane.”
My grin widens. “Thank God.”
“How’s your mother?”
“On her way to recovery, thank you. I was so shocked when you finally called. I thought about you from time to time, and wondered if the lack of contact was a sign that I should just try to pay it forward instead.” I clear my throat again. “Anyway, how much do I owe you? If it’s like a hundred or something, I can pay you now, but if you want me to pay for, like, water damage to your seat, um, you may need to be more patient because I don’t have a lot of money. I can probably do installments, though.” It’ll put me even further from my savings goal, but it’d be wrong for me to refuse to pay when he did me such a huge favor.
The waiter returns with a gorgeous teapot etched with pink-gold roses and places the empty teacups in front of me and Huxley, then starts the hourglass, its fine grains of sand sparkling as they drain steadily through the narrow gap. He sets three gorgeous sets with various desserts on the table, then leaves.
“Go ahead,” Huxley says. “The pistachio cake is particularly good, especially with the bitter caramel tea. Same for the berry tarts.”
I flush. Guess he must’ve noticed me eyeing the desserts. Wonder if he also figured out why I declined to order anything.
Maybe, my subconscious whispers. Every so often, Karie sneers that I “reek” of poverty, no matter what I do, because the poor “just have that way about them.”
“It’s my favorite combo,” he adds with a warm smile.
I realize that despite the gruff attitude from two years ago, he actually is kind, and my heart flutters. I feel silly for being anxious over the possibility that he might ask me to pay for damage to his car. “Thank you.” I take a bite of the cake. It melts in my mouth in a delightful cloud of buttery cream and sugar. Holy cow . It’s nearly orgasmic. I close my eyes. “Mmm-mmmm.”
Once I’m done with the bite, I open my eyes. He’s looking at me with an intensity that betrays a hunger that has nothing to do with food. I bite my lip as heat of my own unfurls. Until I remember that he didn’t call me for sex. He had no idea who I was. “So. The payment.”
The heated haze in his eyes abates a little, and he makes a small, dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t need money.”
“Okay. Then what do you need?”
“A fake fiancée.”