Chapter 9 Grayson
grayson
“What the fuck, Kat? Or is it Katherine? Apparently I don’t even know your name!”
Because the hotel door slow closes on itself, I don’t have the privilege to take my frustrations out by slamming it, but I wish I could.
I feel like I’ve been losing it for the past hour.
Between finding out that Kat is, in fact, Katherine Smith, the woman who I’ve declared my nemesis; Howard and Declan inviting themselves to our meal; Declan looking at Kat like she’s his next meal…
I was about to fucking blow. I don't like feeling this out of control.
Sure, I'm all for spontaneousness and a good, unpredictable adventure, but that's because it's my choice.
I'm the one who says it’s okay to see where the wind takes me.
But this right here? This is just fucking insanity.
“Newsflash: Kat is short for Katherine. So you do know my name. And now you know both of them.” She steps closer to me, clearly ready for the battle that she and I both know we’re about to have.
“Also, I feel like the generic question of ‘what the fuck’ could mean many different things. How about we get a little more specific? You know, because I wouldn’t want you to become any more confused than you clearly are. ”
I’m still breathing heavy, trying to calm myself to the night’s events. But then there’s Kat, or Katherine, whatever she wants to be called, who looks cool, calm and collected. She’s taking off her earrings one by one and slipping out of her heels. The sarcasm is oozing in her voice.
She’s my rival. My adversary. The woman who’s beaten me on many occasions.
And yet, I still want to fuck her. Which is a really, really, big problem.
“How about we start with you not telling me who you were?” I ask, plenty of snark and anger in my tone. “Or should I just call you Vixen, since that’s what you are?”
She laughs at that. “When did I lie to you about my identity? Please, lay out your defense. Also, why the fuck am I a reindeer?”
“Not that kind of vixen,” I say, getting more frustrated because of how much she’s throwing me off my game. “Like a fox. Sneaky. You know. A vixen! Because you weren’t up front about everything.”
Her eyebrows raise slightly as she takes a few steps in my direction.
Her eyes are set on me, and it looks like she’s locking in for battle.
Good, because this is what it’s about to be.
“When we met, I told you my name, which is the shortened version of my full name that I go by in social settings. My apologies for not knowing that at a speed-dating event where we had seven minutes to get to know each other, that I didn’t give you my full government name, Social Security number, and my mother's maiden name. I’ll remember that for next time.
Should I include my first pet to be safe? ”
“But you weren’t there for speed dating,” I say in a huff. “You were there to impress Hazel.”
“Pot calling the kettle black, wouldn’t you say?” She steps even closer, our bodies nearly touching with every breath we take. “How did that go, by the way? Get the client?”
Red. That’s all I’m seeing right now. Yet, I don’t know which part of this I’m angrier about, the fact that I’m meeting my rival, that she’s nothing like I’d envisioned, that she’s right about a lot of things, or that I want to fuck her.
Honestly, it’s all of the above.
“Why didn’t you tell me you worked in PR?”
“I could ask you the same question,” she says.
“Because again, I also seemed to have learned downstairs that you work for a public relations firm, which was brand-new information. So before we go out throwing stones, Grayson, how about we realize that we’re maybe a both a little in the dark about who we are and maybe, just maybe, we’ve taken things a little fast and we need to play catch up. ”
Why does she have to be sensible?
I pace around the room for a few seconds, taking some deep breaths and trying to calm myself down. Because right now I’m feeling a thousand emotions, and I don’t know which ones are warranted.
“How about I start while you get your steps in,” she says. How does she make a joke that’s a dig at me, while also making me laugh? I thought the moment I met her that she was going to be the death of me; I just didn’t realize how multi-faceted that statement was.
“My name is Katherine Smith. I go by Kat, except in professional settings. I’m about to turn thirty years old, I’m an Aries, and have been in public relations and media strategies since I graduated college.
I’m currently an independent strategist while also serving as head of PR for GameTech Industries.
I think deep dish pizza is really just a casserole, and on that note, the elite pizza toppings are pepperoni and mushrooms. I also believe that you should have to work a shift at a grocery store if you don’t return your shopping cart, that everything can be fixed with an iced coffee, and ‘Jingle Bells’ is the worst Christmas carol in existence. ”
“Bold take,” I say. “Clearly that right answer is ‘Twelve Days of Christmas.’ What day does it actually start? When does it end? Why are there so many birds involved?”
This stops her train of thought. “You’re right. So many fucking birds. Who would even want them?”
“Right?”
She smiles at me. Smiles! I mean, I’m smiling too, but how dare she! I’m trying to be mad at her. Now I just want to kiss her.
“Have we calmed down yet?” she asks, patting the bed for me to take a seat next to her. “And maybe gotten under control the douche that popped out at the table in front of Howard and Declan?”
I nod and finally let myself stop moving for a second, sitting down on the bed—the only bed in our room—as I take a second and let every ounce of information finally settle in.
She’s my competition.
She’s my rival—the only person since I transferred to Nashville to get the best of me.
She’s the woman I’m fucking crazy about.
One of those things is not like the other.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say, finally feeling like my blood pressure is back to a normal level. “I felt overwhelmed and bombarded.”
“I get that,” she says. “How about you tell me about yourself, now that we’re doing reintroductions?”
I take in a breath before beginning. “I'm Grayson Ross.
I don't go by any other names, so there's no confusing me. I'm thirty-four and work for Sterling Strategies as a public relations and media specialist. I think I'm a Leo, but only because a girl I met on a blind date said I was. I’m originally from Connecticut and moved to Nashville three years ago. I’m a baseball fanatic—played in college, have a collection of baseball cards, and my bucket list is to visit every stadium in the country. I could eat tacos for every meal, I never skip out on the queso, pineapple gets too much hate for being on pizza, and you, Katherine Smith, are the only person since I’ve transferred to Nashville who has ever beaten me out for a client.”
My admission takes her off guard. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I say. “I’ve had a pretty good run here.
Undefeated in every sense of the word. Worked with some celebrities, cleaned up a situation that could’ve sent the country music world into a spiral, handled a few brand deals and new business rollouts.
I was on the roll of a lifetime. Then one day, I got the email that no person in our business wants to get. ”
“The decline?”
I tap my nose. “The very one. But I didn't let it bother me. No one can bat a thousand, you know?”
“I don’t. I’m assuming that’s a baseball reference? All I know about the sport is that a baseball stadium is an acceptable place to eat unlimited hot dogs.”
God, I want to kiss her. I want to be having this get-to-know-you conversation with her wrapped in my arms—preferably naked. But unfortunately, that now can’t happen. Not now. Not ever.
If there’s one thing I know about this industry it’s that you can’t sleep with the enemy. And that’s exactly what this beautiful vixen is.
“In baseball, batting a thousand is a perfect average. But in comparison, an average of three-hundred gets you into the Hall of Fame. A four-hundred is considered off the charts.”
“That feels like a pretty low success rate.”
I laugh. “I can see that. But my success rate in the corporate world? I was having a Hall-of-Fame career. So, one loss didn’t bother me. I knew the streak was gonna have to end at some point.”
“I’m sorry?”
I appreciate the question mark she added, even though I know she’s not. At least, I wouldn’t be. “It wasn’t that one that rattled me; it was when I went to talk to the higher-ups at Pittman Dean. The client I knew I wasn’t going to get beaten out on.”
“Really? How did you know you were going to win over the biggest bank in Nashville? A cocky attitude like that never bodes well.”
Her sarcasm used to be endearing. Now it’s maddening. But that’s because I can’t kiss the smirk off her face.
“I knew, or I thought I knew, because two of my friends were on the hiring committee. Did I go into it maybe a little cocky? Sure, but I knew exactly what they wanted. I knew what they needed to do to turn their image around after what their CEO did.”
Her smile only widens. “Just to make sure I'm not confused again—you know, because of all the confusion tonight—what did happen with that?”
I narrow my eyes. “Some woman named Katherine Smith got the job and somehow made the CEO disappear into the night while also turning the bank’s profits around in an instant.”
“Damn. She does good work.”
“So I’ve been told.”
We sit for a second, our eyes locked, and I know she wants to kiss me. Hell, I want to kiss her. But I can’t. I need to get used to that.
“In my defense,” she says, “that wasn’t my first cheating CEO fire I’ve had to put out. I had experience, brought in those ideas, found some new things that were going to work in this climate, and poof, you have a company with profits back up and a CEO whose name we’ve already forgotten.”