Chapter 9 Grayson #2
“Rationally I know this. But it wasn’t even two weeks after that miss that you did it again.”
“Are you kidding me? I also beat you out on the tech bros?”
“You did.”
“Holy shit,” she says, not believing it either.
“So, to wrap this up: I’ve beaten you four times in a row, a streak that had seen zero losses until I got bored working for Logan and decided to venture out for myself.
You did some digging, because you were big mad that someone was beating you, found my name, and I became your Lex Luthor. ”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say. Her eyebrow raise clearly says that she doesn’t believe me. “Okay, maybe a little. I wanted to find out who you were. What made you better than me. I was determined not to lose to you again. And during that, I declared you my nemesis.”
Her eyes are big like an idea just hit her. “Did you go to the speed dating event to find me?”
I quickly shake my head. “No. I promise I didn’t. I went there because I thought it would impress Hazel that I took the extra initiative. Turns out I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”
Her shoulders relax. “Great minds think alike.”
I hate that a few hours ago, that phrase had a completely different meaning. “So they do.”
We sit in silence for at least a minute, letting the dust settle. While part of me feels better that a lot has been cleared up, there’s now a new set of questions.
Ones I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like the answers to.
“Suddenly these sleeping arrangements don’t feel like they’re the best idea,” she says.
I shake my head. “I’ll call down to the front desk to see if they can bring me a cot.”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything else. I think we’re both thinking the same thing; the question is who’s going to say it first. Judging by the sad look in her eyes, one I know I’m mirroring, we both know where this is, and isn’t, leading.
“I think it’s best if after we get back to Nashville, that…”
“We stop things before they ever get started.”
I nod, grateful she was able to finish it. “I think it’s best for both of us.”
“Agree.” She pauses for a second to take in a deep breath. “I don’t date inside the business. Not coworkers. Not competition. It’s…the lines are too blurred, and it gets too messy.”
“That’s understandable,” I say. “I told my boss that you were my nemesis. It’d be weird if I brought you to the holiday party.”
This makes her laugh. “It’s just smart if we cut our losses before things get serious.”
She’s right again. And again, I hate it. “You’re right. You are my competition.”
“I’m the enemy.”
“That sounds really harsh,” I say. “Rival feels less like I want you dead.”
“Exactly. And I don’t want you dead either…”
“I just want your clients.”
“Every single one of them.”
The stare down each of us gives the other is both competitive and fueled with tension. Honestly, getting over how to look at her and not kiss her might be harder than figuring out how to beat her.
“Tomorrow is going to be nuts with finalizing projects while also meeting with Howard and Declan,” she says. “I think it’ll be best if we keep separated.”
“Agree,” I say. “The restaurant is plenty big enough that we can find a table and separate ourselves.”
“And if it’s too busy, I’ll go to the lobby,” she says. “Bedroom is an off-limits work zone. That way we can come and go as we please without having to worry about someone stumbling onto something they shouldn’t.”
“Exactly. Don’t want to copy off of anyone’s paper.”
I see her flinch to those words, which I didn’t think was anything bad, so I quickly change the direction of the conversation.
“We’ll keep our distance as much as we can. We’ll only have to deal with our sleeping situation for one night, and then we’ll be on our way to our respective holiday destinations.”
“And when we get back to Nashville, we’ll just go back to how things were before this week. Just two PR strategists bidding for the same clients.”
“Two rivals.”
“Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Her words hit me like a knife to the chest. It’s logical. It makes sense. I’m too competitive to date someone in the industry, and even if I weren’t, it’s a hard limit for her. We wouldn’t work. Better to know that now rather than later.
Right?
“It’s getting late,” I say. “I should call down to the front desk to see about the cot and some extra pillows and blankets.”
Kat nods and stands up off the bed. “I’ll use the bathroom first, if that’s okay?”
It takes a second for either of us to move, and it takes longer for me to make it to the phone after Kat gathers her toiletries and pajamas.
“Hi, this is Grayson Ross in room 403. I was wondering if there’s a cot available that can be used?”
“Oh yes!” the attendant says in the most cheerful voice I’ve ever heard. Probably because she’s still panicking that I’m going to call and scream at her for the mix-up. “We’ll have it up to you right away.”
My stomach sinks with her words. Part of me hoped that, like the rooms in this hotel, a cot suddenly wouldn’t be available.
That…oh no…I guess I’d have to sleep in the same bed as Kat.
Yes, that would’ve made me the definition of a glutton for punishment after our conversation.
But I selfishly want one more night. Even if I can’t hold her, or kiss her, or make her scream where the sound lives rent-free in my head, I wanted one more night of just being near her.
But no…now the hotel has amenities. Thanks, Timberline…
“All yours,” I hear Kat say as she comes out of the bathroom.
“Thanks.” I purposefully don’t look at her as I gather my things. I’m not ready to see her choice of nightwear. “The cot is coming up if someone knocks at the door.”
I quickly turn around, still not paying attention to anything around me, which is how I don’t realize until it’s too late that I’m walking into Kat.
Neither of us move, both too stunned, and maybe, too stupid, to move. God, I want to kiss her. Now I’m glad I have the cot because it’s the only thing that I know is going to make me be on my best behavior tonight.
“Sorry,” she says as she steps away, which is when I see she’s wearing a Biggie Smalls T-shirt that’s cut at the neck, showcasing a shoulder that my lips are dying to kiss.
The sleep shorts she’s wearing barely cover her ass, which of course makes my cock hate the responsible me that has declared this woman off limits.
Her face is clean of makeup, and her hair is on the top of her head.
This sucks so fucking bad…
“Kat…”
I don’t mean for my voice to hit that low tone, but I can’t help it.
“Yes?”
“If you don’t move in the next three seconds, I’m going to kiss you. And if I kiss you, I can’t promise I’m going to stop at that.”
I watch the blush hit her cheeks as she swallows a lump in her throat. And then, with sad eyes, she does what I ask and steps aside.
I hate that she listened.
I hate that we’re being responsible.
I hate every fucking thing about this.