Chapter 12 Kat
kat
Fucking. Nailed. It.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m usually confident when I leave presentations. I can get a pretty good read on a room and have a gut intuition if in a few days I’m going to get the “thanks for coming” email or the celebratory phone call.
And I’d bet my vinyl collection that I’m getting that phone call sometime between Christmas and New Year’s.
I tap my key card to the door and slowly open it, not sure if Grayson is still in the room. I hope he isn’t. It’ll make my getaway all that much easier.
I also hope he is.
I don’t know when I’m going to see him again.
Maybe we’ll pass each other in a business office, one coming to and one going from a meeting.
Maybe we’ll randomly run into each other at a coffee shop.
But if we do, it won’t be the same. It’ll be an awkward wave followed by the knowledge that something that could’ve been great had to end before it started.
Because it does. It’s better this way. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
When I walk into the room, it’s dead silent. Which is good. I’m going to quickly change, pack, and get the hell out of here before the snow really hits, and tomorrow I’ll be waking up in St. Lucia.
As I drop my tote on the bed and slide off my heels, I hear the vibration come from my cell phone.
Logan
I’m so sorry.
Um…that’s ominous.
Kat
For what?
I just got a call from the pilot. They’re shutting down the airports.
They’re what?!
I take four quick steps to the window and throw open the curtains. Oh, hell…it’s really coming down. I didn’t look much outside today, but I swear it wasn’t coming down like this earlier.
Apparently the storm was supposed to hit overnight, but made it to your neck of the woods about ten hours early. I’ll keep you posted, but it looks like you’re stuck at the Timberline for a few days.
I don’t even bother to answer. Instead I let out a scream that might get security called for a welfare check.
How is this happening? Not only am I not going to the beach, but I’m going to be stuck in this room with the man who is the definition of temptation?
I drop to the bed and bury my head in my hands as I come to terms with the situation. I mean, best case scenario, is that we’re delayed a day and the snow will stop and everything will open up again by Christmas Eve.
Worst case scenario, I die in this room from sexual frustration and the unfairness of life.
Something in the middle will probably be what happens, but I like to know the ends of my spectrum.
I look up, and I swear the cot is staring at me.
I wonder if the hotel has any rooms open?
People had to have left ahead of the storm, right?
Maybe I’ll go ask. But if they don’t, I should be nice and sleep on it tonight.
The poor man suffered last night, and even though I can’t date him, and I want to get this account because I’m competitive to my core, I don’t want the man to suffer.
Consider it my last-ditch effort to get put on the nice list. Because if Santa can read a person’s mind, then he knows that in the last week, there’s been a whole lot of naughty rolling through it.
Let’s also call it what it is—my way of saying that I’m sorry that whatever we have between us can’t go anywhere. So the least I can do is let you sleep in the bed.
I let myself fall back into the mattress and close my eyes.
Yes, I might be laying down now, but I don’t even have to concentrate that hard to feel him behind me like he was today in front of the mirror.
I can feel his breath on my neck. His cock against my ass.
Does he have any idea how bad I wanted to say to hell with my rules?
That I wanted him to bend me over the counter and fuck me until I couldn’t walk?
I didn’t care what time it was or what I had to do at that moment. All I wanted was him.
That thought makes me sit straight up. Because that wasn’t a very Katherine-like thought.
No, that was all Kat. If my alarm hadn’t gone off, I would’ve initiated a move.
I felt my resolve snapping. If he would’ve beat me to it, I wouldn’t have pushed him away.
Sure, I was in Katherine mode—bun and boring bra and all—and still that wasn’t enough for me to resist the feelings I have for Grayson Ross.
And that’s the most terrifying thought of them all.
I told myself never again. I wouldn’t put myself in a situation where I could be used personally for professional gain.
I put on a strong face to Logan and to anyone who knew the situation all those years ago, but inside, I’m still recovering.
It’s why I can’t make myself trust Grayson.
I want to. I don’t think he’s the kind of person who would do what Jeff did, but I don’t know if I can risk it.
Not with my career as Katherine. And certainly not my heart as Kat.
I saw the moment he realized the difference between the two.
It wasn’t anything specific, but just something in his eyes told me he saw past the weak facade.
Sure, he knows Kat intimately—the brazen, opinionated, says what’s on her mind, doesn’t care what people think girl at the bar.
That’s who he met first. That’s who he went to the hotel with. That’s who I want to be with him.
The problem is that Katherine is very much in existence, and today, he truly saw her for the first time.
Not as a rival or a competitor, but as a woman.
Strangely enough, I feel like he knew her intimately as well.
Because when the beige bra comes out and the hair is in the bun, Kat is far away.
Katherine is sensible. Hard working. A touch OCD and a whole lot of Type A.
She doesn’t take prisoners in the board room and will give you an idea so good you’ll think it’s your own, but you have no idea how you came up with it.
Katherine doesn’t stand in front of a man basically naked. She doesn’t risk presentations for a little midday dick. And she definitely doesn’t fall for men who could ruin her career. Yet today, she was going to.
Damnit, I was going to…
“Snap out of it,” I order myself as I start pacing around the hotel room. “He’s just a man!”
I need out of here. If the airports are closed, I’m guessing so are the roads.
Tonight is going to be torture, sharing this room with him again, which is why I have to get out, even if for just a little bit.
I walk over to my suitcase, ready to shed the pantsuit that I wore today, when I notice the bathing suit I packed for St. Lucia.
I never planned on using it here, and now who knows if I’m going to use it there, but I have walked past a hot tub a few times today.
Right now, the jets and a steaming hot water sound like the perfect remedy.
Twenty minutes later, I’m walking through the lobby. I make my way over to the desk, planning to ask about a second room, when I see that the line is ten deep. I also overhear that due to the storm, guests are staying longer and workers that can’t make it to the hotel. Meaning they’re at capacity.
Yup. It’s the cot for me tonight.
Trying to make the best of things, I allow myself to take in the decor of the lobby and main room—both are absolutely stunning.
Since Logan married an interior designer, I’ve learned a new appreciation for what it actually takes to turn a space into a masterpiece.
Whoever designed and decorated the Timberline needs to have a spread in a magazine.
Shit. I should’ve included that in my presentation today.
I grab my phone to make a note of it so when I get the job, I can add it to our ideas board.
Since my head is in my phone, I’m not really paying attention to where I’m going, but I do know that the indoor pool, and hot tub, are down the hall to my right.
I’m just about finished typing when I bump the door open with my shoulder. Luckily, it’s quiet when I enter—AKA no screaming kids. Except when I listen a little closer, I hear music playing softly.
Son of a bitch…
I came here to get away from thoughts of Grayson. Yet, in the hot tub, playing a song that’s in my ‘Wrapped’ playlist at the end of every year, is the very man I apparently can’t get away from.
He doesn’t see me yet. He’s sitting in the steaming water, eyes closed, head back—and, of course, shirtless. I could run. I should run. I can head back upstairs—or maybe to the bar for a shot or ten—and pretend this never happened.
Or, I could put on my big girl pants, get in the hot tub like I planned, and start figuring out a way to resist Grayson Ross. Who knows how long we’re going to be snowed in. I probably need to figure out how to coexist with him while also resisting the urge to jump him.
I start slowly making my way to the hot tub when his eyes open.
It doesn’t take them long to spot me, and I swear, once they do, my body temperature changes in an instant.
Sure, that could be attributed to the humidity of the pool and hot tub, but it’s not that.
No, this is only a sensation I feel when Grayson’s hazel eyes are on me.
A feeling I have to learn to resist, and also figure out how not to crave.
“Great minds?”
That seems to be the running joke between us, and while it’s true, it’s just another reminder of how great I think we could be together if the circumstances were different.
“Something like that,” I say as casual as I can, setting down my tote bag as I step out of my sandals.
I purposefully don’t look at him while I slip off the shorts I wore over the bathing suit I decided to put on—a one-piece with a halter neck that gives fifties retro vibes, polka dots and all.
I might not be looking at him, but I feel his eyes on me.
Which is a good thing; it allows me to brace myself for when I take off my T-shirt and turn around.
“How’s the water?” I stupidly ask as I dip my toe into the scalding hot water.
“Fucking perfect.”