Chapter 14
kat
I'm a chicken shit.
That and the pillow fort was as useful as a Zippo in hell.
Never in a million years did I think I’d describe myself as that. I'm pretty good at confrontation. I stand up for myself, and those I care about, when I need to. If I do something wrong, I fess up to it. All in all, I’ve never been one to back down or run away.
Except, apparently, when I wake up on the chest of the man I shouldn't be waking up on. Then I turn into a big old wussy and sprint from the hotel room like I just egged someone’s house.
Thanks for nothing, pillow fort…
When I started to wake up, I knew before even opening my eyes that I felt more refreshed than I had in days.
Part of it was from the hot tub and my muscles being relaxed.
But then I felt Grayson’s arms around me.
His firm chest underneath me. That’s when I really knew why I slept like a baby.
Because I felt safe. Protected. I had a man who went toe-to-toe with me to sleep on the side of the bed closest to a door in case of a hypothetical intruder.
Dammit…I’m all sorts of fucked.
Once I realized where I was, I didn’t move for more than a few minutes.
And not because I was comfortable and warm and cozy—really, it wasn’t because of that.
It was because I didn’t know how to get out of his hold without waking him up.
Because I couldn’t be here when he opened his eyes.
I couldn’t have the awkward morning talk.
We didn’t have it that first night, and I loved it.
It was part of the reason I knew I wanted to see him again.
I hated yesterday, when we had our bouts of silence where no one knew what to say.
And for a woman who is known for her crisis management skills, it’s baffling that I don’t know how to handle this situation. More specifically, these feelings.
I want him. I like him. I really, really, like him. Maybe more than anyone I’ve ever tried to date, or even considered in that avenue. Every time I see him, I want to kiss him. I didn’t want to leave a bed today, because being next to him was the best feeling in the world.
Which also made it be the worst feeling in the world.
I can’t date him. I can’t be with him. I know it’s not fair to judge him against past experiences, but I don’t see a way our careers can coexist within a relationship.
So why go into something when you know how it's gonna end?
Especially when that ending is heartbreak.
So I got out of there. I stepped on pillows, almost tripped over the cot, poked my eye out when I put my contact lens in, but eventually, made it to the restaurant.
I’m shocked to even find a table. I think every guest is here, which isn’t surprising since we’re all pretty much stuck and this is one of our only options for food.
Luckily, the waitress is on her game. and I order almost immediately.
As she brings over my coffee and apple juice, I fire up the laptop to check some emails.
Might as well. since the vacation isn’t happening.
On first glance, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Emails from GameTech that I'm always included on as part of the senior leadership team. A few specifically from Logan, asking me to look into a few things—though he did qualify his request by saying that I’m not to do a thing until after January 1.
When I switch over to my freelance Katherine email, I’m pleased to see three asking if I’m taking on new clients.
But most importantly, I’m not seeing the “thanks but no thanks” email from Declan and Howard.
Granted, I doubt they made their decision on a day when their hotel got busier than they probably expected because of the snow.
It would also be a little sticky if they let either Grayson or I down when we’re both staying here for the foreseeable future.
My breakfast comes out quicker than I expected for how busy the restaurant is, and I start doing a morning doom scroll while I eat my eggs and turkey sausage. I’m six videos in to an “Am I The Asshole?” story when movement catches my eye.
I knew he'd be down sooner rather than later. It’s not like we have food in our room. And while this hotel is pretty big, it's really small when you're snowed in.
Fuck…why is he so fucking hot? It’s actually unfair, especially because the clothes he’s wearing now are so casual it’s criminal. He’s in a white T-shirt with a coordinating gray zip-up hoodie and joggers. And he’s wearing his glasses.
Gray sweatpants and glasses? He might as well have a sign above his head that says “Yes, I’m dressed like a whore. Any problems with that?”
The answer is no. There are no problems. And I’m not the only one thinking that.
Every woman he walks by is looking at him.
I think I saw one actually lick her lips.
Another was holding her baby, with her husband next to her, and I watched in real time as her jaw dropped. Hell, I think the baby’s did too.
But he didn’t see any of that. Because that whole time, he was only looking at me.
Son of a bitch, I’m so screwed…
"Good morning," he says as he stands next to my table. “Up early today?"
I try to decipher if he knows that I snuck out or if he truly did sleep through it. Damn his poker face. “Yeah, and I didn't want to wake you. Figured I'd come down and get some work done. Wait, what is that?”
I don’t know how I didn’t notice that this whole time Grayson’s holding two cups of coffee in a carrier—one hot, one iced.
“One for you, and one for me,” he says as he sets down the container.
“I had a feeling both of us would be working today—because it’s what workaholics do when they’re snowed-in and can’t start their mandated vacations.
And I know working without coffee is criminal, so I thought I’d bring you one.
Apologies if I messed up the flavors. I went with the Christmas special.
In my opinion, you can’t go wrong with peppermint and mocha. ”
I’m nearly speechless as I stare at the drink. “Thank you.”
Iced coffee, slutty glasses, and gray sweatpants? This is my Sunday morning, lazy-girl fantasy come true. Because this is what I imagine it would be like. Okay, not at a hotel. But Grayson and me. Sitting on a couch. Sipping our drinks. Comfy clothes. If it could all just be this simple…
“You’re welcome.” He looks around in the dining room. “Do you mind if I sit here? Maybe share the table as we get some work done? I think this might be the only open seat in the hotel.”
And there’s the crash. The vision of lazy Sunday mornings ruined by the thought of us working on the couch together and him just happening to look to see what I’m working on.
Or small talk that seems innocuous but is really picking my brain.
Next thing I know, every idea I’ve ever had is being pitched by someone other than me, and I’m watching my ideas get promoted while I’m left confused and heartbroken.
Grayson can see the panicked look on my face. I hate that my breathing is picking up. I feel ridiculous. I shouldn’t have this kind of reaction to something that happened eight years ago. But I do. Because that’s how emotional trauma works.
“Hey," he says, setting down his bag and crouching down to be at my eye level. “I don’t have to. I can find somewhere else to go.”
I look up at him, and his eyes…his voice…they’re so sincere. He’s rubbing his thumb over my wrist, trying to help me calm down.
I shake my head as I even my breathing. I do want him to. I enjoy his company. I can't lie to myself about that anymore. “No. I want you to. It’s just…”
I trail off, not ready to tell him about my past. I don't know if I'll ever be, but I should give him some reason why my face is whiter than the snow outside.
“How about we start with breakfast? Then we'll take our computers out. I'll stay on my side of the table. That’s all that has to happen. Sound like a plan?”
I nod. “I like that.”
“Good.” He starts moving closer to me, and for a second I think he's gonna kiss my forehead. I hold my breath, hoping that’s what he’s going to do. Why? Because I’m selfish and apparently a glutton for punishment.
Except he doesn’t. Instead of feeling his lips against me, he taps his forehead to mine.
“This goes as slow as you want,” he says. “Just know that whenever you’re ready for the next move, I’ll be here, waiting to do it with you.”
I blink a few times as I process his words. Sure, he could be talking about this actual interaction. Me and him having a workday together.
But no…it means more. So much more.
The question now is, when will I be ready for that next move come? If ever?
“Craziest thing you’ve done for a client?”
I think about his question, but frankly it’s not even a competition.
”The craziest thing I personally had to do for a client was bake and deliver twenty-dozen cookies to the editor of a magazine because a client wanted to be on a list of fifty powerful people or some shit like that.
The crazy part was, this wasn’t my client. ”
Grayson’s reaction—confused but wanting to know more—is fitting for this story. “Please continue. I’m intrigued.”
“As you should be,” I say with an eyebrow wag. “I bought cookies for an office potluck day because I don’t bake. I barely cook. Anyway, I joked that of course I got up at the crack of dawn to bake them, because I’m sarcastic and that’s what I do.”
“Naturally.”