14. Graham
Chapter fourteen
Graham
I follow Rosay to a large wooden table with a massive umbrella placed in the corner of the deck where her family sits. Steaks sizzle on the grill, wafting the beefy aroma my way and making my mouth water as I take the seat beside her and rest my arm along the back of the chair.
“So, tell us a little bit about yourself, Graham,” Wendy says.
Rosay’s gaze is a brand on my cheek, but she stays quiet as I launch into the story of how I came to be Thompson’s choice for CEO, glossing over the bits about my time in the tabloids. Unless they ask, I don’t want to bring it up.
“Sounds like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Wendy says. “Must’ve had a good mama.”
I tense at her insinuation that my birth giver had anything to do with who I became. As if she senses the topic is a painful one for me, Rosay slides her hand into mine beneath the table and squeezes, giving me a burst of confidence. My chest expands with appreciation.
“I have a great dad who taught me the value of hard work,” I reply, holding back the emotion pushing up my throat when talking about my dad. When I video called him yesterday, he looked frailer, like the treatments weren’t replenishing his life but sucking it away.
Wendy must be intuitive because she just nods with a smile.
Waverly and Kieran are next, peppering me with questions about my time as a venture capitalist and private equity investor.
This is the easy part, telling them about m y past in finance, but I know the more difficult questions are coming, the ones I’m dreading because I’ll have to lie.
Reign reaches for his beer, taking a swig as he relaxes into the chair. I’m sure he’s about to start drilling me with questions, but it’s Winnie who pipes up from beside Rosay.
“Oh my gosh. Look at that rock.” She holds up Rosay’s hand and the sun reflects off the diamond, casting flares of light onto the table as she marvels at the ring. “How’d he propose?”
Rosay’s cheeks pinken at the attention. I can’t help smiling at how her face lights up when she looks down at the stone as if it’s perfect.
I’m flooded with warmth, my fingers aching to caress her cheek.
Pride rises in my core, but I beat back that flutter from my heart that reminds me it’s not the ring that is perfect. It’s her .
“It was simple, just us lounging around on the couch after he made a yummy roast. We were playing a game.” She looks at me and winks, and something stirs in my chest at the image of us cuddled up, finding relaxation in each other’s embrace at the end of a long day.
Feeling like my face is giving away how much I want that, I look at Wendy.
“The one where you have to try and figure out how the random words go together to make sense.” I wrap my hand around Rosay’s, delighting in the way she interlaces our fingers.
“Wheel Yum Air Reem He, is what it said,” she finishes, staring up at me with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, a shy smile on her face.
Bethany never looked at me like this, with such appreciation and adoration. I can feel everyone’s gaze on us, but it’s only her I focus on. My throat tightens knowing that all I’m seeing is her playing the part.
“Aww,” Winnie and Wendy coo, clapping their hands together just as the chef tells us the food is ready.
The taut thread between us snaps the moment Rosay looks away, and I’m left feeling bereft like a lonely puppy as she’s pulled into conversation with her family.
Though she seems confident as she speaks with them, I note the way her leg bounces beneath the table.
I slide my hand over her thigh, giving it a little squeeze so she knows I’m here.
“Do you like to golf, Graham?” Reign asks.
“I’ve finished more deals on the green than I’ve actually played, but I enjoy it.”
“We have a six-thirty tee time tonight, if you’re game.” Kieran reaches across the table, shifting things around so the chef can hand out the food. “Jordan is going to meet us there after his shift. Would love to kick someone else’s ass.”
Reign scoffs. “You beat me by two strokes. That’s hardly kicking anyone’s ass.”
The table quiets down as we begin eating, and Rosay whispers, “You don’t have to play golf if you don’t want to. That’s not a test.”
Amusement lines her cheeks, and I can’t help but smile too. As the evening has gone on, she’s relaxed some, though her shoulders still hold a hint of tension.
“Your brother isn’t going to beat me,” I say into the shell of her ear, relishing the shiver that she tries to hide.
“Look at you two canoodling,” Winnie says. “I remember when Jordan and I couldn’t stay out of each other’s faces. I’m surprised you guys even made it out of the rental.”
“Winnie,” Wendy and Waverly chide.
“What?” she replies. “You know I’m right. Look at them. They ’re so in love.”
I try to stifle the surprise I feel at her accusation. We must be doing a good job of pretending, though there’s a niggling thought in the back of my mind that wonders if there could ever be more between us.
“Do you blame me?” I ask, looking at Rosay. “She’s absolutely beautiful, inside and out.”
Her pupils expand and her cheeks immediately flush.
I love how expressive her face is, how she can’t hide a damn thing from me no matter how hard she tries.
There’s a question in her gaze I’m not sure I can answer yet.
My feelings about this woman are confusing, to say the least, but I can’t put a name to them.
From the moment I watched her from afar at the bar to the moment I was reintroduced to her when I took over Thompson, she’s had this infuriating hold on me.
Waverly snickers. "That's only because you haven't seen her middle school band pictures after the competition where she had her uniform pants on backwards the entire time."
Rosay's body tenses beneath my hand, showing me this is a sore topic for her.
"Do you play an instrument, Waverly?" I ask.
"No," she replies.
"So you haven't had to dress quickly in the back of a bus along with twenty other students before?"
She looks around, clearly understanding she's the only one that particular story is funny to. "Uh, no."
"It's not as easy as it sounds." I squeeze Rosay's hand beneath the table. "I used to clean wrestling mats outside while the band students got ready for competitions and it was always chaos."
"It was," Rosay replies.
Heat warms my face, and when I glance up, Reign's head dips in a thankful nod.
“How’ s your food, Graham?” Kieran asks, breaking the tension at the table.
“Perfect. The brussel sprouts are phenomenal.”
The table devolves into talk about the wedding and Waverly’s last ER shift where she treated a farmer who got his hand caught in a tractor.
I try to follow along without taking my attention off Rosay, who listens intently.
There’s an easy banter the rest of her family has, and I can see how Rosay slowly morphs back into a quiet version of herself.
“Want to go unpack?” She nods, and I address the table. “We’re going to go get ready for the evening. Thank you so much for the lovely meal.”
“Mmhmm, sure you are,” Winnie murmurs.
We head back to the rental, gravel crunching beneath our feet. Neither of us speaks or lets go of the other’s hand until we’re safe inside.
“Thanks,” Rosay says, sinking into the door. “That was…a lot.”
“Figured you needed a breather.” I grab two glasses of water, handing her one as I drink the other. “It went a lot better than I expected.”
“You play the doting fiancé quite well.” She moves into the living room and plops down into one of the rocking chairs. “You almost made me believe we like each other.”
I frown at her comment and take the seat beside her, setting down my glass. “I never said I didn’t like you.”
I wait for her to say something, to challenge me like she normally does, but she just glides her hand along the glass, catching condensation.
"Thank you for taking up for me back there," she says. “Are you sure you’ll be alright tonight without me?”
I chuckle. “You're welcome. And of course I’ll be alright. We have our story straight, and as long as we don’t deviate from giving the barest of details, we’ll be fine.”
Fine is a relative word. I’m not sure I’ll be entirely fine ever again, especially not once this weekend, this solo time with her is over.
“Let’s unpack,” she says.
I follow her upstairs to the loft. There’s a full bathroom, a walk-in closet, a writing desk, and tucked away in the corner is a large ornate mirror. Sunlight streams through a round window above the desk, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust when I see there’s only one bed.
A beautiful sunflower quilt covers the queen-size mattress framed by a white headboard with spindles. My mind takes off, imagining Rosay tied to it, writhing beneath me.
Whoa, sir. Slow your roll.
I erase the thought with a simple shake of my head glance over the railing, searching for some type of couch or chair I can make into a bed downstairs.
There’s no way we’re going to be able to sleep next to each other without one of us, most likely me, crossing a line.
We might be fake engaged, but that serves a purpose for both of us.
I don’t care what Rosay says about there not being a policy against sleeping with employees.
If simply kissing her has my brain shutting down, there’s no way I can handle being inside her.
Not to mention the last person you let get close burned you.
She sighs. “There’s only one bed.”
“Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” I reply with a deadpan then wince when she drives her knuckle into my arm.
“Sorry,” she says, though I can’t tell if it’s for the punch or the single bed. “We can figure this out.”
“Scared you’re going to wake up cuddling me or something?” The thought arouses me more than I’d like to admit. Waking up with Rosay’s legs tangled around mine, her warm, supple body pressed up against me? Yeah, that would be the worst thing possible.
She snort s. “I sleep in one spot pretty much all night, and there are enough pillows we can create a mountain between us.”
“That’s fine.” I drop our bags onto the bed. “Worse comes to worst there are two rocking chairs downstairs that can serve as a makeshift bed.”
Her gaze falls to the chairs, and she scrunches up her nose. “We’ll make the bed work.”
I ignore the image my mind conjures up and reach into my bag to grab a pair of slacks and a nice polo. “Do you want to freshen up first?”
She shakes her head. “Go ahead.”
“Okay.” I slide past her on my way to the bathroom. Her tropical scent lingers in my nose as I unpack my hygiene kit and try to beat back the urge to ask her if it would be the worst thing in the world if we actually did like each other.