Chapter 10
ten
. . .
Grant
What the fuck? Why the hell would I put myself in this torture situation? I instantly regret offering her the guest house. What was I thinking?
It's fine. Once we find out what the damage and repairs are, she can figure out a longer-term solution. This is just a few days; it's not a big deal. Except it is a big deal.
Fuck. What am I going to tell Hazel? She already loves Sophia. I caught her binging her old Code Crusaders episodes the other night. Hazel's only met her one time, but I can tell she is going to be all over this. It will be hard to keep her away.
I don't love having my lives intermixing, and I'm not sure what came over me or why I would suggest my guest house.
Something crunched in my chest when I saw Sophia standing in her house.
The look of hopelessness, the look of sadness.
My hero instincts kicked in, and all I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms and tell her everything would be ok and I would take care of her.
Apparently, that's exactly what I did. God dammit.
I don't like how she makes me feel. I don't like that she makes me question my loneliness. I've spent thirty-six years of my life just fine without needing anyone. And then I see her tears, and I abandon all logic and sense.
I got carried away when we met last year at the Pink Slip premiere.
I knew of her—hell, everyone in town knows of her—but I'd never met her in person.
Blair introduced us, and I'd never seen anyone so beautiful before.
Her skin is like porcelain, so soft and smooth and creamy.
I've never had such an itch to touch someone's face before, but it's all I could think about.
I wanted to brush my fingers across her cheek and then run them through that dark brown hair.
She hypnotizes you with those ice-blue eyes, and I assumed that her kindness and empathy were part of her brand, but I realized quickly that she had saved those bits for me.
I'm not saying she was rude to anyone, but when we found ourselves abandoned by her brother, Wyatt, and Blair, I could see how she greeted others we ran into, and I could feel the difference in how we interacted versus how she interacts with the population at large.
I felt something…special? I'm not sure what.
I begged Blair to go to lunch with me after that event so I could find out more about Sophia. Word on the street was Blair was out to sign her, and I'd always had a great working relationship with Blair and wanted to know more.
I won't lie and say that her personality or talent alone attracted me; she is undeniably gorgeous. Her beauty is untouchable. No man alive deserves her. But I also wanted to see if it might be possible to work with her.
She was an Oscar-winning actress at the age of twenty-four and came straight from a kid's television network—not unheard of, but it's definitely unusual, which tells me she's got that special something.
When Blair brought Sophia along for lunch, I spent the entire time talking with Sophia and felt bad that I didn't even ask Blair about one project she was working on.
I invited her to my Hampton's party, and it was then that I knew I was in trouble.
Right then, I should have put these feelings in check and locked them down.
It was my intention, in fact. Come to the party, meet the people.
It would be good to have her as part of my network.
But then she sat down next to me, and I spent the rest of the night with my eyes on her.
If Hazel hadn't been upstairs, I'm sure I would have asked Sophia to stay over.
Since then, I've tried to get back on the track of a professional relationship.
That's one reason I wanted this project.
I figured if we were working together, it would shift us into that friendly but strictly professional zone, but now all I do is find excuses to be part of the production meetings when I have no reason to.
I'm not sure what kind of hold she has on me, but I need to get it in check.
Maybe I just need to get laid. She's not the one-night-stand type.
At least, I don't think she is. She's always escorted by her brother, and the only man I've seen her connected with is that douchebag Connor.
She's been pretty busy with work, so I understand how hard it is to date. It's one reason I don't.
First, I'm not boyfriend material. I've known for a long time that kids and marriage would not be part of my world. And while Hazel was the shock of my life and also the best thing that ever happened to me, I don't believe it would ever work that way with a partner.
Hazel has to like me. I'm basically all she's ever known.
I raised her from the beginning of life, so her beliefs are my beliefs.
Well, mostly. She is starting to exert her independence.
But it's different when it's your own flesh and blood.
The wildcard is when you bring someone else into the mix.
They can change their mind or leave. How can you ever really know someone if you didn't raise them or grow up with them?
Maybe, when I get home, I'll flip through some contacts and get out of the house tonight.
I just need some fun time to get my head shifted from the gorgeous doll following me to my house and relieve some of this sexual tension bottled up inside me.
I'll be fine with a release with someone, anyone, at this point.
I pull into my driveway and wait until she pulls up next to me before I get out of the car. I'm compelled to go open her door for her, but I restrain myself. It's shit like that that I need to stop doing. I need to stop caring about her like she's mine and like she belongs to me.
"Your house is beautiful," she says as she crawls out of a Range Rover of her own. Look at us, in matching cars. Her eyes take in the mid-century, split-level home. It's a point of pride for me because it belonged to Frank Sinatra at one point.
"Thank you. I've tried to keep as much of it original as I can. Shall we?" I motion toward the small square building to my left, where she'll be staying. You have to walk through the driveway gates to get into the backyard, where the entry to the small bungalow is accessible.
"Dad! Come look at how long I can hold my breath!" Hazel yells as soon as we click the gate closed, and I turn to see her in the pool. My sister sits on a nearby lounger, with one eye on my kiddo and another on her book of the week.
Hazel immediately dunks underwater, and Sophia and I walk over to the edge of the pool right as she resurfaces.
"Did you see? I was under there for so long!"
"I did see, nugget. Impressive!"
"Very impressive, Hazel. It was a whole 22.3 seconds long. Is that a record for you?" Sophia bends down to get closer to my daughter, and I'm stunned she was timing the event.
"I don't know. I've never timed it before, but I say the alphabet, and I can get all the way through the song now."
"Sounds like a record to me!" Sophia tells her, and I watch as Hazel's face lights up at the attention and acknowledgment.
"What are you doing here?"
"Hazel, don't be rude."
"That wasn't rude, Dad. I was asking a question."
"Yeah, Dad, she was just asking a question. Hi again, Sophia. I'm Sarah, Grant's sister. We met at the Oscars." My sister joins us, and Sophia stands back up to shake her hand.
"Yes, of course. Nice to see you again."
Sarah gives me a glance with a raised eyebrow, and I roll my eyes. Thankfully, Sophia is talking to Hazel again, so she misses the interaction.
Hazel is asking if Sophia came over to swim, and all that does is force my imagination into wondering if she would wear a bikini or a one-piece.
Either way, more of her skin showing would be sexy as fuck, but a tiny string bikini top to cover those small, perfect tits would be something I'd pay to see.
Wait. That's not what I meant. Fuck, I'm finding someone to meet up with tonight. It's imperative.
"Sophia is going to stay in the guest house for a few days. Her house had an accident, and she can't stay there right now," I tell Hazel and my sister, since she seems extra invested in this anomaly of another woman in my backyard and talking to my daughter.
That's the other thing. I never, ever introduce women to my daughter.
I mean, other than a casual "Honey, meet this person I work with" type of introduction.
No women come to this house; no dates or flings are ever within restraining-order distance of my daughter.
Nothing relationship-like exists in my life with Hazel, and I'll never budge on that.
Except now, I guess. But technically, Sophia is a co-worker, no matter what my sister's eyebrows say to me.
"My whole bathroom upstairs fell through the ceiling right into my kitchen," Sophia explains.
"Why?" Hazel asks.
"Seems there was some kind of a leak upstairs. I'm not sure. I'm waiting to get more details about the whole thing."
"Ok, well, my room isn't big enough for two people to stay, so you'll have to sleep with my dad."
I nearly choke on my spit as my sister bends over, roaring with laughter. Sophia looks up as a giggle escapes her lips.
"Hazel, Sophia will stay in the guest house. She's not staying with us in our house."
"Why? She might get lonely out there," Hazel replies. Then she whispers to Sophia, "The bungalow is kind of creepy, and it smells like chlorine."
Sophia reassures Hazel that she'll be fine in the bungalow and promises to come inside the house if she does get scared.
I break up the conversation before it gets any more awkward and walk Sophia over to the entry of sliding panel doors.
It doubles as a pool house—hence the chlorine smell—and I replaced the regular entry for more of an indoor-outdoor living experience.
I'll have to show her how to use the curtains because she'll definitely be exposed with all this glass.
She's only facing my house, but that's precisely why I'll need her to use those curtains.
There's not much to show her. When you walk in, the dining-kitchen space is over to your right, and the living-bedroom space is over to your left.
The coolest thing about this little hut is the oversized bathroom.
It's nestled between the living and dining space and boasts heated tile floors, a huge soaking tub, a separate shower, and a little sauna off to the side.
I even put in a little loveseat so you could sit down while you dry off.
"It's about seven hundred square feet, and while I don't have many guests stay here, I use it quite a bit to entertain.
It's a great space to watch games and hold snacks when people come over to swim.
" I try to keep my tone casual and professional, though my mind keeps circling back to the fact that Sophia Ford is about to be sleeping less than a hundred yards from my bedroom.
"This is really nice, Grant. It looks so cozy. Thank you again. You're saving my life right now." Her smile does something to my chest that I'm not ready to examine too closely.
"I hope you'll be comfortable, and it's all yours. Stay as long as you need."
I walk over to the kitchen and open a few cabinets to show her where everything is, telling her that our housekeeper can stock the pantry and fridge with whatever she likes. I'm already making mental notes to have Josie pick up those fancy oat milk lattes I've seen Sophia drinking on set.
"Oh, don't worry about it. I'll only be a night or two, max."
Something in her casual tone makes me pause. A night or two? I force my expression to remain neutral, though my jaw clenches involuntarily.
"You should have everything you need, but if you don't, I'm sure we have it in the main house." The words come out a bit more clipped than I intended. Is she already planning to stay somewhere else? With someone else? The thought of her leaving here to meet someone else makes my stomach turn.
Not that it's any of my business. She's talent. I'm a studio executive. This is just a professional courtesy, nothing more—even if the sight of her standing in my guest house, bathed in the soft evening light, makes me want to tell her she can stay forever.
She's looking through the pantry when I see her stop and pick up a box of Slim Jims. She turns to me.
"I love these."
"I know."
"Thanks," she whispers, and for a moment, I think I catch something in her eyes—uncertainty? Anticipation?—before she looks away. "This is…this is really kind of you."
I should leave. I should absolutely walk out that door and maintain appropriate, professional boundaries.
I don't realize how close I've gotten to her until I feel her hair brush the side of my face and I close my eyes and breathe in her sweet summer scent.
I feel her move, and when I look down at her, a moment passes between us.
Her eyes are taking in every feature on my face.
I see her look from my eyes to my nose to my lips, and then her gaze lingers there before going back up to my eyes.
My hand is still resting on the shelf to her side, where I've replaced the box of snacks, and I move to push a piece of hair behind her ear.
Why am I doing that? I have no fucking idea, but I want to touch her.
I want to put my lips on hers. She shifts closer, and her hands rise, but I can tell she's not sure where to put them, so they fall back to her side.
"Time to eat!" Hazel screams, breaking the moment between us, and I step away quickly and turn to leave the pantry space. "Come on, Dad. Come on, Sophia. It's taco night! Aunt Sarah made the combo for us—chicken, steak, and shrimp!"
"Oh, I'll be ok," Sophia says. "There's plenty here if I get hungry. I should really start figuring out what I'm going to do for housing longer term and call the adjuster. And I want to look through all the pics we took today."
The trip to Honey Pine Farms seems like ages ago. So much has happened since then.
"Might as well eat with us since everything is ready," I tell her. "And the offer stands. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need. No pressure, but…there's no need to rush off to other arrangements."
I try to keep my tone light, but I know some of my feelings must show through because her eyes snap back to mine, widening slightly.
"I…" she starts, then stops, seeming to wrestle with something. "Thank you," she finally says. "I'll…keep that in mind."
I nod and force myself to head for the door before I say something I shouldn't. Something about how I'd rather know she's safe here than wondering where—or with whom—she spends her nights. Something about how the thought of her leaving makes me feel slightly insane.
Before she can change her mind, Hazel grabs her hand and leads her to our house, where no other woman has gone before.