Chapter 32
thirty-two
. . .
Grant
I drum my fingers against the desk, staring at the entertainment headlines splashed across my tablet.
The photos from last night's gala are in all the trades—me and Sophia laughing together at our table, Geneva chatting animatedly with both of us.
Geneva's quotes about what a "perfect match" we'd make and how "Sophia's been such a wonderful influence on Hazel" were being picked up everywhere.
I should be worried. This is exactly the kind of press we've been trying to avoid. But seeing us together in those photos—the way Sophia's head is thrown back in genuine laughter—I like how natural it looks.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. "Come in."
Lucas strides in, tablet in hand. "So, I'm guessing you've seen the coverage?"
"Hard to miss it." I lean back in my chair. "Give it to me straight—how bad is it?"
To my surprise, Lucas grins. "Actually? It's perfect. Most outlets are playing up the 'power friendship' angle—Hollywood's most eligible bachelor and America's sweetheart, a perfect match. The few that are hinting at romance are overwhelmingly positive, but it's not the main narrative."
"And Geneva's comments?" I ask.
"Coming across exactly as intended—a supportive ex singing your praises. Makes you both look good." His expression grows serious. "But Grant, we need to talk strategy here. This friendly collaboration narrative is working for now, but…"
"But?" I prompt.
"But I've known you for five years. The way you look at her isn't how you look at a collaborator." He holds up his hand as I start to protest. "I'm not saying we need to change anything. Just…be careful. Figure out what this really is before the press does it for you."
I rub my temples. The problem isn't that Lucas is wrong—it's that he's terrifyingly right. This thing with Sophia has grown roots I never saw coming, threading through every careful wall I built. And for the first time in my life, I want those walls to come down.
A soft knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.
"Come in," I call out, already knowing who it is by the gentle rap of knuckles.
Sophia steps into the room wearing worn jeans and her favorite faded UCLA sweatshirt, her hair twisted up in a messy bun.
The sight of her like this—casual, unguarded in the morning light—hits me harder than any evening gown could.
She looks soft, touchable, and so perfectly at home in my space that it takes real effort to remember we're at work.
She stops short when she spots Lucas across the room.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Actually, perfect timing. I was just heading out." Lucas gives me a pointed look. "Remember what I said, Grant." He closes the door behind him, leaving us in weighted silence.
Sophia breaks it first. "I saw the coverage." She perches on the edge of my desk, and I catch the faint scent of her perfume. "Seems like we're not doing a very good job of keeping this casual."
I can't help but rise from my chair, drawn to her like gravity. "Maybe we were kidding ourselves by thinking we could."
"My contractor called," she says, but her voice wavers slightly. "They said I could move back in if I wanted. The items left can easily be completed with me there." She twists her hands together.
"Stay," I say, my hand catching hers. "The guest house. At least until the renovation is complete."
I move closer, unable to keep distance between us. "I want…" I pause, careful about what I want to say. "I want to see where this goes."
"That's a big statement," she says, but there's hope in her voice. "What about Hazel? I know how protective you are."
"She adores you," I say simply. "And the way you are with her…you see her. Not just as my daughter, but as her own person."
"I like spending time with her," Sophia says. "With you both." She pauses. "I don't want to push anything."
"I know," I tell her. And I do know. She's been careful and respectful of boundaries I didn't even know I needed someone to respect. "And we can be careful until we're ready to tell her more."
Sophia looks up with a mix of vulnerability and caution in her eyes.
Her hand finds mine. "You sure you want me to stay?"
"I do," I confirm.
"Me, too," she whispers, and then she's kissing me, slow and deep and full of promise. I pull her closer, my hands spanning her waist as she wraps her arms around my neck. She leads me back to my chair, sits me down, and then slowly kneels in front of me.
I hit the window shades as she reaches for the button on my pants, my cock already leaking for her.
"Sophia, don't start something you can't finish."
Her warm breath teases what's coming as she grips the base of my dick, licks her lips, and starts to kiss around the head. Her tongue moves from the base up the shaft until she's tickling just underneath my tip. Already, my balls start to tighten, and I know this isn't going to take long.
She licks all around my cock, getting it wet before she takes me inside her mouth. Her tongue feels like velvet as it rubs me back and forth.
"Take off your shirt," I pant.
She pulls back, a puzzled look on her face.
"I'm going to fuck those tits and then cum all over them."
I love the flush across her cheeks like I've shocked her, but I know it turns her on, too.
She likes it when I take control. I lean back in my chair, my dark gaze on her as my hands grip the armrests.
She takes her shirt off, and her lace bra barely covers those perfect breasts.
I lean forward to tweak one of her nipples before I reach behind her and pop the clasp, causing the flimsy fabric to fall down her arms and onto the floor.
She brings her bare chest closer, and I rub my cock across her nipples, circling them until her little nubs are as hard as glass.
"Take me in your mouth as deep as you can. Get me nice and wet."
I watch as I disappear into her mouth, loving how she looks on her knees, with her cheeks hollow with suction, flushed and pink and perfect. Her lips feel like silk as they glide up and down me, and her eyes are glazed with desire like she wants and needs to please me.
I tangle my hands in her hair, trying not to control the pace, but she feels so good sucking me down, and I want to feel her throat close around me.
I bring my eyes down to watch, and when she lifts her eyes to mine, I know I'm not going to last much longer. I pop out of her mouth, place my hands on the sides of her breasts, and nestle in the channel between them.
"Move closer to me; let me fuck those tits," I slide up and down, and she spits on the head of my cock, and I groan at the gesture, knowing I'm about to blow.
Her hands move over mine as she presses her breasts closer together, squeezing me tight until the friction is almost too much to bear.
She interlaces her fingers so I don't slip from in between her, and in a few more thrusts, my release spills out across her chest.
"Fuck, Sophia. God, you feel so good." I lean back in my chair to catch my breath and admire the mess I've made. "I was not expecting that."
She rises from the floor, but before she can head into the bathroom, I grab her and pull her close to my chest, spreading my mess across my shirt.
"Grant! What—you're ruining your shirt!"
"I don't give a fuck about my shirt, Sophia. I have another one in the closet. I just wanted to kiss you."
And that's the truth.
I drag my thumb across the curve of her cheek, reveling in the way she leans into my touch as if it's instinct. As if she trusts it.
And maybe that's what undoes me the most.
Because she isn't just something temporary. She isn't just a distraction.
Everything about her feels worth the mess.