Chapter 18
Work is chaotic.
The kind I thrive in but secretly want to scream in-between. It keeps me busy, yes but also makes me feel as though I’m not unleashing my full potential. There is enough work on my desk to last me until next week, but somehow, I have to clear them out this week, come hail or high water.
I’m juggling three things at once now––emails, calls, notes scrawled in a notebook and a half-finished burger on my desk. The last one doesn’t count but it’s there so…
“Mrs. Gray?” a junior volunteer calls out, peeking into my office with hesitation.
I glance up from my laptop. “Yes, Jen?”
“The caterer says the vegan menu is short of two entrées, and the governor’s aide just called. His wife doesn’t want to sit near Mrs. Bradley because…” she trails off, then adds, “personal reasons.”
I rub my temples and count to three. These elites are very picky with the company they keep and who they are seen with.
“Alright. Tell the caterer to add two more. Move Mrs. Bradley to the other end of the table, away from the governor’s wife. Make it sound like a privilege and tell her it will give her a better view of the stage, alright?”
Jen nods fast and disappears.
I barely breathe before I hear the sound of heels walking towards my door. I take a breath, bracing myself for whatever she has to say now.
Mrs. Randolph walks in, impeccably dressed as always in a green maxi dress. Her lips are painted red and set in a tight line. Her eyes scan everything in my office like a detective.
“Brie. Or should I say, Mrs. Gray?” She places emphasis on that. “Hmm. No because you have yet to change your name legally, so Ms. Sparks.”
“Mrs. Randolph,” I say with a polite yet tight smile on my face. She would call me out on a marriage certificate.
“You’ve confirmed the guest list, I trust? The senator, the governor, the sponsors, everyone important accounted for?”
“Yes, ma’am. Everything’s been finalized, seating chart included.”
Her head tilts, studying me like she’s looking for a loophole. “Good! Remember, one mistake and it won’t be only your name people talk about. It’ll be your husband’s too, and that won’t be good for his reputation now, will it?”
Is that a threat? My fists clench under the desk, but my face stays calm. “Understood.”
“The interior designer called. She said you suggested the idea for the new designs, that’s impressive.” I perk up, listening for a compliment. “Of course, I told her that my organization is known for unique ideas that’s why we are always on top.”
Of course, she had to take the credit for it.
She lingers another second, fingering through a few documents and making annoying comments then leaves. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
God, she’s exhausting.
I begin to respond to the last batch of emails.
She’s kind of right though. Cameron doesn’t need more bad press which is why I’m killing myself to make this gala perfect but that’s not the only thing at stake. Her image will be tarnished too if it falls through and she knows that.
I stare at her through the glass door as she stops at another table to bark orders. I bet she thinks I don’t know that whenever she assigns Miranda to a project, she goes behind to assist her.
The atmosphere at home is a bit different from when I moved in. I think it all started to change since our first official appearance as a couple.
That intense make out session still pops into my head every now and then especially when I’m around him but it’s a good thing that we’re acting like it never happened.
It’s better that way, saves me from wondering what it was all about and how that part was not for the cameras.
Funny how my life now revolves around the public’s opinion.
As I go down for my morning walk, I find him in the kitchen, already up before me, coffee mug in hand, staring out the window, his brows knot in concentration as if he is communing with nature.
“Brooding again?” I tease, brushing past him for a mug. I take the hot water he left to make tea for myself too.
The way his pout sits catches my attention. Those lips. The hot water spills on me almost scalding me but brings me back to my senses. Ow!
He glares at me. “It’s called thinking.”
“Thinking or sulking?” I grin into my cup.
“You’re annoying, Brie. I don’t know how your parents manage to put up with you,” he replies.
My smile vanishes at that. “They didn’t have to,” I reply, after thinking whether or not he deserves to know that about me or not.
That catches his attention. “What?”
“Have a good day, Cameron, and try to smile. It takes less effort than you think.” I wink at him and walk out, feeling his eyes on my backside.
Later that night, when he drags himself home from practice, sweaty and worn, I wait by the door just to poke fun at him.
“Ew! You smell like a wet dog. How did the driver manage to bring you home without passing out?”
He shakes his head, pushing past me towards the shower. “Your senses must be fatigued because I had a shower right after practice.”
I raise a brow at his white lie. “Oh yeah? Then did a rain cloud follow you home? How else do you explain the sweat on your forehead and the one on your clothes?”
“You know, you’d have a good chance at becoming a nanny than the role you currently occupy at work,” he responds.
“I’m simply doing my job as a good wife,” I reply with an amused grin.
He brushes past me to his room, talking under his breath.
I watch him sometimes and notice everything.
I see the way his shoulders slump when he thinks no one’s looking, the way his eyes go dark, with unspoken emotion, the smile that only comes to his face whenever he’s talking about hockey.
It’s clear that’s his only passion and everything else is just a routine.
He hides it behind his grumpy facade, but I know there’s a wounded man under it all.
Last night when I came downstairs for a water refill, I found him on the couch with the TV muted, staring through the screen like he was a million miles away.
I sat down beside him and curled my legs under me then leaned my head on his shoulder.
I waited for him to shake me off, but he didn’t even acknowledge me.
“Don’t look so gloomy, Gray. You’re going to wrinkle before you hit thirty.”
He snorted. “Better wrinkled than unfulfilled.”
I smacked him with a cushion, and for a second his lips curved with a small smile. That gave me hope, and I’m sure as long as I keep trying, I’ll soon break down his walls––not that it’s really necessary but the poor guy deserves some happiness.
Sometimes I want to ask about what’s eating him, but then I see the way his jaw locks and his body stiffens, so I hold back.
Instead, I throw in little jokes and subtle jabs.
I don’t even know if it’s working but until this arrangement is over, I’ll keep at it, just as long as he doesn’t push me away.
The office hums with activity as people dart around in pairs and trios, working on different projects.
I’m halfway through sorting seating cards for an event at the children’s hospital when my phone buzzes on the desk.
I almost ignore it, guessing it’s probably another vendor complaint but then I see the name.
I swipe it open. It’s a short and direct message, no greeting or anything else.
Cameron: Dinner, tonight. Just us.
I’m sure Collins put him up to this, so I don’t get any ideas. I type back before I start to overthink.
Brie: Okay.
“What will I wear?” I ask, picking up my phone to call Julia for help. I end the call just as it’s about to ring. “No, I won’t bother her. I’ll take care of this on my own.”
The restaurant looks like it was pulled straight from a movie scene. I’m in awe of the interior decor once we step in. I feel underdressed even in one of my best dresses. Cameron, of course, looks like he was born for this. He’s wearing a white shirt and navy blue blazer.
He pulls out my chair like an old-fashioned gentleman, and I can’t stop my smile.
“Wow! Look who’s being a gentleman tonight.”
“Don’t push it,” he warns, but there’s a little tenderness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.
Dinner is not as tense as I thought it would be. We talk about everything from food, to travel locations, to the ridiculous fashion choices of the couple two tables over. He makes me laugh, and I catch him watching me a few times.
Then he surprises me with his next request. “Dance with me.”
“What? Here? There’s no dance floor.”
“There’s music.” He stands and holds out his hand.
I look around awkwardly at the other guests and what they might think of me.
“Come on, Brie. Let loose.”
I blush because now I’m thinking about the kiss.
I let him pull me up and on cue, soft jazz music fills the air. He definitely arranged this. His hand finds my waist, his other cradles mine. Suddenly the restaurant fades into the background as we sway from side to side.
The air feels heavier as we are lost in each other’s gazes. His eyes trace my features like he’s memorizing every detail. “Have I told you before that I love your hair?”
My heart skips a beat, both at the compliment and how close he is. I open my mouth to respond but I close it back because I’m not sure I can trust my voice not to betray me.
By the time we get home, I’m flooded with a myriad of thoughts that don’t belong in my head. All of them border on the brink of delusion.
I run upstairs, slam my bedroom door shut and lean against it. My heart is racing, and my skin is buzzing where his hands touched.
What the hell?
I grab my phone and call Julia. It goes straight to voicemail. I try again but nothing.
I start pacing the room.
A knock at the door makes me freeze.
“Brie.”
I swallow hard, mentally debating if I should open the door or pretend to be asleep. My body betrays me, and I open the door.
He’s standing there, hair ruffled from the number of times he has raked his fingers through, holding a tray that contains two glasses of juice and a plate of cookies.
“I figured you should have this since we skipped dessert,” he says, almost forced.
I smile and take it from him. “That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”
“Can we talk? I just need company. You disappeared so fast after we got home.”
I watch him carefully. This doesn’t sound like Cameron Gray. Was there something in his wine?
“Sure,” I whisper, stepping aside.
We sit on the edge of my bed, sharing cookies and juice. At first we don’t speak, merely share awkward glances, then I clear my throat and bring up random college dorm stories I’ve heard and we talk at length about that. Then the words run out and silence takes its place.
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ears and inches closer. My heart screams, telling me to get up and leave but for some reason, I’m frozen in place.
“Brie.” His voice becomes deep, making me swallow nervously. “Can I kiss you?”
I nod absentmindedly.
He smiles, and just the small gesture that I could do that to him melts me completely.
His lips touch mine, igniting a fire that has been burning under my skin since the last intense make out session.
His hand cups my face, then my waist, pulling me against him. I melt, every ounce of resistance gone. The kiss deepens, becoming more messy as his tongue goes deeper into mine until the only thing that fills my nostrils is the scent of him.
When he lays me back against the pillows, my body arches to meet him instinctively.
His hands roam slowly at first, then bolder, sliding under my blouse.
I feel warmth course through my veins as his hands make contact with my skin.
I sigh in bliss as he nuzzles in my neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses.
I gasp when I feel his tongue licking my throat. His hands cup my breasts, and he sucks on one nipple, giving equal attention to the other with his hands.
The couch blankets twist beneath us as his mouth finds mine again, deep and unrelenting, stealing every thought I try to hold on to.
His hands roam, rough palms tracing fire down my sides before gripping my hips, dragging me against him with a hunger that makes me shiver.
When he finally thrusts into me, the air rips from my lungs in a gasp, pleasure sharp and overwhelming.
I cling to his shoulders, nails digging into hard muscle, my body arching into every relentless movement.
The rhythm builds, faster, harder, until I can’t hold back the sounds spilling from my mouth.
It’s like I’m in heaven, but the erotic side and I do not want to come down on earth anymore.
As I wake up the next morning, thoughts of my steamy night with Cameron flood my mind, without giving me room to even check if I’m breathing properly.
As the events replay in my head vividly, I’m blushing furiously. It’s hard to believe that I was that wildcat in the sack last night.
I clutch the bedsheets to my bare chest and sit up with a smile. The sight of the empty bed makes my breath hitch in my throat.
Why couldn’t he wait until I woke up?
I fight the tears that prick my eyelids and take a deep breath. I swipe away at my eyes. Shit. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s not that deep.
But it hurts…