Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
EMMA
Grayson finishes the lecture on the introduction to tapas, and we all stand up to collect our things. Leo jumps up as I take my time, knowing I’ll be the last to leave.
“You look really nice today,” Leo says in a low voice.
I raise a brow. “Do I not look as nice as I have in the past?”
He shakes his head. “No, you always look good—”
“I’m fucking with you, Leo.”
He laughs and places a hand on my shoulder.
“I never thanked you properly last week.” I meet his gaze as he continues.
“Professor Hayes asked me to meet him during his office hours, and he gave me new notes along with a few more compliments. Well, the closest you can get to compliments when it comes to him.” He smirks.
“I have a feeling you had something to do with it.”
“He really did that?” I ask, genuinely surprised that Grayson went so far to fix his mistake.
“Yep,” Leo reassures me. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Nodding and still frozen in my spot, I’m left alone as Leo walks past me. The students quietly leave the class as I try to gather my thoughts about Grayson following through with his words by taking action. My respect for him grows as my annoyance and frustration fade just a little.
“Ms. Haywood?”
I close my eyes, grab my bag, and turn around. He’s cleaning his glasses as he looks at me with a neutral expression.
Grumpy it is then.
“Grayson?” I ask as I make my way to him in a couple of strides. The carpet muffles the sound of my new four-inch Manolo Blahnik Mary Jane pumps, the ones I bought to replace the regular stilettos I broke last week.
Professor Hayes offers the faintest smile. “Dropping the formalities already?”
I fold my arms across my chest and eye him suspiciously. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
His smile fades as he puts his glasses back on, making him look like the perfect image of a sexy professor.
Why does he have to be so good-looking?
“I wanted to apologize for what happened on Saturday.”
I nearly scoff. Oh, I am so officially done with this. “And exactly what part are you sorry for?” I rest my hand on his desk. “Flirting with me? Brushing your fingers along every part of my hand? Stroking your thumb until we both looked at each other with desire—”
“Enough,” he grits out.
Looking down, I find both of his hands clenched into fists resting against the desk, then I raise my gaze to his face, where his jaw is tighter than usual, and there’s a certain fire burning behind his eyes.
I chuckle at the effect I have on him. “No.”
“No?” He laughs humorlessly.
“No more excuses and no more apologies.” I stand tall.
“We keep saying that this is purely professional, but now I’m saying enough.
Enough with the lies, the doubt, the constant miscommunication, the cryptic messages, and the apologies for things neither one of us truly regrets because we’re too afraid to say what we feel out loud.
” His cheeks flush red as my heart pounds.
His eyes widen as he processes my words before returning to their normal size.
“You’re older than me. You’ve been married and divorced.
You lived in another country and moved back to start over.
When I met you, I thought you were a man who knew what he wanted.
” I step back. “I was sorely mistaken.” Grabbing my bag, I sling the strap over my shoulder.
“If you can’t admit your attraction toward me, then fine, but at least do me the courtesy of answering my questions for the article.
You know, the ones you’re too scared to answer, but I still need? ”
All I receive at my grand speech is silence.
“Of course you’re not going to say anything.
” He still hasn’t rejected me until now.
He hasn’t denied his feelings, but he hasn’t confirmed them either, and I’m tired of not getting any answers.
I’ve always been straightforward, and I thought he would be too, but I was wrong.
It’s officially killing the fantasy I’ve held on to since July.
“Message well received, Professor Hayes. I’ll see you next week.” Keeping my emotions in check, I walk toward the door. As I’m about to open it, a large hand grips my forearm, and I turn to meet his stare.
“Come with me.”
Um…what? “What do you mean by ‘come with me’? Come with you where?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he opens the door, gently pushes me out, and grabs my wrist, practically dragging me to where the parking lot is as I try to shake his hand off.
“Let me go! Where are you taking me? Are you kidnapping me?”
He ignores me, only giving a small shake of his head.
“Grayson, tell me where we’re going now or else!”
All I get in response is a snort as if my threat is hollow.
Letting out an annoyed breath, I put in half my strength and manage to twist Grayson’s arm enough to make him trip a bit, as a warning.
He looks back at me, confused, but still doesn’t let go.
Smirking, I look him straight in the eye and place my free hand on my trapped wrist. Using all my strength this time, I push my top hand downward and twist, causing him to release me while he winces.
Then I make him stumble back as I put my hands on his chest and move forward.
He looks at me with wide eyes as if he’s never seen me before. I take a few steps back. “If you were a stranger, I would’ve hit you in your diaphragm or punched you in the face.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Rolling my eyes, I throw a hand up in frustration. “I wasn’t scared, Grayson. If I were, you’d be in a lot more pain. I just hated you not answering me and pulling me away like a rag doll.”
He sighs, removes his glasses, and rubs his forehead. “I’ll answer the questions you need answers to—”
“You will?!”
“If,” he emphasizes. “You come with me.”
Looking at him with narrowed eyes, then at his truck just a couple of feet away, I give a small dip of the chin and lead the way.
Grayson catches up to me in two seconds but continues to walk at my slower pace.
Glancing briefly at him, I smile at the small gesture.
He turns and catches me before I swivel my head to the passenger door.
Observing the height off the ground as I did before, I groan.
“Don’t worry,” he says from behind me and unlocks all the doors. “I’ve got you.”
Grayson then grabs me by the hips and lifts me until both of my heels hit the step, staying there until I’m safely inside. Another gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He walks around the car as I buckle my seat belt.
Once he’s inside and starts driving, I notice my light gray sweater dress’s skirt is riding up a bit.
I pull it down over my sheer black tights, feeling Grayson’s gaze on me.
I glance at him and see his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
There’s obvious tension in the air, we’re both feeling it.
“Tears” by Sabrina Carpenter plays on the radio station he’s still listening to for some reason, and I roll my eyes while trying to hide my smirk at the lyrics.
Grayson’s obviously paying attention to the lyrics, too, if his shifting and clearing of the throat is any indication.
I put a hand over my mouth and lean on the car door, trying to suppress a laugh.
Seriously, though, hasn’t this guy ever heard of a phone and Bluetooth? His car has a screen and everything.
After the song changes to one I don’t recognize, I lean my head back and take a deep breath to relax. There’s no reason to get stressed over this.
Okay, I’m officially stressed. It’s been twenty minutes since we left Driscoll, and we’re on the highway, and still haven’t reached our destination. After another five minutes, he finally takes an exit and guides us to the historic four corners of Kingston.
Interesting. A Wednesday night in Kingston.
There’s not much to do in this area on a Wednesday night except have dinner. I check the time on the car and see that it’s after eight thirty p.m. Okay, now there’s nothing left to do.
“As much as I like this area, there isn’t anything open.”
I look over at him, and he smirks, remaining quiet.
Seven minutes later, I’m being led into a small, elegant hotel.
“Okay, now I really need to know where we’re going,” I tell Grayson in a whisper.
“Just trust me,” he whispers back and smiles at the woman at the reception desk.
Grayson rounds a corner where the snacks are for hotel guests, and a man stands behind the counter. He hands his ID to the man, who nods and smiles at me.
“ID, please.”
Confusion washes over me, and I glance at Grayson for an answer. He offers me another trust me look.
Screw it. I’ve come this far. Fishing through my hand purse, which I always carry in my bigger purses, I hand the stranger my ID, still confused about what’s happening, when all I see are a fridge, a pantry, and a small bookcase.
“This way, please.” The man moves to the bookcase and wraps a hand around its edge, pulling until it opens like a door.
My eyes widen as I see a staircase that leads to a place where they’re playing slow jazz music.
“Have a great night,” the kind man says from behind us as Grayson takes the first step and offers me his hand to help me down.
Too shocked at what I’m seeing, I grab a hold of his palm and follow him down the wooden stairs to a dimly lit area with booths, a gorgeous long bar, and a small stage that’s currently empty.
What. The. Fuck.
“The band only comes from Thursday to Saturday,” Grayson answers one of my many unasked questions.
“Table for two, Mr. Hayes?” a woman says from beside us, and I jump a bit at the sound.
“Yes, the booth in the back if it’s free,” Grayson responds, and I do a double take.
Is he a regular?