Chapter 22
Angela
The conversation with Garrett needs to move away from beds and sleeping together or this night is going to take an unexpected turn. And, even though I definitely want to take that turn, the future of my family’s business rides on how I handle myself tonight.
So…as much as I’d like to ride him…I need to get that shit under control.
“You’ve been significantly grumpier than usual today. What gives?”
Garrett rakes a hand through his hair as he inhales deeply, then downs his wine in one long swallow before refilling his cup. “I’m not grumpy.”
I arch a brow and he lets out a long sigh.
“Tonight’s the anniversary of my mother’s death.”
His voice is low, the admission difficult. His posture looks defeated, or embarrassed, or maybe he doesn’t wear vulnerability well.
“I’m so sorry.” Almost without noticing, I step closer. Reach for him but let my hand drop.
“Don’t be.” He turns away. “I was only nine when it happened, and my dad remarried. My adoptive mom? She’s a great woman who was really good for us…” He leans on the wall, cradling his paper cup, and it sounds to me like he’s reciting lines. He’s rehearsed them so well he believes them himself.
I smile softly, then take a drink as the air conditioning unit near the window rattles to life. “That doesn’t make the loss any easier.”
Garrett glances up, surprised by my statement.
“It doesn’t. But admitting that makes me sound awful.
Amelia…we’re so close I call her Mom now.
She adopted us a couple years after she and Dad got married.
Mourning my mother makes me feel like a selfish prick.
Why mourn that loss when someone so wonderful took her place? ”
I’m out of my depth here. With my head swimming in gin and wine and him, I don’t know what to say to alleviate Garrett’s pain, but it doesn’t matter. He barely pauses before continuing.
“Sometimes I wonder what she’d think of me now that I’m grown. Would she be proud? Would she like who I’ve become?” The words seem to surprise him, as if he didn’t mean to let them into the conversation and wishes he could shove them right back into his mouth.
“Why wouldn’t she? You’re successful. You’re intelligent.”
You’re drop dead gorgeous, and I keep hoping you’ll call me a good girl again... I take a long drink to swallow the thought I wish I’d stop having.
“My mother married her high school sweetheart and adored him until the day she died. From what I can remember, she was warm and open and put everything she had into her family. I’m…
going a different way.” Garrett grimaces at the rattling AC unit, then shakes his head with derision. “Fucking cheap hotels.”
“And you think she wouldn’t approve? Of your different way?”
“I don’t know. That’s what bothers me most.” He stares into his wine. “The only thing I have of her are memories, and those are faded at best. Disappearing at worst.”
“You’re a good guy…when you’re not being an ass. You’re close with your brother and sister. Any mother would be proud of her children as long as they’re happy.”
“Happy.” Garrett’s jaw clenches and he throws back the rest of his wine before refilling both our glasses. “I think the best I can hope for is ‘not sad.’”
That’s a strange thing for a man like him to say. A man with looks, smarts…money. He has a family. A future. He has so much more than so many people in this world, the fact that he isn’t jumping for joy every second of the day tells me he’s looking at things wrong.
Of course, he’ll argue with me if I call him on it, but maybe the conversation will plant a seed in his subconscious. Or, maybe, we’ll spend the rest of the night irritated with each other.
Either way, it’ll keep us from talking about sex, and that feels like a step in the right direction. “Happiness isn’t a destination. It’s about enjoying the journey.”
“That right there?” Garrett waggles a finger and perches on the edge of the bed. Everything about him looks expensive. He exudes quality. The juxtaposition with the sandpaper-like comforter is downright ridiculous. “That’s some motivational wall art bullshit.”
“Sure. If you never stop to think deeply about how to apply it,” I reply with a laugh.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re implying I’m shallow?”
“I prefer not to make implications. Leaves too much room for misunderstandings.” I smile sweetly while he ponders whether I just hit him with another implication.
“Okay then. Teach me the depths of your motivational wall art bullshit.” A hint of a smile tugs at his lips and he wears it well, like there was a time in his life where smiles came quickly and often.
What happened to shut him down? To make him believe the best he can look forward to is “not sad?” Was it just the death of his mother?
Or is there more lurking under that scowly, growly exterior?
“Think about it,” I say. “How many times have you told yourself you’ll be happy if only you could have…
I don’t know…more money? A better house?
A different…distraction?” I heft my paper cup and arch a brow.
I settle in, ready to blow Garrett’s mind.
My parents raised me on discussions like this.
We debated the existential merits of happiness, the importance of joy, and the pettiness of modern life over more dinners than I can count.
Garrett huffs a sigh and rolls his hand through the air. “I hear you. Go on.”
“Okay, well, when you got those things, were you happy? My guess is maybe for some time, but then it faded. Because happiness is about enjoying where you are. Appreciating the tiniest, most mundane parts of your day.” I take a drink, then hold up the cup. “Like this. This cup right here.”
“You’re telling me that makes you happy. You’re easier to please than I thought, Angel.”
“Hold on now, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Think about how much was involved in making this insignificant little cup part of our night together. Once upon a time, it was a tree. How many people and processes were involved in turning that tree into paper? Then turning that paper into a cup? Then getting the cup to this hotel? This room? The two of us sitting here, drinking wine, involved so much of other people’s time and energy, how can you not find a little appreciation for that? ”
“That’s some fluffy bullshit right there.” Garrett takes a drink. “And a lot of excitement over a paper cup.”
“But it’s that excitement that leads to happiness.
Take a look at your life. At all the modern miracles that create your day.
You seem close with your brother and sister.
You just said your adoptive mom is amazing, so I’m going to assume your dad is too.
Judging by your clothes, your profession, and your attitude, money isn’t a problem for you.
Unless there’s something I’m not seeing, I’d guess you need to rearrange the way you look at things and you’ll be so much better than ‘not sad.’”
Garrett shakes his head. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“It doesn’t have to stay that way.” My voice is low, almost a purr, almost like I’m flirting.
Maybe I’ve had too much to drink.
“I’d rather know more about you.”
Okay…maybe Garrett has, too.
“All right. Fine. Ask away.” I flare my hands. “I’m an open book.”
“Why are you single?”
The question takes me by surprise. I puff my cheeks and exhale. “I don’t have time for a relationship. The hotel is my priority.”
Garrett crosses his ankle over his knee. “Spoken like a true romantic.”
“Hey.” The air blasting out of the AC is frosty, so I relocate, perching on the edge of the dresser. “You’re the one who decreed I’m a romantic. Not me.”
“So…what? You judge me for dealing in distractions but when it comes down to it, you agree with me?”
“I didn’t…okay…I guess I did roll my eyes pretty hard at the whole Future Mrs. Cooper thing.”
“Exactly.” He lifts an eyebrow then sips his wine.
“In my mind there’s a difference between recognizing I don’t have time for a relationship right now and decreeing I will only ever consider the opposite sex a distraction. My version is less…finite.”
“Because part of you is waiting for that princess moment,” he says with a cocky smile. “For the prince to come swooping in to save you. To love and adore you.”
“Ahh. See? There’s a lot you don’t know about me too. I’m in the business of taking care of myself, Mr. Cooper. No one else gets to have that much control.”
Garrett’s jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. For a moment I’m afraid I said the wrong thing, but then he laughs lightly.
“So, you’re not interested in relationships, and I’m not interested in relationships,” he says, shifting his weight, “yet we keep doing this dance.”
The flick of his gaze across my body is a lightning strike. My heart stutters and stammers in the aftermath.
“I wasn’t aware we were dancing.” I glance away to find a chance to breathe. “From where I’m sitting, it looks like you don’t know what you want.”
I make the mistake of looking up, curious to see how my words landed.
They landed all right. A storm is brewing between us. Electric. Powerful. Capable of destroying us both.
“You think I don’t know what I want?” Garrett’s eyes darken, searing mine with a heat that sends my heart pounding again. “I know exactly what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
There’s an expectancy in the air. Something big. Something important.
I stand to meet it head on.
Garrett crosses the room, his gaze locking me in place as he advances. I take an involuntary step backwards and my back hits the wall. He invades my personal space, placing both hands on the wall, caging me in as he leans forward.
His lips are a whisper from mine. I can feel his warmth and my body answers with a surge of desire.
“I want you, Angel. I want these lips. I want this body. I want to pin you to this wall and make you beg for me.”
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him. Garrett and I, we’re a bad match.
“I don’t beg.” My statement sounds like an invitation, even to me.
Make me beg, Garrett. Make me beg.
He leans in closer, his lips brushing the skin below my ear. “You will.”
He’s so close. Right there. I turn my head, angling my mouth to his, then close the gap because fuck it, I want this. I want him. I want to come undone. To stop worrying about ifs and shoulds and burn with him. To burn for him.
But he pulls back.
My chest heaves as the animalistic flare in his eyes dies down, a slow freeze that elicits a shuddering breath from my lips.
“But that can’t happen. We can’t happen.
” Garrett pushes off the wall and crosses the room.
“And yeah. I’m all over the place because I haven’t wanted someone the way I want you in a long time…
and I can’t do anything about it. You’re driving me crazy, Angel.
” He slams a fist into his hand and closes his eyes.
And there it is. Just out there in the open and what am I supposed to say to that? Do I laugh it off? Do I tell him I want it too? Do I ask him to leave?
Garrett shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. “I’m going to take a walk before we do something we regret. Thanks for the wine.”
“Any time.”
He throws back the rest of his drink and places the cup on the dresser almost reverently. With one last lingering look, he shakes his head and leaves the room.
And here I stand. Watching him leave.
Wondering what in the world just happened.