Chapter 9 Grace
CHAPTER NINE
GRACE
I open my eyes, and my first thought is, what the fuck?
This is so, so very bad.
I shake off the memory and hop in the shower, focusing all my attention on getting ready for work. It’s the only thing that will keep me sane.
An hour later, I step out of the elevators, keeping my eyes to the floor as I make a beeline for my desk. Thankfully, not too many people are here this early, so I’m able to work in peace.
A couple of hours later, Mr. Graves comes in, wearing a dark navy suit that's tailored perfectly to his muscular body. For a moment, it looks like he winks, but then he heads straight for his office without saying hello, and I realize I must have imagined it.
My eyes follow him all the way to his office, unable to help my eyes from dipping lower, taking in his physique.
I watch him shamelessly for another few seconds before turning back to my spreadsheets.
Though, no matter how hard I try, I’m unable to focus.
Completely distracted and fighting to keep my eyes away from Mr. Graves’s office.
A few minutes later, Tricia walks into the office.
Her tight red dress matches the stain on her lips, and her heels are so sharp and pointy, they could easily be used as a weapon.
Tricia shoots me a nasty glare as she struts toward Mr. Grave’s office, swaying her hips as she walks past the window, clearly hoping he’s looking at her.
She stops in front of his door, turning to give me a nasty smile as she boldly knocks. “Mr. Graves! I need to speak with you about something!”
I watch Mr. Graves through the window, my lips tilting into a tiny smile as I watch him drag his eyes to the ceiling.
His cheeks hollow as he blows out a breath, seemingly irritated by her interruption.
With an expression pinched in resignation, Mr. Graves gets out of his chair and moves to the door, pulling it wide.
“Come inside. We’ll talk.”
Tricia tries to close the door behind her, but Mr. Graves holds his arm out, ensuring it stays open wide. Her mouth turns down in a frown, but she doesn’t protest as she moves farther into his office.
Before he follows her, Mr. Graves looks across the office, his eyes heated as he stares at me. I swallow hard, my neck prickling with awareness, and a little bit of desire.
Mr. Graves smiles, then turns and follows Tricia inside.
I watch him sit in his armchair, and I turn my eyes back to my computer, pretending to be working when it’s the exact opposite.
I can’t help but be worried, knowing Tricia is likely telling Mr. Graves what happened at lunch yesterday—no doubt spinning it in a way to paint me in the worst light possible, while making Tricia look like an angel.
To my surprise, Tricia exits the office only a few minutes later. Her cheeks are heated, but she doesn’t seem particularly happy. She straight up ignores me as she walks back to her desk—far less pep in her walk than when she was going the other way.
How strange…
Nothing happens for a good hour. Mr. Graves just sits at his desk, eyes intent on his computer screen, his brow furrowed in a look of deep concentration. Then, all at once, Mr. Graves shuts his laptop and exits his office.
I can’t pretend to ignore him this time—not when he’s walking straight toward me with a look of thunder on his face. He stops a few inches from me, placing his hand on my shoulder and leaning in to whisper, “A word, in my office?”
His breath fans my neck, sending a pleasurable shiver down my spine. He’s so close, I can smell the intoxicating notes of smoke and leather clinging to his skin, and it’s driving me mad with need. No. Bad Grace. This is your boss.
I shake myself out of my mental fantasy, turning sideways in my seat to put some distance between me and Mr. Graves’s lips. “Of course.”
He frowns, seeming displeased with my curt response. Turning, he walks into his office, not bothering to look to see if I’m following. Mr. Graves ushers me inside with a stony expression, then shuts the door softly behind me. Fuck. That’s not a good sign.
As I stand in Mr. Graves’s beautiful office, it’s fear—not desire—that has my heart racing. Did Tricia succeed? Am I going to lose my job because I lost my temper?
Mr. Graves stalks around his desk, grabbing a pen from the cup holder before taking a seat in the plush leather armchair.
He leans back, surveying me with narrowed feline eyes as he twirls a pen between his fingers.
The movement is effortless in the way only years of practice can achieve, and I wonder if he realizes he’s doing it.
Neither of us speaks for what feels like an eternity, until finally, I can’t take the suspense.
“Am I in trouble?” I don’t bother to hide the desperation in my voice. “If you’re going to fire me, please just get it over with.”
The pen freezes, and Mr. Graves’s mouth works into a heart-stopping smirk. “Should I? Have you been a bad girl, Grace?”
My heart stops. “I’m sorry, what?”
Mr. Graves frowns, tilting his head innocently. “I said—have you done something bad, Grace?”
I must have misheard him. There’s no way he actually said that first thing…
“Grace?”
I shake my head, focusing on my boss’s bemused expression. “Sorry, what?”
“Did you do something that would lead to your contract being terminated?”
My mind travels back to the incident yesterday involving Tricia’s yogurt, and I cringe. “I, uh… maybe?” Might as well fess up now. Tricia told him everything already, I’m sure. “I can explain, though.”
Mr. Graves waves me off. “No need. I already got an earful from Trisha.” At the mention of her name, he brings his fingertips to his temple, as if the thought of her gives him a headache. “I assume the story is true? Minus her embellishments, of course.”
I gulp, wondering exactly what Trisha told him. “It’s true that I may have… tampered with her yogurt. But in my defense, she deserved it.”
I fight the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. Why the hell did I say that? I’m totally getting fired now…
Mr. Graves nods once, as if that’s all the confirmation he needs.
I cringe, bracing for the worst-case scenario as he leans forward, face set in grim seriousness.
“Honestly, Ms. Kent? I have zero interest in office drama. What I care about is your work for this company—which has, quite frankly, been exemplary.”
I blink, too stunned to respond.
Mr. Graves carries on, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re a great asset to me, Grace—the company,” he adds. “What I said the other day is true—I’m looking forward to working closely with you.”
“So… I’m not getting fired for fingering Trisha’s yogurt?”
His lips quirk in a barely-there smile as he gestures for me to take a seat. “You’re not. But I do want to talk to you about something.” He grins, and if it’s possible, Mr. Graves becomes even more devastatingly handsome. “Unrelated to dairy products, of course.”
“Oh… okay.” I awkwardly slide into the plush leather chair, dwarfed by its massive size and the man sitting opposite me. “What’s up?”
Mr. Graves leans back in his chair, surveying me with those strangely colored eyes.
“The company is planning to release a new product right before the holidays—some experimental design that the investors are worried about. Half of them want to roll ahead with the launch, and the others want to wait until the market is less competitive to roll out something so different. I could use your help with the numbers side of things to see if it’s a good idea or not. ”
“Sure thing.” I fidget under the weight of his stare. “I can do that.”
I’ll have to stay late at work for a couple of nights crunching numbers, but it’s not like I have much going for me outside of work.
At last, Mr. Graves’s expression breaks into a small smile. “Thank you, Grace. It’s a great help to me.”
“No problem,” I say. “Thank you for being cool about the… dairy situation.”
His dark eyes shine with amusement as he brings a finger to his lips in a shushing sign. “It’s our secret.”
I don’t know why, but something about the scene has every hair on my body standing on end. A shiver works its way down my spine, and I’m overcome with an eerie sense of déjà vu.
“Great,” I choke. “Well… I should probably be getting back to work. Unless there’s anything else you need from me?”
He never does respond to my question. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea,” he says after a moment. “You should get back to it.”
Mr. Graves stands and leads me to the door, pausing with his hand wrapped around the handle. His gaze cuts to me out of the corner of his eye, and there’s a heated emotion there I can’t place. “I’ll see you later, Grace. Have a good day.”
“You too, Mr. Graves.”
As I walk back to my desk, I can’t shake the sensation that I’m standing on the edge of something massive, staring straight into the jaws of some great beast.
How strange.
Around noon, I head into the break room to grab my lunch from the fridge. Only, when I reach in, it’s not there. Frowning, I crouch in front of the shelves, pulling out various lunchbags and expired goods in search of my sandwich.
After a few minutes, I realize I’m not going to find it.
Either someone took it or mistakenly threw it out, which is weird, because that’s never been a problem in the office before now.
I let out a sigh as I close the fridge and head back to my desk to grab my purse.
Looks like I’ll be going out for lunch today.
My stomach rumbles in protest, so I pull out a piece of mint gum and pop it in my mouth, hoping to stave off my hunger for a little while longer.
I step onto the elevator, relieved to find it’s empty, but just before the doors close, a scarred hand slides between them, and the elevator dings loudly as they reverse their path.
My pulse spikes as Mr. Graves appears in the opening in his tailored suit, the dark color bringing out the hue of his eyes, the hungry gleam in his smile.
“Room for one more?”