9. Graham
Chapter nine
Graham
I should’ve kissed her.
The thought ran through my head all night, taunting and teasing me for chickening out.
Her lips were right there, supple and full.
All I had to do was turn a fraction of an inch and our lips would’ve met.
I would’ve finally known if she tasted like the tropical scent that follows her around on a daily basis.
But I couldn’t.
As much as this tension between us drives me crazy, I can’t get distracted because I let the wrong head take charge.
If I’m going to become the permanent CEO for Thompson Investments and rebuild my savings, then I need to focus on attaining those new clients while I’m pretending I don’t have feelings for my fake fiancée.
This is why we need firm rules and a plan to break up.
I ponder this as I drive to Rosay’s condo. The ten-minute ride isn’t enough to dispel my trepidation, so I drive around for another twenty then stop to pick up two coffees, hoping the caffeine will help me get in the right mindset.
Outside of Rosay’s building, I relax in the car and do some breathing techniques to send a wave of calm over me.
The drive to Fredericksburg is only an hour long—though since it’s Texas, it could really be more like two hours with traffic—that’s not enough time to go over everything we weren’t able to cover last night.
I’m early, but from the emails I received this morning , I know Rosay is awake, and I’ve come with breakfast as a bad mood deterrent.
I use the elevator ride to go over everything I’ve learned about her family.
Reign, her father, remarried after Rosay’s mother, Esme, passed away.
There wasn’t much mention of Rosay in the local winery magazines, nor in the massive spread in Food & Wine they did on the Wilmington family, but that could just be Reign protecting his teenage daughter at the time.
Rosay’s pleading comes back to me, and I’m sucked back to that moment when she nearly broke down trying to explain why her family thought she was engaged.
She didn’t want to be the embarrassment of her family, which strikes me as odd because she’s an extremely successful VP for a large investment firm who doesn’t give two shits what I or anyone else thinks.
She should be proud of all she’s accomplished, but after reading the bios on her step-siblings, I can understand the desire to live up to their successes or to not get lost in the shuffle.
I may be going on this trip to further my career, but if I can help Rosay in any way outside of this, I will.
Sweat forms under my arms as the elevator doors open, and I step into a corridor with four doors.
I don’t have to wonder which one is Rosay’s.
A massive pink wreath draws my attention to a door on the left side, and without checking the number, which is surely hidden by the offensive tulle and plastic flowers, I knock.
A few minutes pass, and there’s still no answer.
I check my watch and knock a little louder.
There’s a bang and some type of scream and my hand twists the aluminum knob with so much force I break the handle.
My pulse thumps inside my head as I move through Rosay’s condo, dropping the coffee on a massive island and searching for where I heard the noise from.
“Rosay? ” I call out then listen for an answer.
Sensual music emanating from a room in the back corner tells me she’s most likely there, so I open the door but stop dead in my tracks. Long tan legs meet a white lacy thong, and before I know it, the word “ Fuck ” has left my lips.
“Graham!” Rosay yells as I’m backing out of the room.
“I thought you were hurt,” I reply, hellbent on escaping to her living room. At the door, I inspect her broken knob, cursing myself for not thinking before reacting. She’ll have to call maintenance to fix it, but that’s worth knowing she wasn’t hurt.
I sit on a stool at her island, admiring the swirling blues of her granite countertop.
“Graham,” she says, voice a little closer and softer than I expected.
I exhale, staring at a silver line that runs through the lacquered surface. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I heard what I thought was a scream and just reacted.”
She releases something between a laugh and a sigh, and I can’t help but look at her.
A white towel is twisted around her head, but she’s wearing a white sports bra that does nothing to help my erection hidden beneath this counter.
At least she’s dressed in a pair of fitted jeans now, not that I can ever burn the image of her juicy ass in that dainty white lace from my head.
“I was just…frustrated.” She walks toward me and props her arms on the counter.
If there is an award for eye restraint, surely my superhuman ability to stay focused on her face—when I know how beautiful her breasts are—deserves recognition.
“Why are you frustrated? It’s barely eight o’clock.”
“Nothing that involves you,” she replies.
I scoff. “I wasn’t assuming it involved me. I’ve done nothing except bring you coffee.”
“And break my door handle.” She points over my shoulder then grumbles something incoherent as she unwinds the towel on her head. A smattering of pink dusts her cheeks, and try as I might, my gaze coasts down the valley of her breasts before a long strand of blonde hair falls into the crevasse.
A sudden swoop in my stomach riddles me as my breath catches on the change. Blonde? The timid smile on her face is so unlike the tenacious smartass I’m used to dealing with that I stare at her with a dumbstruck look on my face.
“You hate it.” She picks up a strand and drops it as if it’s a disgusting vegetable.
“N…No,” I stammer. I moisten my lips and swallow against a dry throat. She’s drop-dead gorgeous whether her hair is blonde or pink, but this isn’t her . “You’re absolutely beautiful.”
She scoffs as if I’m lying then makes to walk back down the hallway, barely making it two steps before I reach out to stop her.
“Turn around.” My tone is gruff and commanding, and I watch her spine straighten, little goosebumps appearing on her skin. I don’t know what it is about this woman that makes me feral, but when she only glances over her shoulder in defiance, all I want to do is bend her over the couch.
“What, Graham?”
“Look at me.” Her jaw clenches, but she turns around, keeping her gaze on the ground. I nudge her chin up. “Your hair looks beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she says with a heaved sigh. “Figured it was time for a change. ”
She might be saying it’s time for a change, but I’ve spent the last week learning everything there is to know about the Wilmington clan, and I understand what her comment really means. She doesn’t want to be the one who is different .
While Rosay’s natural hair color is more of a light brown to her siblings’ honey blonde, I can still grasp the sentiment that she wants to fit in.
“It looks nice on you.” I wrap a finger around a blonde strand. She smacks my hand away, and I smile at the feisty woman I’ve come to not dislike so much. “I brought you a coffee. Get dressed so we can go over some stuff.”
She groans as she walks into the back room and returns a moment later in a long-sleeved blouse, the folder I gave her last night resting on her arm.
“You know, there’s a special place in hell for people who delight in spreadsheets and work emails before ten in the morning. I called maintenance to come fix the door. Should be here shortly.” She drops the folder on the island across from me. “So, what do we need to go over, sir?”
Though my heart stutters at the sensual way she said ‘sir,’ I ignore her baiting. “This is important stuff we need to get through. I can’t risk things going south just because we didn’t take time to prepare.”
What I really want to say is that my reputation can’t take another hit, and I can’t risk losing my job when my dad’s medical bills have taken the majority of the cushion I had nestled away.
“Why exactly are you doing this?” she asks, pulling some eggs and bacon out of the fridge. “Couldn’t you just set up meetings with these people?”
She’s not wrong. I could, but it would take months to get on their schedules, and I only have four months to gain seven new clients.
The ease and cam araderie of the wedding atmosphere is a better option for meeting more than one person at a time, and because agriculture is the specific spot where Thompson is losing business, this wedding is the perfect place to meet the farmers in the area.
“I…” I open my mouth to tell Rosay about the ultimatum the board handed down, but something holds me back. “I thought it was pretty obvious. More clients equals more money.”
“What if the other employees find out?” she asks, ripping the fear straight from my head. “That probably won’t look good for either of us if they think you’re giving me special treatment.”
“They won’t.”
“But what if they do?”
The employees I can handle. They’re easily persuaded to keep their mouths shut with promises of extra personal time off or catered lunches.
It’s the board I don’t need to find out, though I refuse to put that worry into Rosay’s head.
I don’t need them to think I’m anything but focused on the reason they hired me.
“I’ll tell them I’ve been invited to attend a networking event. Your family will be convinced we’re together, and they will be none the wiser. Our worlds don’t have to intersect outside of this weekend.”
She scrambles eggs in the pan and puts bacon on to fry, the smoky scent filling the air. “I guess you’re right. It shouldn’t be an issue unless we run into someone who knows both of us.”
“Well—”
A knock at the door stops me. Rosay lets the maintenance man get to work then says, “It’s not like anyone we work with would believe we’re together anyways.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”