She reached up and stroked my cheek. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? She…sometimes gets hallucinations, and they always seem to center on the doctors.”
Jesus. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I don’t think you should stay here.”
“No. I can’t leave her like this. She needs me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Lily. That was fucked up. How do you know she won’t hurt you?”
“She won’t. I promise. Please don’t say anything to anyone.”
I hated to leave her, but a part of me did understand the need to help a screwed-up parent, right or wrong. I used to cook mine dinner at five years old.
“Okay. But get her back on the meds tonight. And if she isn’t a little better by next week, we need to get you out of here.”
Chapter 11
* * *
Ireland
I wondered if he’d be here.
I was mid-conversation with some former colleagues I hadn’t seen in a few years when I got my answer. The sight of him made me lose my train of thought.
On the other side of the room, Grant Lexington stood wearing a classic black tuxedo. He was talking to an older gentleman, which gave me the opportunity to really take him in—tall, broad shoulders, yet not overly bulky, a narrow waist with one hand resting casually in his pants pocket. Even from a distance, his confidence registered. There was something about the way certain men held themselves that showed they were in charge, and that really worked for me. It could take a man who was a seven and make him an eleven in my book. On the other hand, a handsome ten with a meek personality could be reduced to a five.
Mr. Confident held a drink in his left hand and raised it to his mouth, but he stopped before drinking. He seemed to sense something and looked around the room. When his eyes caught mine, a slow, wicked smile spread across his face. He excused himself from the conversation and strode toward me.
My body tingled as I watched him approach with long strides, and I turned from the group I’d been standing with.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said.
I tried to appear casual as I sipped my champagne. “I’m filling in for Bickman.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Grant eyed the group next to me. “Are you here with a date?”
“No. You?”
He smiled and shook his head. “Would a compliment be unwelcome? I wouldn’t want to sexually harass you.”
“Compliments are always welcome, Mr. Lexington.”
His eyes sparkled. Taking hold of my elbow, he led me a few feet away from the group I’d been standing with. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to a man like me.”
“What was the compliment anyway?”
Grant’s eyes swept over me. “You look beautiful tonight.”
I blushed. “Thank you.”
Grant stopped a waiter as he passed. He gulped back the rest of the amber liquid in his glass and slipped the flute of champagne from my hand, setting them both down on the waiter’s tray.
“I was drinking that.”
He motioned for the waiter to move along and returned his attention to me. “I’ll get you more when we’re done.”
“Done with what?”
He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
He smirked. “I’m fucking positive it’s not.”
Grant took my hand and led me to the dance floor. I debated arguing, but when he pulled me close and I felt the firmness of his chest and took in his delicious masculine scent, I forgot what I was even about to argue over. He led with the same kind of confidence he exuded—a quiet dominance mixed with natural grace.
“So why no date tonight, Ireland?” He looked down at me as we glided around the dance floor.
“No suitable candidates, I guess.”
“Surely in the entire city of Los Angeles there’s at least one eligible bachelor.”
“I must keep missing him.”
Grant smiled.
We had good banter, that’s for sure. Even that first nutty email exchange.
“Why no date for you tonight?” I asked.
“I guess I keep missing her, too.”
We both laughed.
“So how are things going without Bickman?”
“Honestly, it’s going fine. He’s not really missed.”
Grant nodded. “Good to hear. Though I expected nothing less.”
A minute later, the song ended, and the emcee asked everyone to please find their seats in the main dining room. As soon as we stepped back from each other, a man approached Grant and asked to have a word with him.
He looked like he didn’t want to leave my side. “Where are you seated?” he asked.
“Table nine. You?”
“Table one. I’ll catch up with you later,” he said. “Thank you for the dance.”
I smirked. “It wasn’t like you gave me any choice. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Lexington.”
For the rest of the night, Grant and I didn’t cross paths. But that didn’t mean my eyes lost track of him at any point. He was busy; everyone in the room wanted a piece of him. Which was probably for the best, since the piece I seemed to want of him wouldn’t be the wisest business decision. Still, our gazes caught a few times, and we exchanged what I thought were flirty, private smiles.
When the coffee came out, I knew it was time for me to make my exit. Three thirty would roll around soon enough. I scanned the room for Grant, figuring I’d wave goodbye, but he was engrossed in a conversation with a group of men who all looked old enough to be his dad. I weighed the right business etiquette—did I go over and interrupt him to say goodnight, or simply leave? Undecided, I picked up my purse and said my goodbyes at my own table. When I was done, I looked back at where Grant had been talking, but he was no longer there.
I figured fate had decided how to handle things for me.
Though when I turned from my table, I crashed directly into a hard body.
I backed up. “Sorry. Oh…it’s you.”
“You sound disappointed. Would you have preferred to walk into someone else?”
I laughed. “No. I was going to come over and say goodnight, but then you disappeared.”
“I guess I beat you to it. I’ll walk with you. I was just heading out myself.”
He hadn’t looked like he was getting ready to leave a few minutes ago. Nevertheless, Grant put his hand on the small of my back and escorted me out of the ballroom.
Outside, I took out my phone.
“Did you drive?” he asked.
“No. I Ubered so I could have a glass of wine.”
“I have a car. I’ll drop you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist.”
A minute later, a stretch limo pulled around. Apparently, him having a car meant a chauffeured one. The uniformed driver got out and went to open the back door, but Grant waved him off and opened it for me instead.
“Thank you.”
I slid across the backseat to make room for Grant. The rear of the limo was spacious enough to hold ten people. Yet when he climbed in and joined me, it suddenly felt very small. I was hyperaware of his thigh brushing against mine.