Fall Into You (7 page)

“I’ve got to get to my desk,” she said, standing, smoothing the
nonexistent wrinkles in her pants. She needed to get out of there before she cried
like some loser.

Trey rose as well. “Beaumonde, don’t let this get you down. There are behind-the-scenes
positions that pay more than the on-air ones. With your skills, you’re going to move
right up the chain.”

The gritted teeth smile she gave him made her face hurt. “Right.”

“And—”

She raised her hand, cutting him off. “Stop. It’s fine.
I’m
fine.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Of course you are. You’re the toughest woman I know.”

And therein lay the problem.

She walked out of his office, the tattered threads of her childhood dream unraveling
at the seams with each step.

Maybe her mother had been right to laugh at her.

“Get down from there,” Grant said, using his most authoritative tone. “Now.”

Charli’s cat licked a paw and gave him a glance from atop the cabinets that seemed
to say,
I’m sorry, were you talking to me? Because I couldn’t give a shit
. Grant grunted. The damn feline had gotten himself stuck up there and anytime Grant
climbed up to get him out, Tom hissed and swatted at him. He didn’t think he could
find a Tom Brady he disliked more than the quarterback version, but this cat was moving
up the charts.

This was ridiculous. Grant had horses that would approach at his subtlest signal.
Had owned dogs he’d been able to train in a matter of hours. Hell, he could walk over
to The Ranch, snap his fingers, and a line of subs would be kneeling at his feet in
half a second. But this cat—this cat was topping him.

He picked up the food bowl he’d set out earlier and shook it in Tom’s direction. “Come
on. You must be hungry.”

God knows the cat had emptied all the contents of his stomach
in that carrier on the way over. Grant’s truck was never going to smell the same.

The front door squeaked, and Grant peered through the pass-through to find Charli
stepping inside. She closed the door behind her, set her bags down, and then sagged
against the solid wood, shutting her eyes and running her hands over her face.

The simple despair of the move sent all his worry sensors going off. The cat forgotten,
he headed out of the kitchen and into the lamp-lit living room. “Hey, you okay?”

She startled, her lids flying open and her hand going to her chest. “Grant.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He crooked a thumb at the kitchen. “I had stopped
in to check on the cat.”

“Oh.”

He took in her red-rimmed eyes, her pale cheeks, and moved closer. Tentatively. He
wanted to touch her, to protect her from whatever it was that had put her in this
state, but knew that would be a supremely unwise move. “Did something else happen?”

She pushed off the door and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I’m fine.”

“Well, obviously something’s upset you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but can we not talk about this?” She grabbed her bags,
took a wide step around him, and made her way toward the kitchen.

His jaw flexed as he held back the demand to know more. He’d said he’d give her space
and already he was itching to push her for information. He rolled his shoulders, trying
to shake off his instinct to control the situation, and followed her into the kitchen.
“I’m not trying to pry, but I need you to be an open book when it comes to any strange
things happening, any threats, any information that may help us figure out who’s after
you. That’s why you’re here.”

“I get it. But there’s nothing to report. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. My boss
is a dick. End of story.” She set her canvas grocery
bags on the counter and started unloading things. “I want to have a glass of wine,
watch some mindless TV, and go to bed.”

“No television in here.”

“What?” She sounded truly horrified but didn’t turn around.

“People come here to relax and get away, not to watch Lifetime movies.”

“Fabulous. Guess I’ll be watching on my computer then.”

He grabbed the bottle of the merlot she’d set on the counter and grimaced when he
read the label. “Darlin’, I can’t let you drink this. It’s crap.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “It’s fine. It was on sale, and I’ve had
it before.”

He unscrewed the top and sniffed. God-awful as he expected. He tilted the bottle over
the sink and poured. “You’d be better off drinking grape soda.”

“Hey!” She turned around and made a grab for the bottle, but most of it was already
swirling down the drain. “I spent ten bucks on that.”

“They robbed you. I’ll bring over a bottle of my own stock. I promise you it’s worth
more than ten bucks and will go down a lot smoother.”

She slammed the bottle down on the counter and shot him a look that could wilt flowers.
“Goddammit. You said you weren’t going to hover, and already you’re controlling my
alcohol selections? Back off, cowboy. I’ve had enough of people telling me what I
can and can’t do today.”

He knew he should listen. Clearly she was on edge. But she looked so decadent right
then—color back in her cheeks, fire in her eyes, the small curves of her breasts rising
and falling with her frustrated breaths. He could tell she wanted to lash out even
more, that she wanted to take out her day on someone. She needed a release, and though
he’d prefer to lift her up on that counter and show her a more fun way of letting
go of all that energy, he knew that
wasn’t an option. So he was willing to field her wrath if it took that wrinkle out
of her brow.

“So you had a bad day,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of
the sink, purposely prodding her.

She narrowed her eyes, then turned back to her groceries, ignoring his statement.
“Where’s Tom?”

“Above you,” Grant said, nodding at the ball of fur squeezed between the ceiling and
tops of the cabinets. “I was trying to get him down when you came in, but he was less
than cooperative.”

She tilted her head back and looked up. “Oh, good Lord, Tommy. Get down from there.”

She made some kissing and cooing sounds and in an instant, the cat slinked to the
far end of the space, hopped to the top of the refrigerator, then down onto the counter
to Charli’s awaiting arms.

Grant shook his head. He’d been trying to do the same for half an hour and had been
convinced the cat was stuck. Apparently, Tom was as strong-headed as his owner.

She set Tom on the floor, and Grant saw the flicker of sadness behind the stoic mask
she’d put on after she’d realized he was in the cabin. But as quickly as it was there,
it was gone. “I know we don’t know each other very well, Charli, but I can be a pretty
good ear if you need one. You don’t have to put on a happy face on my account.”

She glanced up at him, and for a moment, he thought he’d gotten through, but her expression
went smooth as glass again. “Thanks, but I told you, I’m fine. Why don’t you lay those
rules on me? It’s getting late.”

So, she was going with the brush-off. Fine.

He’d let her get away with it…for now.

But if he was going to protect her, she needed to trust him.

Usually not a problem. Gaining a woman’s trust was his stock and trade. Unfortunately,
this time he was going to have to figure out how to do it without restraints and a
firm spanking.

Charli kept her back to Grant, loading the few items she’d bought at the market into
a cabinet and the refrigerator and trying to regain her composure. When Grant had
looked at her, she’d had the uncanny sense that he was seeing to the root of her,
seeing every ugly fear and vulnerability, every hurt and trauma. She didn’t like it.
At all.

She was too on edge after the disaster of a day to deal with someone like him. One
errant word or look and she’d spill her guts on the floor like some damned therapy
session.
Oh, poor me. Not only did I not get the job I’ve been dreaming of all my life, but
oh, yeah, people find it hard to even watch me on television.
Talk about humiliating. Why not just put her in a prom dress and dump some pig’s
blood on her?

“Right, the rules,” Grant said in that baritone that seemed to vibrate through her
rib cage. “Pretty simple. You give me your schedule, where you’re going to be. If
you deviate from that, you call me and let me know ahead of time. You send me a text
message letting me know when you arrive at work and when you’re leaving. I’m putting
a GPS tracking device on your rental car as a backup in case I can’t get in touch
with you and you need help.”

She shuddered, flashbacks of her teen years rolling through her mind—the constant
checking in and explaining herself to her dad and brothers. “Don’t you think that’s
a little overboard?”

He frowned. “Hopefully, it is. I hope that none of this is necessary. But I’m not
willing to take a chance.”

She sighed. “Right.”

“As for when you’re here, feel free to explore the grounds, but stay on this side
of the property. That long fence along the eastern edge divides the winery from the
resort. Members only on the other side.”

She glanced back at him, eyebrow lifted. “Seriously?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s not like I’m here for a vacation. I just didn’t realize it was exclusive
with a capital
E
.” She grabbed a bag of chips and opened them, her lack of dinner finally hitting
her. “You’re not housing the mob over there or something, are you?”

He pushed off the counter to rise to his full height and smiled. “No, nothing so sinister.”

She eyed him, sensing he wasn’t telling her everything, but his smile didn’t falter.
She held out the bag of chips. “Want some?”

Instead of taking a chip from the bag, he plucked the one from between her fingertips
and popped it in his mouth. “The resort’s room service is available on this side,
too—twenty-four-seven. There’s a menu in the desk drawer. Dial three on the phone
and you can get anything delivered to your door, no charge.”

“Oh, that’s really generous, but I think I’m covered.”

“A woman can’t live by cheap wine and ham sandwiches alone. I’ll make sure a bottle
of wine and tonight’s roast chicken make it over here within the half hour.” He snagged
his keys off the counter, spinning the loop around his finger and sauntered toward
the side door, giving her an unimpeded view of broad shoulders and that lovely, jean-covered
backside. “Give me a call if you need anything else or have any questions.”

She smirked. “What? You’re not sticking around to make sure I get tucked into bed
all right?”

He halted his step and she had the urge to put her hands over her face. She’d meant
the question as a joke, but once the words were out of her mouth, she’d realized how
they’d sounded. Like a lame attempt at flirting.

And maybe it had been exactly that.

Maybe she wanted him to stay and help her forget her awful day.

But he kept his back to her and turned his head to the side, revealing only his profile.
“I don’t think that’d be a good idea, Charli.”