In Pursuit (5 page)

Sean tells me that he is a senior accountant at one of the design houses with corporate headquarters in the Mart. He mentions that he grew up in the northern suburbs, just like Claire and Sarah.

“Maybe you know my friends – Sarah Mendel and I went to college together, she’s the one who helped me find a roommate here.”

“The name sounds familiar, but I think she is a few years younger than me. Despite how I may appear, I’m in my dreaded thirties.”

I shake my head. “You don’t look a day over twenty-eight.”

Claire and Harris are older, I wonder if he knows them. Maybe I can find out more about Harris.
Slow down.
I know all I need to know about Harris. He’s big, loud and aggressive, not someone I want to get to know more than a friendly hello and eye candy.

“What about your roommate? I might know her.”

“Um, Claire Grant.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” He splutters around his salad, nearly spitting it in my face.

“I shit you not.”

“As in the Grants that basically own this city?”

What! Sarah never said that.

“Maybe?”
I say meekly.

“Do you know Harris? He is one of the hottest pieces of tail I have ever seen. God, I had the biggest crush on him in school. I always wished he was gay.”

“I’ve only met him once, and he’s not that great,” I mutter, staring down into my food. It was immediately clear that the Grants came from money, but knowing they 'practically own this city' intimidates me.

“Not that great? Please, tell me you are blind or a lesbian, because he is delicious. Whenever his pictures are in the society pages, I swoon.”

“Let’s just say when I met him, he was less than friendly. He and Claire were fighting, and before you ask, I don’t know why. Claire is pretty cool.”

Except for a few dramatic mood shifts.

Probably not a good idea to share this assessment with Sean, I barely know him.

“Also super gorgeous. Their parents must have had some voodoo going on to spit out perfect children like that.”

 Sarah told me a bit about the Grant family, but now that I’ve met Claire and Harris, especially Harris, I want to know more. “What can you tell me about them?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know anything?”
            “Only the basics. Something about a law firm?”

“Something about a law firm,” he scoffs. “It’s not just about that, the Grants are seriously connected in this town. Friends with the mayor and the owners of the major sports teams, they were legendary in high school. Private yacht party after the prom every year, even if they were too cool to go to a high school dance.”

What have I gotten myself into? I’m just a cop’s daughter from Arlington, Virginia. Not even Washington, DC! Sure, I dated a guy whose father had a fancy political pedigree, but nothing on
this
level. Maybe that’s actually why Claire calls me little mouse.

“You are one lucky chick. First, you’re rolling in the Grant social world. Second, you’re my new confidant.”

Speaking of that, I bravely ask, “Not that I’m complaining, but is there a reason why you initiated conversation with me twice now?”

Sean answers without missing a beat. “Like I said, I’m really friendly. You’ve got this classic sweet girl face that I couldn’t resist. And, in case you missed the first reference, I’m gay and I don’t want you as my groupie. Now, can we move past this and act like we’re already friends?”

“I was really hoping we could.” I return his banter, relishing in the pace of the conversation. “How’s work so far today?”

“Another day, another balance sheet. You know how it is with the creative types, they don’t care about the bottom line, just about the Feng shui. No offense, of course.”
            “None taken. If I didn’t have to pay my bills, I would focus on the flow, too.” I scrunch up my nose at the thought.

“In the spirit of building a really quick friendship, tell me one thing about you that only your best friend knows.”

“Isn’t that moving a little fast?”

“Not for us, darling. We’re soul mates.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m enjoying him immensely. Conversation flows naturally between us. “How do I know that you don’t say this to all the girls?”

“I’m hurt you would even suggest that. Now, tell me something,” he demands playfully.

“Okay, okay.” I ponder the question for a moment and then figure,
what do I have to lose by telling him?
  “I have sung and played the piano since I was about five. The only people who have heard me are Sarah, my bestie, my dad, and my grandparents.”

Revealing this to Sean makes me feel good, prideful. I know I sing decently, now it’s just a matter of having the guts to let someone I’m not close to hear me play.

“Really? How’d you get into the business of singing?”

“Well – er – my mother and grandmother were also musicians. And when I was really little, I discovered a piano in my basement. I begged my grandmother until she relented, and she taught me to play.”

If he notices that I mention grandmother and not mother, he doesn’t comment. I’m talking about my music easily with Sean, but in a way it’s a painful memory. As much as I love to sing and play, my father never took interest in my passion.

I shake myself out of the bittersweet memories and focus on Sean. “Now, you tell me something.”

“That’s easy, I made out with a girl once in middle school just so I could see what boobs feel like. Turns out they’re underwhelming. Now that you’ve told me you play piano, you know I’m going to make you sing in public, right?”

The way he abruptly changes the subject endears me to him further, but I cannot suppress my groan at the pronouncement. It’s like he read my mind. “Let’s take this friendship one step at a time.”

His posture straightens. “You bet! I need to get back to work anyway. When are we doing this again?”

“Let’s exchange numbers, and we’ll figure it out.”

He digs into his pocket and produces a cell phone. I roll off my digits and he shoots me a message.

Sean: Expect lots of texts from this number.

Eddie: Expect lots of responses.

After he’s thrown away his garbage, Sean returns to the table and kisses my cheek in farewell, engulfing me with the clean scent of his aftershave.

“Goodbye, Edith. In case you couldn’t tell, this is the highlight of the day.”

“Mine, too,” I answer truthfully, and considering it has been a fantastic day, that’s high praise.

He departs with a confident turn and I return to typing my notes. The computer pings with an email notification, and I check my work account, signifying a new potential virtual client. I don’t think I’ve ever had this many good things happen to me in one day, ever. It must be something in the water here.

T
hat evening, I’m back in the apartment, running late. I’m rifling through my messy tote bag in the middle of the foyer, searching for my keys, when the door is yanked open and two tall, toned blonds in professional attire stand on the other side. Claire’s legs are shoulder width apart, like she is ready to strut down a runway. Her silky blue blouse is tucked into a slim black pencil skirt. At the bottom, her feet are hidden by designer shoes that probably cost as much as I pay in rent. He wears a tailored navy suit and a crisp white shirt. A gray tie is knotted carefully at his neck. In a word? Sex. Flutters of awareness ignite licks of desire down to my toes.

 “Oh!” I gasp, dropping my bag on my foot in surprise, causing some of its contents to fling across the ground. “Ouch!”

“Is my little mouse clumsy?” Claire asks with a laugh.

The more I hear that nickname, the less I enjoy it.

“Quite,” I confirm. I drop down to my knees to pick up my things. Then I spot it, next to a pair of shiny mahogany loafers. A tampon rolled right out of my bag and landed conveniently next to Harris’ foot. I don’t think it’s possible for this moment to get more embarrassing, until he crouches down to retrieve my lost item. An elegant hand extends to pick it up, and he waves the offending sanitary device in front of me.

“This belong to you?” His voice is gruff, not an ounce of warmth in it.

“Yes, thank you,” I mutter. I swipe it from his grasp, and scramble around the wood floor to collect the rest of my belongings. Claire just barely muffles her laughter, but I can hear her short giggles, probably at my expense.

I right myself and smooth my shorts around my legs, knowing full and well that my cheeks are bright red. “Let me try this again. Hi, guys.” 

“Eddie, I’m Harris. I didn’t formally introduce myself when I saw you yesterday.”

I look up and up and up from where my eyes are trained at the floor and catch his gaze. His steel gray eyes meet mine and hold firmly. I want to turn away, but I’m trapped. He’s locked me in place with his sharp attention.

So, I guess we are pretending I didn’t overhear yesterday’s screaming match?
I gulp on the inside. No man has ever made me feel this nervous. Maybe it’s his hard exterior, or maybe I’ve turned into a hopeless romantic in the three days that I’ve lived in Chicago. When he moves his right hand out toward mine, I stare at it in shock.

“Shake his hand and put him out of his misery. He feels bad enough that he yelled at you. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Instead of responding, he stares straight at me, eyes burning intensely into mine. I remember my manners and stick my hand into his palm. His warm, dry hand engulfs mine completely. He must know I’m nervous, my hand feels clammy and sticky to me. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking. I have the uncontrollable urge to shiver and I bite down on my lip to keep myself from making any sound and outing myself as affected.

He pulls his hand away after the short contact without much emotion. He doesn’t even blink.

What is going on with me?
At the loss of his touch I feel adrift, like he’s an anchor holding me steady amid rough waters.

“Where are you going?” Claire asks, sounding bored.

“Um.” I pull my phone out of the front pocket on my purse. “It’s called the Textile Outlet, in Pilsen. It’s for my blog. They actually close in a couple of hours, so I need to get going if I'm going to make it there in time.” My stomach is a mess, butterflies fluttering up and down, left and right. I don’t ever remember a time I felt this out of my element, even when Jared had me.

“Pilsen? That’s really far. How are you getting there?” Even though she asks the question, Claire’s attention is caught by something on her phone.

“There’s a pink line stop close by, so I think I’ll just take the train.”

“Cool, see you later,” she mutters.

“No! Absolutely not. Do you know how dangerous that is?” Harris snaps at me, causing both Claire and me to flinch. His bark snaps me out of my trance and I gather my wits. This isn’t my first time leaving the house.

“I’m from DC, I’m not immune to bad neighborhoods,” I scoff. His hold over me disintegrates. Who does he think he is? Shouting obscenities at me one day and orders the next.
Not going to happen, pal.

“You’ve never been to Pilsen on the west side of Chicago. You’ll get eaten alive.”

Now I’m pissed. He has no place dictating my actions. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

With a tight smile stretched across my face, I bypass the siblings and head for the door. My hand is less than a second away from making contact with the handle when a now familiar grip clamps down on my elbow. More like swallows it whole, because he is so large.

“I’ll take you.”

“What?” The question echoes from my lips to Claire’s. She abandons her phone, eyes narrowed at her brother. I’m in shock, my mouth gaping open.
He wants to do what?

Now I see the resemblance between the Grant siblings clearly; they both have serious mood swings.

“I wouldn’t let my sister ride the train out there by herself, and I won’t let you. Let’s go. My car is down front.”

He nudges me forward and I turn back to Claire, with raised eyebrows. I silently will her to force him to rescind his offer.

“Okay.” She drags the word out, looking back and forth between us. “We’ll have dinner when you get back.”

“Fine.” And then he’s propelling me forward, shutting the door behind us. He doesn’t release his grip on me when we walk to the elevator, and my heartbeat resumes a frantic tattoo. My reaction to Harris scares me down to my flats.

“Please, let me go,” I say quietly causing him to release me so fast it’s like my skin is on fire.

“Sorry.” The word comes out rusty, like he doesn’t use it very often.

The descending elevator ride and walk through the extravagant lobby happen in silence. He allows me to exit the revolving door first to where his car is waiting, parked in the circular drive. Of course he’s left it in the loading zone that clearly indicates fifteen minute parking. This guy’s arrogance comes off him in waves, so he naturally leaves his vehicle wherever he pleases.

His large, boxy SUV beeps as we get closer. Instead of going to the driver’s side, he yanks open the passenger door, places his hands on my hips and lifts me into the car. Now I
feel like my skin is on fire from his heated touch. His firm grip is gone too quickly, and I’m left wanting more. My skin tingles and again a bereft sensation consumes me when we lose contact.