Made in America (11 page)

“So what’s changed? Why didn’t you take advantage of me last night?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. When I saw you pass out I just…wanted to protect you. It’s that same feeling when I saw Alan in the office leering over you.”

I blush, wanting to look away, but needing to see the honesty in his eyes. It’s there. Front and center. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“You’re not like other billionaires,” I smile.

“Oh yeah? You know a lot of us, do you?” Grant stretches his arm over the back of the couch, letting his fingers play with the ends of my hair. I don’t stop him, but instead lean into his palm and allow him to cup my cheek, feeling the warmth of his hand on my face.

We stare at one another for what seems like eternity, getting lost in each other’s eyes. I realize I’m falling—hard—and that scares me, because the last time I fell it didn’t end so well, and I swore I’d try to do better. Try to not get so wrapped up in the fairy dust and rainbows that go along with meeting someone new. Someone exciting. But here I am again, with a swirl of Tinkerbells dancing above my head singing, “Fa la la la la,” while I’m left feeling dazed and confused.

Why do I have to make these things so complicated? Why can’t I just have fun and be reckless like other women are? Like I was last night?

Because you’re not that woman
, I tell myself. I just let things get out of hand. Not my finest hour, for sure, but Grant’s still here, so I must have done something right.

“You’re the only billionaire I want to know,” I whisper.

“That’s good,” he smiles, “because you’re the only foul-mouthed British girl I want to know.”

“You like it,” I nudge, crinkling up my nose.

“Very much.”

He takes a deep, calming breath, and I realize he’s holding back. For me. He’s trying to be a better person. For me. Grant is trying to change.

For me.

It’s not a sure sign of things to come, but it’s a start.

He moves closer, never taking his eyes off me. His lips part ever so slightly, framed by the rough stubble of a five o’clock shadow. I’ve dreamed of those lips on me—on every part of my body—but for now, I just want them on my mouth. Kissing me. Tasting me. Devouring me.

This is what I wanted last night, and now that I’m completely sober, I plan to enjoy it, and hope like hell that whatever comes after isn’t as bad as the last time I fell this hard for someone.

“Come here,” Grant growls.

His hand shifts from my cheek to the nape of my neck, drawing me toward him. I close my eyes, and take a deep, heaving breath, bracing myself for that blissful electric shock that comes with all first kisses…

…but it doesn’t happen.

Instead, Grant’s cellphone starts ringing, interrupting the moment.

He groans, and I grab for his shirt as he stands. “Don’t get it,” I protest.

“I have to.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer me. Instead he crosses the room to his jacket hanging near the front door, fishes his cell from the inside pocket, and answers it, leaving me with a raging set of butterflies in my stomach.

“Hello?”

I sip from my mug, eyeballing him closely. Even in jeans and a casual shirt he commands a room. He could probably walk into a boardroom wearing footie pajamas and still hold everyone’s attention. I smile at the mere thought of that image. Grant in a onesie. Too funny.

But the fun and games stop there when I see his expression drop and his tone turns serious.

“What? How long?”

I can only hear one side of the conversation, but whoever’s on the other end isn’t delivering good news.

“Christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Give me…one hour. No, I’ll grab a cab. It’s fine. I said it’s fine. Don’t let him leave. Okay.”

He hangs up and snatches his coat off the rack, threading his arms into it. Looking at me, he says, “I have to go.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask timidly.

He nods. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. I’m sorry, Raven. I really am. I’ll text you later. I mean, I hope I’ll text you later. If not, then I’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning, okay?”

“You mean I still have a job?”

“Why wouldn’t you still have your job?”

“I just thought after last night you—”

“I thought you said last night was a blur?”

Shit.

Oh what a tangled web we weave, right?

Grant laughs and makes his way back to me. I quickly put down my mug and stand up to face him. He cups my face in his hands. “Look, forget about last night, okay? Let’s just chalk it up to too much alcohol and a hell of a lot of foreplay. Tomorrow, we’ll start fresh.”

I nod, not quite sure what that means, but I can tell he’s in a hurry to leave so I’ll figure it out later.

Then he leans in and without warning plants his lips to mine. Not in the hungry, animalistic embrace that would be fitting for someone like him, but rather in a tender moment that causes a gasp of surprise to seep into his throat before I can reciprocate, and all of a sudden there were are. Locked on to each another as our lips gently dance as one, parted only by the tips of our tongues brushing up against one another in what can best be described as the sweetest kiss I’ve ever had.

And then it’s over, and Grant’s gone, and I’m left falling…

…falling.

…falling.

- 13 -

Grant

I don’t normally travel by taxi, so it’s all I can do to keep from barking orders at the driver as he weaves his way in and out of Sunday morning traffic. In New York, there’s always traffic.

Leaning back against the leather of the cab and biting my tongue, I run a hand down my face and touch my lips. I can still feel Raven on them. Pressed softly against me, her warm, wet tongue searching mine. Just the thought of it makes me think of all the naughty things I wanted to do to her had we not been interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone.

She was right, I never should have answered it, but being who I am, I can’t afford to not take calls. Especially after last night when I had it shut off. Who knows how the media might be spinning the story of me carrying Raven out of Drake’s. I haven’t had a chance to look at a paper, or get on the Internet.

But this call was something else, and already it’s got me on edge.

“Turn right up here,” I shout at the driver, a Pakistani man named Mahnoor. He nods pleasantly and makes the turn as requested.

My residence is at The Heritage, located on the Upper West Side, a good 45 minutes away from where Raven lives in Queens. I live in a $40 million dollar condo in a building guarded 24/7 by security that’s top notch. Nothing rarely ever slips through the cracks.

Rarely.

There is the odd occasion someone who’s not supposed to be there might make it into the building, and unfortunately this happens to be one of those times.

Getting on to the Grand Central Parkway, I close my eyes and think about more pleasant things. Raven. Putting her into her bed, sleeping on her couch. There’s a terrible crick in my neck, but it was worth it for that kiss alone. Worth it because I got to be close to her, and for a while I was able to forget about everything else. Forget about last night. Forget about work.

Forget about the confusion I feel every time I look at her, because it was just us, and none of that other stuff mattered.

I can’t believe she thought I was going to fire her. She obviously doesn’t know me very well if she thought a little hiccup like a drunken night of embarrassed fun was going to scare me away.

I’ll have to remedy that. Let her in a little more. Let her see the real me. The me who isn’t just about fucking and sexual innuendos meant to shake her to the core. The thought of doing that terrifies me, but at the same time when I think about the two of us together, it makes perfect sense when it has no reason to. That’s where part of my confusion comes from.

The other part is hidden away. Has been for a long time. Almost no one knows there’s another side to me—another life—and unfortunately the one person who does is quickly becoming a thorn in my side when all this time he’s been my right-hand man.

A short time later, we pull up to The Heritage and I leap out of the cab, shoving a hundred at Manhoor and telling him to keep the change. Grinning to myself as I race through the door held open by Clive, the doorman, I can’t help but think how just two weeks ago I would have stood around and waited for change. Before I met Raven.

Now none of that seems to weigh as much on my conscience.

“Morning, Mr. Huffman,” Dale says.

I jog over to the security desk and nod. “Is he still here?”

“Yes, sir. Upstairs in your apartment waiting.”

“Good.”

“Sir, was I not supposed to let him in? He’s been here before at odd hours and there’s never been an issue, so I just thought—”

“It’s not your fault, but from now on I don’t want him inside this building unless I’m home. Understood?”

Dale nods timidly, looking down at the floor like a scolded puppy. There was a time when I would have chewed his head off for something like this, but now I can only reach out and clap him on the shoulder for reassurance. “It’s fine,” I reiterate. “Don’t worry about it.”

He looks back up at me and smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

I climb into the elevator and it ascends to the sixth floor. When it opens, I take a deep breath and compose myself before stepping out and down the hall toward my condo that overlooks the Hudson River. Entering, I can already hear the noise coming from the living room and my flat screen TV.

“Make yourself at home,” I mumble, throwing my keys on the table near the front closet.

Catching a glimpse of myself in one of the many mirrors, I frown.

I look like shit.

My hair’s a mess, my shirt is wrinkled, and I smell like yesterday’s dinner.

“Alan,” I call, smoothing my shirt out as best I can while making my way into the living room.

“Hey, there’s the big man on campus,” he grins, standing with a glass of vodka in his hand.

Christ, it’s only eleven in the morning and he’s already at it.

“What the hell are you doing here, Alan?”

He sips, frowning slightly before setting the glass down and opening his arms for a hug. He embraces me, but I don’t reciprocate, and when he pulls away his nose is crinkled and he looks at me clearly for the first time.

“Fuck, you stink, but I guess I shouldn’t expect any less, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He winks, and goes back to the TV, picking up the remote and his drink before flicking over to some gossip news station.

I think I’m going to be sick.

Images of myself and Raven flash all over the screen. Thankfully, her head is buried close to my chest so her face isn’t shown, but that isn’t stopping the vultures from speculating on who the woman in my arms might be.

“The mystery woman was seen being carried out of a sport’s bar by billionaire financial playboy, Grant Oliver Sebastian Huffman. Can you say, oh my gosh?”
The anchorwoman flashes her pearly whites at the camera and winks.
“We haven’t been able to ascertain her identity as of yet, but sources say they were seen getting into a Lincoln town car before heading toward Queens, a far cry east from Huffman’s lavish condo at The Heritage on the Upper West side.”

“From riches to rags, huh Marla?”
her co-anchor asks. He’s a pencil-necked jerk wearing a cheap suit and sporting too much gel in his hair.

“No doubt about it, Steve, but one thing’s for sure, if Huffman’s slumming it in Brooklyn, then this girl must be something special, because that’s definitely a step down from the Manhattan socialites we’ve seen him with lately all over town.”

“I don’t know, judging by those tattoos, maybe he just wanted a wild night of fun, if you know what I mean?”

Alan mute’s the television. The only sound hanging between us is the grinding of my teeth while I growl ferociously at the screen. I want to throw something at it. Preferably Alan’s head.

“So, Brooklyn, huh? Let me guess, your new assistant? I knew I’d seen those tattoos somewhere before.”

“You don’t understand, Alan.”

“No?”

“It was an engagement party for some friends of hers. She asked me to come and—”

“And what? You went? Please, I see what’s happening.”

My pulse quickens at whatever insinuation he’s making. With him you can never be too sure, but experience has taught me it’s something lewd. “Why are you here, Alan?” I ask again, this time with a little more force.

“Relax,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I just came by to tell you that I talked to McCreedy last night.”

“Nelson McCreedy called you? Why?”

“Because he fucking couldn’t get a hold of you, that’s why. I thought something might be wrong, so I came over first thing this morning to check on you, only you weren’t here,” he motions to the TV, “and now I know why.”

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. The idea of Nelson McCreedy talking to Alan instead of me makes me feel even more nauseous. He’s a potential client—a huge one—and all potentials deal with me during the wooing process. If they were to deal directly with Alan they’d run screaming for our nearest competitor.

“What did he say?”

“He wants to push up our meeting. The 15
^th
instead of the 23
^rd
.”

“The 15
^th
? That’s this Wednesday. I won’t have time to get everything together by then.”

“You will if you let me come back to work.”

Alan stares up at me with a sly smirk, like he knows he has me between a rock and a hard place. I’ve wanted McCreedy and his portfolio for some time, and he knows it, but without his help there’s little chance I’ll be able to pull everything together by Wednesday, thus losing the lucrative account.

I instinctively shake my head. “No, absolutely not. Out of the question.”

Alan’s smirk turns foul. “What? Why not? Because of
her
?”