The Designated Drivers' Club (22 page)

“That’s not what I meant. Look, if you want to go in and take a shower, feel free. If you want to change clothes, knock yourself out. I don’t really care what you wear — I’m sure you’ll rock it whatever it is, and everyone will wish they were me. But me, I just want you to go. Personally, I like the way you look right now, mainly because I know why you look that way. It’s a man-thing. We need to be on the road in,” he looked at his watch, “twenty minutes tops.”

They were on the road in fifteen. She wore the black dress again, and she thought what he said was nice. Oops, not nice — sweet. She was fairly certain he wouldn’t like that either.

• • •

Grant’s client meeting didn’t happen. He’d half-expected that since Ms. Lynnaid was adept at standing people up. It frustrated him to hell, but that’s the way a lot of these ego-driven people are. No consideration for anyone else. They think the world revolves around them, and until they get too old to perform and fall out of the limelight, that was pretty much true.

A month ago, he would have gone home and worked his anger out by putting in a few more hours on the computer. That was a month ago. Now, Ms. Lynnaid’s rudeness was a fricking godsend. He had been concerned about her interaction with Jenny anyway. He scanned the glitzy bar with its mirrored walls and neon blue lights.

“Grant, who’s your new talent?” Hal, the bartender asked, as he sprayed tonic water into a glass. He gave a nod in Jenny’s direction.

Grant circled an arm around her. His hand clutched into the slinky fabric as he pulled her forward. “Jenny, this is Hal Guthrie. He’s worked this part of the hotel for as long as I remember.”

“Ten years.” Hal offered a hand to Jenny. “When will I see you on the screen, honey?”

Grant shook his head. “You won’t. She’s not a client.”

Hal put two wine glasses on the counter and filled them. “No? Could have fooled me. Try this. It’s new. Italian. Chef says it’s pretty good, and I know you like the reds.” He winked, then caught himself and cleared his throat. “Red wines, that is.”

“You must see all sorts of famous people, Hal.” Jenny said before lifting the wine to her lips. Grant couldn’t help but stare at her mouth. She’d added lipstick.

“A few. This place has some pretty strict rules so the wild ones usually go down to one of the places at the beach or near the studios.”

“I guess that means Grant’s not one of the wild ones?”

“I can be wild,” he interjected. “Just not when there’s business to discuss.” He tapped a finger to the top of the wine glass. “Tell Chef this one’s a winner. Hal, do you think you could get us in tonight? I didn’t call ahead for a reservation. I thought I was meeting Quonna for a bit, that’s all. Jenny’s never been here.”

“We’re booked — but sit, sit.” Hal motioned to the barstools near them. “I can get whatever you want right here. Wait, no — take that booth over there.” He pointed to a quiet spot in the corner near the window that had just been vacated.

The booth faced a picture window that overlooked the city. Due to the way the hotel was situated, they could see all the way to the beach in the distance. Jenny started to slip into the bench seat opposite him, but he grabbed her hand. “Over here.” He tugged on her arm and she fell in beside him. “You can’t see the sunset from there.”

“And I want to be blinded by the sun at the end of the day?”

She tries so hard to be caustic, but it doesn’t work. It comes off funny.
He put his nose into her hair and whispered, “I vaguely remember that you didn’t see the sun until a couple hours ago, so you’re behind on your quota of vitamin D for the day. Besides, maybe I’m trying to impress you.”

“You already did.”

He looked at her. “A different kind of impression.”

“Hey, anyone that is willing to come get me when I call them in the middle of the night makes a pretty damn good impression. But you thought I meant something else, didn’t you?” She poked him in the side with a grin. “Don’t overestimate yourself, big guy.”

“Thanks for bursting my bubble.”

“You wouldn’t expect anything less, would you?”

“Tell me about your parents.” He slid his back against the wall and draped an arm across the back of the booth so that he could face her. “They live here?”

“My dad died eight years ago in a car accident.”

Damn. Shouldn’t have asked.
He slipped his fingers to the back of her neck and rubbed. “Sorry.”

She continued. “My mother took it pretty hard. In fact, she still seems driven to meet his expectations. It’s really awkward to go back because we have so little to talk about. Dad was an attorney and he hoped I’d go that route too. Law school would have meant two more years. I was just finishing up my bachelor’s when he died. It broke her heart that I didn’t do it, but I didn’t have the money. I couldn’t. I applied for some scholarships and grants but my grades weren’t good enough.”

“I can’t see you as an attorney.”

A waiter dressed in full whites, right up to the piped hat, appeared and slid two plates in front of them. Compliments of the chef, he advised. Grant thanked him.

“You don’t think I have a knack for arguing my point?”

“Arguing, yes. You’ve got that down. I’m not so sure you’d be comfortable wearing those suits and high heels.”

“I’m wearing heels at the moment.” She smiled. “Not that I’m a big fan.”

He leaned toward her. “You’re not wearing them but since this place has a very strict, ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ policy, I won’t tell.” He had noticed when she hooked the end of both with her toes and let them slip to the floor. One bare foot was tucked under her hip, the other rested next to his leg on the carpet, within a hair’s breadth of touching him. The hem of the dress hiked to her thigh and he found himself wanting to slide his hand along it.

“Okay, I’m not big on the formal clothes thing, but not because I don’t like to dress up. Every girl does. It’s just that I don’t want to spend all my time worrying about it and being uncomfortable. I threw away that dress I wore to Hodge’s party for that very reason. I spent the whole night wrestling with it. You’ve missed the point though. I’ll wear whatever it takes if I’m doing something that matters to me.”

“You did seem pretty preoccupied with covering yourself that night. I don’t know why you bothered. Especially now that I’ve seen you.”

She lifted her hand to punch him, but he grabbed the wrist and ran a thumb down the pulse point. “Jenny, you’re going to have to stop hitting me. Someone might think you’re abusive and call the cops.”

“Another reason I’d make a shitty lawyer.” He released her wrist. She dropped it to the neck of his shirt and twisted the material between her fingers. “I’m a little too aggressive. My mother thought I’d grow out of it — sort of a maturity thing — guess not.”

“You pretend to be all gruff and tough but I know you would have a hard time with the compromises an attorney sometimes has to make. Too much gray area. Does your mom work?”

“Yes, she worked in Dad’s office as a legal assistant. That was how they met. She’s still there but she keeps talking about retiring. She’s upped the ante lately though. One of Dad’s friends and partners died last year of a heart attack. I think that was a pretty unsettling blow for her.”

“How old is she?”

“Fifty-six. I don’t think she can afford to retire yet. Doug keeps encouraging her to stay.”

“Who’s Doug?”

“One of the other partners. Nice guy. He’s only been there about six years. He’s a widower too and has been a good friend. I see him sometimes when I go home. I think it’s nice for Mom to have a friend that didn’t know Dad first. It kind of takes sympathy out of the friendship.”

“So, they date?”

“What? No! He’s just a friend. They work together. She’s not interested in him. He’s not at all her type.”

“I don’t think anyone has a type. Sometimes things just happen and it works. Wow, taste this — it’s fantastic.” He slipped his fork into the colorful food in front of them and lifted it to her mouth. He found it interesting that she tried so hard to be what her mother thought she should and her mother apparently did the same. In reality, they had both moved on with their lives since her dad died. She wasn’t a lawyer but rather something much better — a business owner. It fit her personality and, of course, helped the people she served. Doubtful she’d ever admit it, but why else would someone do that? The hours sucked, the income couldn’t possibly be too exciting, and it played havoc with her social life.

“Mmmm. Yes, good. I can’t believe I let you feed me like a baby,” Jenny said as she chewed on the melting splendor of Brie, toasted pecans, and cranberries.

“This bothers you?” He held up the fork.

“It’s kind of demeaning, don’t you think? Spoon feeding an adult.”

“Fork feeding,” Grant corrected.

“Whatever.”

“It’s like forcing one of your children to eat their vegetables when they clearly don’t want to.”

He shook his head and dipped the fork back into the dish. “Sometimes the way you think surprises me. Sharing something you like, as in food, is like sharing a moment. Something special.” He swirled the morsel on the tongs around in the red jellied sauce and lifted it for her to see. “And you like it so much that you just have to share it, preferably with someone you hope will enjoy it as much as you do.” He swished the fork back and forth in front of her mouth, holding his hand under it to catch loose drips should they stray.

She parted her lips. “How can you make something as simple as that sound so temptingly personal and sexy? That’s not quite fair.” She leaned toward the bite, opening further. He wanted those lips. As she took the bite into her mouth, he leaned after it and kissed her, tasting the sweetness of the sauce.

“It
is
sexy. Tell me, doesn’t it taste good?” He brushed her lips again, feeling her leg rest solid against his thigh. She nodded. He looked at the remaining food and said, “I hadn’t thought about it being personal but I guess the fact that you let me do it must have been big for you. Here. Your turn.” He set the fork on the plate and pushed it toward her.

“You want me to feed you? Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He waited. For such an argumentative person, she sure had some strange walls to get past.

“I’m not going to feed you, Grant. Pick up your fork. I’m not your mother.” She let out a sigh and slid her glance to the window. He shrugged and took the plate back. The last two bites disappeared into his mouth in seconds.

The rest of the dinner was spent talking about his sister and parents. She didn’t ask many questions but he told her anyway. No questions about Hodge. Not one word, in fact, and that pleasantly surprised him.

Almost everyone that knows his business wants to find out as much as possible about the great Hodge Larson. That was an eye-opener when he dated Emma. Beautiful woman — the kind he thought was his type — but she was really only interested in what he could do for her career. Obviously that didn’t meet expectations. In fact, if he really thought about it, very little in that relationship was what he’d hoped for either. Emma barely noticed the little things he did for her, and certainly never returned the favor. Other than the one time she’d thrown a birthday party for him at the apartment and invited Hodge and most of his clients. He hadn’t even fussed about the cost. He thought she wanted to please him. Funny thing was, that’s how she met his replacement.

The sun lowered over the ocean, first to a golden glow, then a fuchsia fan over the horizon, and finally a pink and blue haze that reluctantly left them alone in the dark booth. Jenny stifled a yawn and thanked him for the dinner.

“Time to get you home, Cinderella,” he said.

She was groggy as they walked out of the bar. He threaded his fingers through hers to guide her through the gathering crowd. Hal slid him a quick thumbs up when Jenny was well past. He nodded.

Thursday morning, Jenny shook her head as she sipped tea that she’d made with her new brewer. It was damn confusing to think about. This thing with Grant made no sense. She wasn’t a glitz and glamour girl and that was his world. She wore ripped jeans skirts and shorts most of the time and her idea of going out involved beer and pizza, not champagne in a fountain made of sculpted ice.

It had been almost a week since he dropped her back at her apartment after the day spent in his much nicer quarters. Well, only five days actually, but it felt longer. Contrary to what he’d said, he didn’t kick her out. In fact, she almost felt like he wanted to stay when they ended up at her apartment after dinner. He walked her to the door and just stood there, hands in pockets, acting all awkward. When she didn’t invite him in, he just kissed her on the cheek and ambled off.

She must have misconstrued though. No word at all the first four days. When she finally left the apartment yesterday, there was a cup of cold Starbucks sitting on the ground. She assumed he’d left it. No note or anything. He could have at least knocked. Okay, well, maybe she’d told him to call first, but if he was there, he might at least
say
so. There was always texting. She had monitored her phone religiously, nothing.

Karen, the loan officer, called just before five Wednesday and needed her to come sign the papers. They agreed on a time Thursday afternoon since it was her day off. Jenny filled a bowl with cereal and opened the fridge.

“Damn.” An empty milk carton was lodged in the door along with a carton of sour cream that had a date of July 22. She tossed them both in the trash and stared into the empty fridge. She really needed to get groceries. “Today’s the day,” she muttered to no one.

Jenny dressed and grabbed the keys. An hour later, she’d filled the cabinets with cans and chip bags. She’d also gifted the fridge with milk, cheese, and a few pieces of fruit and veggies. She even added a nice wrapped steak, which she intended to cook for dinner on Thursday to celebrate her newly achieved debt. It would go nicely with the bottle of wine she intended either to toast herself with or drink herself into a nice slumber.

Jenny opened the last bag, unwrapped the new coffee cups she’d purchased on a whim, and placed both by the new pot from Grant. She turned them so the front faced forward and smiled. It had been a stupid buy. She turned them again to hide their labels before dodging out the door for her first job of the day.