Page 42 of Crash and Burn
I still almost couldn't believe what had happened at that meeting with Carling. I was going to be working with one of the world's top fashion designers on a clothing line to topple another of the world's top fashion designers. That was a hell of a challenge. A lot of pressure.
And a hell of a lot offun.
I reached the bar, dug my keys out of my purse and unlocked the door.
There was no click. The door was already unlocked. Either Mason or Grant was already here.
The jaunty tune died as my lips firmed, my good mood fading.
As amazing as my morning had been, I was still upset over what Grant had said. Almost more so, now. Carling had been perfectly professional. I'd gotten no sense of sketchiness at all. Grant's warning had been completely off base.
I turned the knob and opened the door to find the bar empty, with a light shining from the back office. It must have been Mason. I let out a small sigh of relief as I made my way to the kitchen to get the cleaning supplies. I needed to start disinfecting everything before the bar officially opened.
I ducked down to look for bottles of solution and some cleaning rags from under the sink. One of the bottles was missing.
The door to the kitchen creaked open.
"Hey Mason," I called out as I lifted my head up. "Have you seen the—"
I stopped. It wasn't my manager standing there. It was Grant.
My mouth dipped down into a frown. I closed the cupboard doors with a loud thud and stood up briskly with the rags gripped tight in my hand.
"Hey Liz," Grant said nervously, his eyebrow twitching.
"Hey." I flipped my hair over my shoulder and with a brisk stride, I exited the kitchen. I nearly shoulder-checked Grant as he stood in the door frame, but he managed to jerk out of the way.
"Liz, wait," he said.
I ignored him, keeping my eyes forward as I marched down the hallway. He followed me silently. I took my place behind the counter and started to soap it up. Grant stayed on the other side, giving me space, and perched his hip on one of the stools. He watched me as I swiped at the counter viciously.
"I hate it when you're mad at me," he spoke up.
"Then you shouldn't say things that would upset me," I retorted.
"About that…” He let out a breath through his nose. "Can we talk about it?"
"What's there to talk about?" I asked shortly. "You stomping on my dreams and insinuating the only reason Carling talked to me is because he wanted a piece of my ass?"
Grant winced. Good. He should feel bad.
"I didn't mean for it to sound like that," he replied.
"That's exactly how it sounded to me."
"I was just worried."
"You didn't need to be," I replied. "Carling wasn't a creep at all. He really did like my designs. He wants to work with me. So there was no reason for you to worry."
"All I was saying is that he had a rep— Wait." Grant paused. "What did you say?"
"He wants to work with me," I repeated.
"You met with him?" Grant asked, sounding vaguely aghast.
"I did," I said. "And the meeting went great. He has a new project and he wants to collaborate with me."
Grant's facial muscles contorted in a myriad of ways, as if unsure which expression they wanted to fall in. Then his lips curved into a smile.
