Page 49 of Making It While Faking It
First of all, he looks so handsome. He’s wearing black dress pants, no jacket and a vest, no tie. The man is so hot, he could sink a glacier. My face drops, and so does my heart. “But I like this apartment better.”
He’s watching me with his customary Achilles grimace until he refolds his sleeves and says, “Well, this unit is primarily used as a guest apartment for business clientele.” He strokes his chin. “But I hear you, Miss Grove. Let me work on something.”
I’m smiling from ear to ear, and I can’t stop myself. It’s as if he’s chosen to not make it weird between us, but still, it has to be mentioned.
“Okay. And about this morning—it was no big deal.”
He inhales deeply then exhales. “But it was a big deal. I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.”
“Well… you probably thought I was someone else.” My eyebrows quirk up, waiting for him to confirm my suspicion.
After a moment of pause, he whispers, “Right.”
And with that one-word answer, my heart free falls. However, I take great pains not to show my distress. But still…
“Well…” I sigh. “If it’s any consolation, you have good hands.”
I’m rendered lightheaded by his steady gaze. The longer he peers at me as if he’s seeing and not seeing all parts of me at once, the more I feel as if I’m crashing into him. Maybe I shouldn’t have made that last comment, especially now that I know for sure he believed he was waking up with another woman.
“Thank you,” he says softly and without taking his eyes off me.
Dropping my face, I break eye contact to blush. “You’re welcome.” I take a deep inhale before looking up again. We are trapped by each other’s gaze. I should go—I really should.
“How’s your day been?” he asks.
Good. He’s trying to prolong our interaction too.
“Fine,” I reply in a high-pitched voice. Then my optimistic exterior crumbles as all the stress I experienced recently comes roaring back. That’s right. I need a coffee. “I just thought I would be making more money, but I’m not. Our spending is through the roof.”
Achilles’s thoughtful grunt is reassuring. I hadn’t meant to confess that to him. If I had told my dad what I just said to him, he would’ve grunted too, but it would’ve been one of pure judgment. And I would’ve felt it deep in my bones. I would’ve known that I, Treasure Grove, had fucked up because at some point along the path of growing up, I didn’t give Leo Grove’s stellar advice enough credence. I’m sure my dad doesn’t make me feel that way on purpose, but regardless, he does.
“Never think you have to stick with any business decision that doesn’t suit your bottom line,” he says.
I feel as if I’m blinking in slow motion as I think about all the mistakes I’ve made since being paid by the trust until now. I know what they are, and they’ve grown from the size of a baby dinosaur to that of Godzilla.
“I’ll remember that,” I mutter.
Achilles nods slowly as familiar energy swirls around us and links us.
To put an end to this shared moment between us, I say very loudly, “By the way, I need coffee, a really good one,” and roll my strained gaze around the kitchen in search of the coffee maker Achilles used the other day.
Achilles taps the stool beside him. “Sit, and I’ll make you one.”
The Next Morning
Last night, Achilles and I talked more about business as we sipped the cappuccinos he made. I’m not surprised that he’s a wealth of information. He’s stellar at giving advice without making me feel like a fool. He said, “In business, you can’t be afraid to make mistakes, own them, and then correct them.” Then, I gushed about every single mistake I ever made, like purchasing Treasure Island, for one.
“I wanted to make myself a successful Grove in my own right,” I had said and then revealed something that I don’t think a proper Grove should ever admit to a Lord. “I love my dad, but I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t either. He’s like…” I bent my neck to one side to ponder how to put it. “He’s like that game hot potato, the one we played as kids.”
Of course, Achilles had no idea what I was talking about. So I asked him to put his hands on top of mine. That was my first mistake. The first inkling of skin-on-skin contact, and my body recalled all parts of his hardness against me. After I recovered control of my breaths, I made my hands feel as if they were vibrating under his and said, “This is how safe I feel about this whole deal of ours.” And then I slapped the top of his hand before he figured out he should move them off of my shaky foundation.
Faces close, Achilles and I stared at each other for a long time. I didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking. The foreboding look in his eyes said it all. Regardless, though, I wanted to strip out of my pajamas and melt my flesh with his just to assure him that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. But I also wanted to run and hide away from everything I had just revealed to him. I felt like a traitor.
“How about I come in take a look around the restaurant,” he finally said. “Maybe I can help you figure out why you’re hemorrhaging cash.”
“Okay,” I said lowly, past my tight throat and without hesitation.
Then the night cleaning crew showed up, and we journeyed our way back to his penthouse apartment. Despite feeling as if we should kiss goodnight, while in the foyer, I said good night. He said, “I’ll stop by the restaurant in the morning.” And then we went to our separate rooms.
