“I was. But now I just want to go home, put on my pajamas and?—”
“Eat some donut holes?”
Despite being upset, I grinned. “You say that with the confidence of thinking there are any left.”
He chuckled. “I have a feeling, in your line of business, you have more self-control than most.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “I do. And good genes. Although three packages of donut holes would probably put both to the test.”
He smiled and nodded, then gestured to the stool again.
“Thank you,” I said. “But I think I’m just going to go. I’m officially partied out.” I took a last sip of my wine and squeezed past him to put it on the bar.
“What do you see in Alex Clarke?” he asked suddenly and I frowned, stepping back and standing up to my full height.
“Excuse me?”
“I just… I saw it online this morning and?—”
“And thought it was any of your business? Why? Do you want to put that in your article too?” I blinked back more tears. What the hell was wrong with me tonight? Normally I could shrug this shit off.
Furious that I was getting so emotional and annoyed at the gall of the man, I lost the filter I usually kept on a tight reign.
“Jesus, what is with men anyways?” I asked. “You know, you had no idea what I was going through that morning. Not that I owe you any explanation, but I had just gotten some terrifying news. And then I stepped in your dog’s shit that you hadn’t bothered to pick up and… I was scared and then embarrassed about making a scene. And you took my moment of vulnerability and made a joke out of it. Are you planning on doing that about my love life now too? Well, have at it. It won’t be the first time and certainly won’t be the last either.”
I gulped back a sob and turned on my heel, bumping into people as I headed for the hallway that led to the back door.
“Oh!” I said as I stepped outside and was hit with a deluge of rain, the door slamming shut behind me. “Shit!”
I turned around and reached for the handle but at that moment the door swung open again and I stepped back to avoid it, the heel of my shoe catching on a crack in the pavement and breaking off, sending me careening backwards toward the pavement. Two hands caught me by my forearms and hauled me upright again.
I looked up to see Graham’s face inches from mine, his hair plastered to his head by the rain.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded and then shivered, rain soaking through my black satin tank top and jeans.
He turned and grabbed the handle of the door.
“Fuck. It’s locked.”
He pounded on it but the music was so loud there was no way anyone inside could hear it.
I shivered and he immediately held out the jacket that was hanging from his arm.
“Take it,” he said.
I wanted to tell him no, I didn’t want his jacket. Didn’t want his help. But I was cold and angry and didn’t have the energy to fight him.
I slid my arms in and he reached forward and zipped me up, his head bent toward me as water dripped from his hair to his glasses, sending little rivulets down the inside of the lenses. Without thinking, I reached up and pushed his hair back and our eyes met.
I inhaled as his gaze moved to my lips, the heat from his body making me shiver in a different kind of way, and then a deep rumble thundered overhead, startling both of us. I took a step back, forgetting the broken heel and nearly fell again.
“Shit,” I said, grabbing onto his arm, which was warm and more muscular than I would’ve imagined a writer’s arm would be. Guess all that typing had some benefits.
“Come on,” he said, reaching out like he was going to take my hand and then pulling back, thinking better of it. “We’ll go around to the front.”
But when we rounded the front of the building, the doorman that had been there to greet Greta’s guests was nowhere to be found, and the front door was locked too.
