“You’re not off the hook, Graham Hawthorne,” I snap, turning to him, that irritation igniting once more.
“Well aware, lady luck. I earned your ire. Now, can we go outside and talk about it somewhere quieter? I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“I don’t know, I’m kind of enjoying the show,” Decker says, a shit-eating grin on his face. I roll my eyes, but before I can argue with him, Grant hits him upside the head.
“Shut up and let them be,” Grant says. “I think it’s time for everyone to pack it in for the night.”
“Excuse me—” Lainey starts, but Grant glares at her, and she sighs. “Yeah, you’re so right. I’m actually a bit tired myself.” Everyone murmurs their solemn agreements before we wish each other goodbye.
“Hear him out, June,” Sutton says low as she hugs me. “The man is wild about you.” I nod, then give everyone one last wave before leaving.
The walk to our hotel room takes about five minutes, and we’re silent the whole way. When we get into the elevator, his hand brushes mine as if on instinct. He pulls away quickly, giving me a mumbled apology, but with a sigh, I reach over and twine my fingers with his.
I hate that the second I do, something in my chest eases.
I might be terribly annoyed, angry, and confused by him, but I still love having him close.
It’s not until the hotel door closes us into our suite, a suite I’m now pretty sure Graham upgraded us to, that I slide my hand out of his, crossing my arms on my chest and facing him. I brooded over my thoughts, feelings, and emotions the entire way, but I have only one question that matters.
“Why did you do that?” I ask. My voice is low and even, but the hurt rings clear. “Why did you lie to me?”
His face softens with regret when I speak. “I didn’t lie to you, June.”
“So there was an assistant position?” He looks away, and my heart drops a little. “That’s what I thought.”
“That’s a bad example,”
My brow furrows.
“A bad example?” Something crosses his face, stubbornness or frustration or embarrassment, I don’t know, but either way, it’s a tipping point. “A bad example, Graham? The entire summer, I thought I was lucky. I thought that the universe was pushing me in the right direction, giving me signs I was on the right path, only to find out it was youmanipulatingme.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You had my brother’s best friend lie to me and pay for my car. You had my best friend’s sister make up an entire job for me. You slept with me knowing damn well that the next day, I’d find out that I would be working for you. You—” I hesitate as something new hits me, my stomach churning with nerves, and his face goes blank. “Did you buy my art?” The words are faint even to my own ears, but when he closes his eyes and takes in a breath, I know he heard me.
“June, you have to understand?—”
“You bought my art, didn’t you? You were that first sale?” My mind is reeling now, nausea filling me with the thought that much, much more than just my luck has been fabricated.
Has the entirety of my success been fake?
“Just that first sale. I promise. It was partly because it was fucking beautiful, and partly because even after the Daytrip project was done and I was on to the next one, I wanted to have a piece of you and your sunshine and your luck with me at all times.”
Relief moves through me at his reasoning, and even if it makes me an idiot, I buy it. It makes sense, and the thought that even when we were nothing, he wanted a piece of my art to remember me by warms me. Unfortunately, it’s so buried by confusion and frustration that I can’t let the issue go.
“So you let me just believe a stranger found my website and bought my painting?” He closes his eyes again, sighing defeated.“Why would you do that? Why would you lie to me like that? Why did you?—”
“Because I’m in love with you!” he shouts, cutting me off, and the world goes quiet. Long moments span as he stands before me, running a hand through his tousled hair, looking at me with pleading eyes. Begging me to understand.
“You’re what?” I ask in a whisper, and he throws his hands up.
“I’m in love with you, June. I have been since the day I met you. It’s why I went to the coffee shop every day for a week, hoping I would bump into you.” He did tell me that, at least. “It’s why when you stumbled into my place of business, I couldn’t give up my shot at getting to know you, even if I have never made time or put in energy for any kind of relationship in my entire life. It’s why I took you to my hotel room, hoping I could get you out of my system, even if by then, I knew it would be impossible. Even if Iknewthe next day that you’d be walking into my office to become my assistant.”
My heart is pounding, but he’s oblivious to that as he continues his monologue.
“I’m in love with you, and I have been since that first day, when you smiled over your shoulder at me and apologized for eavesdropping on my call. It’s why I told Sutton to give you a job, any job. It’s why I did everything I could to avoid you in the beginning, and why your incessant need to be my friend worked: because I never needed convincing, June. I just needed to give myself the permission to love you. It’s why I make sure there are always enough chocolate frosted donuts with sprinkles for you to get one. It’s why I stayed up forhours, making a dozen emails and entering a million different contests to get you those goddamn tickets because I knew you’d never accept them from me.”
My eyes widen as more pieces fall into place; his mission has been far more intricate than I realized.
