Page 68 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

Before I could figure out what she meant or how to respond, she was pushing away from the railing and heading back toward the sliding door.

“If Conroy stops snoring, it’s because I stuffed a sock down his throat,” she said. “Goodnight, Rhett.”

“Goodnight.”

I watched her disappear back into the room, then stood there alone on the balcony, staring out at the city lights and trying to process what had just happened.

Are we okay?

What did that mean? Were we okay professionally? Personally? Was she asking about Miami? Was it about the way I had spoken to her in the kitchen? Or was it about the fucking energy that hummed between us, which, no matter how much I tried to deny was happening, was right fucking there.

Everyone felt it. We were doing a shitty job of hiding it.

I finally forced myself to go back inside, settling onto the torture device masquerading as a sofa bed, and stared up at the ceiling. Conroy’s snoring had resumed with renewed vigor, but I barely noticed it now. All my attention was focused on the silhouette I could see standing near the window. She was staring at the lights.

The tension was so thick. She wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t sleeping.

It was the perfect opportunity to talk. I was the adult. Wasn’t that what I kept telling myself? I should be over there trying to talk her off the proverbial ledge.

But my chickenshit ass was glued to the bars poking me in the back.

I found myself wanting to know what “okay” looked like in her world.

Was that us being friends? Coworkers? Lovers?

I wanted it all with her but all options were off the table. After Thanksgiving, I doubted I would ever see her again. She would get a job in someone’s kitchen and we would be competitors. Maybe we would bump into each other at a party one day.

And then what? It wasn’t like our age difference was going to change. I would still be ten years older and she would still be Desman’s daughter. If that was my biggest hangup, I wouldn’t think about what it might be like to run into her again.

But that wasn’t my biggest hangup.

There was the rub. The linchpin in this whole stupid debacle. I could claim countless excuses for keeping my distance but deep down it was me. My fear was holding me back.