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“What about there?” she asked. She knew it was late, or early? Maybe midnight or so, which made sense if Anton was calling her with a drink in hand. She wasn’t the greatest with quick timezone math, though.
“It’s about 1am here,” he replied, his words accompanied by a tinkle of ice, and Grace grinned.
“You tying one on over there, Kovalev? You lush,” she teased.
“It’s called rest and relaxation, dear.”
Grace raised an eyebrow and moved towards the elevator buttons. “Uh-huh…” She needed to push the button for her floor and get on with it. What use was showing up early if she wasted all of her time dinking around in the elevator while Anton maybe, kinda, sorta, flirted with her?
“What?” he asked.
“I think you’re drunk over there,” she told him. “And that’s why you-” she began, but broke off because she almost said,“you’re flirting with me.”But she couldn’t say that.
“Because I’m what?” Anton asked and she bit her lip. Crap. He’d caught her slip. The man apparently hadn’t had enough to drink if he was sharp enough to hear what she hadn’t quite said.
“Nothing,” Grace said a little too quickly. Anton made a harrumph sound and kept on her.
“Spill it, Grace.”
“There’s nothing to spill but the coffees in my hand, Kovalev,” she told him. The elevator dinged and she exited it and into the hallway.
She heard him sigh and take another deep swallow of his drink. “Have you thought about dinner?” he asked her. The question was asked so casually that Grace nearly face planted in the empty hallway. She let out a squawk and pinwheeled, the coffees she held definitely losing a decent amount of their contents, but she managed to stay upright. She cast a remorseful look at the spillage and started to power walk to the labs. She had to get something to clean up this mess. A towel or a mop. Her dignity.Anything.
“You really are having a morning over there, huh?” Anton asked.
“Ah, no, I mean, yes,” she got out, before shouldering open the door to the labs. “It’s a madhouse here. You know how Mondays are.”
“It’s Thursday, Grace.”
She almost groaned out loud but kept it to herself, because of course it was freaking Thursday. And a quiet one too. She might be making a menagerie of noises, but she bet Anton could tell it was just her that was kicking up a fuss. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked her exactly why she was making such a racket.
“Well, time flies when you’re having fun,” she said, striding into the quiet labs. She was alone for now, so that meant she could panic or squawk in peace at this phone call with no witnesses.
“So it does,” he said and hummed. “Now, back to my question. Dinner. You and me.”
She swallowed hard. Odin. Why did he sound like that? So self-assured, and definitely like this wasn’t a friend thing but was…maybe, definitely, a date?
“Dinner. Right. There are just a lot of places around that are pretty good,” she told him. “Uh, pizza?” she tried when her brain flatlined and she couldn’t think of anything else. Why was she suggestingpizza? That wasn’t sexy. She was lactose intolerant, for crying out loud. Pizza was not what she would eat on a date. She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking? Oh, right.
This. Was. Not. A. Date.
“Pizza? Hmm, no. I think I’d like to take you somewhere…quiet.”
Grace deposited the tray of coffees on a table in front of her and swallowed hard. “Quiet?” Her voice came out breathy. Too damn breathy to be normal and she pressed a hand to her forehead. She needed to get it together. “Quiet would be good. I mean, we can finally go over logistics and stuff, and a pizza place probably wouldn’t be the vibe.”
Anton made a sound of agreement. Just an ‘mmm’ that had Grace’s toes curling in her Docs. That sound did things to her. It wasn’t even a full word and her brain went to what it would be like to hear him make that sound in real life—as in, not over the phone. Where she could reach out and touch him. Where he could touch her. What would it take to have him making that sound when he leaned in and-
She snapped her fingers at herself and gave her head a shake. What was she doing? “No, Grace,” she whispered.
“No Grace, what?” Anton asked. She closed her eyes, fell forward, and slumped against the table in front of her. She was falling apart here. She had to get off the phone.
“Nothing, nothing. Just a case of the Mondays,” she said, face pressed to the table.
Anton chuckled. “It’s Thursday,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, I know. Time is a construct. You know that.”
“So, I do. But back to our date.”
