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“Not really,” I say with a frown.
“How about you try?” He asks the question but does not wait for an answer. He guides my elbow with gentle pressure, coaxing me forward toward the other side of the fountain. Graham walks me past the concierge desk. As we go around a corner, we are in front of four elevators. A female worker presses the up arrow and eyes Graham pleasantly, earning a polite smile. She is dressed like a go-go dancer—except with slightly longer hems.
I wonder how many times Graham frequents this building. Perhaps he takes all his dates here. When I first met Claire, she was a serial dater and would sign up for the online match sites where she could screen the guys before meeting them. When I asked her how she kept track of outfits and such, she told me that she would have a specific first date outfit that she would wear for every first date she went on. Then she would have a second date outfit planned as well. However, only about two guys out of dozens ever got to see that ensemble. If Graham is practicing the same strategy, maybe El Pastel is his preference for every first date. The thought puts a nasty taste in my mouth, making me scowl at the sensation of the acid coming up my throat from my stomach. Jealousy? Is that what it is? But how? I don’t even know him nor do I know his dating history. Plus, this is a fake date—one that was not even supposed to happen. Pretending this is anything more than a trial run will only confuse my brain even more.
The ping signals the arrival of the elevator car. Graham nudges me forth first and follows behind me, still with his hand on my elbow. He presses the button to the eighteenth floor. I marvel at the attention to detail, even in such a small space. Intricate designs are formed on the base of the car with tiny square tiles. Browns, whites, and green tones make up the color theme. The far back wall of the car is lit up with a rich blue formation of crystal translucent squares, leaving the other two walls with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. I try hard not to look at Graham’s reflection, not allowing him to gain satisfaction that I want to sneak a peek. His ego does not need a massage. I feel his smirk without looking up. He knows something that I do not. I smooth out the layers of my dress in a nervous gesture; at least I have something to do with my restless hands.
The car stops short of the full journey, allowing a couple on board. They, too, head to the eighteenth floor. Déjà vu washes over me. The girl is a petite redhead with green eyes and a skinny frame. I have about four inches on her and feel like a curvy giant. The man is tall with medium-length black hair, styled with gel. His gray suit fills out around his gym body. He looks familiar.
“Hoffman.”
I look up at Graham in response to the greeting. His eyes narrow into tiny slits as he regards the man with a nod of the chin upwards. “Tanner,” he returns with venom dripping into a pile on the floor. Tanner’s grin makes Graham stiffen at my side. I shift on my feet and attempt to remain indifferent to the unfriendly exchange.
The redhead gives me the once-over and smirks at my fidgeting form that earns a tighter grasp around my waist. Graham’s fingers rub and smooth the fabric above my hipbone. His touch is proprietary, and in that instant I like it. Ironically, it is the rhythmic drawing of his fingers that causes the unease in my stomach to ignite, yet calm.
A bit possessive now, aren't we, Mr. Hoffman?
The man smiles at me and reaches a hand in my direction. I shuffle my handbag to my other hand and extend my right hand but quickly drop it at the sound of Graham’s deep growl. His rigid stance cements me to the ground of the car, and I can feel the daggers shoot from over my head.
“Mark Tanner. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Angie.” I must have given him a confused look. “We met briefly at the last mixer,” he clarifies.
“Oh, yes.” I remember now.
“I’m happy to see that you’re now part of the agency.”
I mutter a timid “thanks.”
Mark turns to Graham and gives him a sly smirk. “Glad to see you back on the dating field again…you know, after—”
“Shut the hell up, Tanner,” Graham snaps, stopping Mark’s line of communication.
The ping of the elevator and the stopping of the car makes it easy to exhale and settle back into Graham’s protective crook. I glance up at his face and see the tick of his jaw starting. He sends me a stern look that can only mean “not now, wench.” My eyes dart to my shoes from the silent scolding.
Every cell in my body screams in revolt at this feeling of inferiority. What the hell am I doing here? Is this job worth the cost of my beliefs and values? I pride myself on being a warrior for women, and right now, I feel like the biggest traitor.
We exit the elevator after Mark and his date. Graham halts as soon as we clear the closing doors. I can instantly tell that he has no intention of getting close to Mark and his date.
“Hey, Hoffman?” Mark calls back over his shoulder, getting Graham’s full attention once again. “Tell Penny I said hello. Oh, and Angie? I’ll be seeing you around.”
“Fucker,” Graham spats as he stomps along the corridor. His expletive is wasted. Mark is already too far away to hear.
“What’s going on between you two?” I ask as soon as I am sure that only he can hear. My curiosity wants to know more about Penny, but I decide to keep my mouth shut. Graham is not in any mood right now.
“Oh, just your everyday friendly corporate competition.” He rubs his forehead and stares after Mark’s retreating form. “It seems that the gauntlet has been thrown down tonight.”
“Something tells me that the gauntlet was thrown down a while ago.”
“You are very perceptive,” Graham says, turning to me with eyes full of concern. His warm fingers run up and down my arms in a motion to soothe me, even though he is clearly the one who needs to relax. My skin prickles under the sensations of his touch. “Angie, can you please excuse me for a minute? I need to make a call. I would never do this if it wasn’t time sensitive.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll just go sit over there,” I suggest, pointing to a vintage wingback chair near the restrooms.
Graham nods and turns his back to me as he whips out his phone from his inner breast pocket and presses a couple of buttons. His left hand snakes around his neck, and his fingers assault his hair, grabbing angry fistfuls. On occasion, he glances over his shoulder as if to make sure I haven’t disappeared. Several people exit the elevator, all nodding to Graham as if they are acquaintances. While I wait, I text Claire, even though I figure she is out on her first date with Ethan by now.
Angie: Hey. At Parkhouse Plaza with Graham! WTF? Dominic had to cancel. Fill you in later.
I delete some messages from my nearly full inbox and wait to see if Claire texts back her location or advice or a snarky comment.
“Handle it…taunting me…must be stopped…think of something…dammit. This is why I fucking pay you and five other people. Yes, you can give me counsel, but I am ultimately the one who gets to decide the action—even if we aren't in agreement.”
