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Don adds on, “And a nice bottle of something. Not wine. That’s very… Hrm.” He makes a gesture with his hand. “It’s expected. You need to get a bottle of something else. Try champagne.”
“I’m not sure if she drinks champagne,” I say.
Don counters, “Her father’s a politician, Grant. The lady drinks champagne.”
Well, there’s no doubt that she’s had champagne at those political get-togethers, but that doesn’t mean Ashley actually likes it. I keep that thought to myself. Instead, I thank my father for his advice and then head out, down to get my own cab. I’m expecting the tension from the meeting to fade as I get further away from the conference building, but it doesn’t.
I can’t help but think about how upset Charlie looked. Something about this argument felt different from all the others that my brother and my father have had. Something about it felt more real.
I guess that the best I can do is hope they’ll be able to work it out—and that Charlie doesn’t take his irritation out on me, or Ashley, in the meantime.
Chapter sixteen
Ashley
ThemomentthatGrantsteps back into the hotel room, I can tell that something’s wrong. He’s got this look about him, a jaded, drawn-in expression. Standing up, I move to greet him, taking one of his hands in my own without even thinking about it.
“You look like today went… Awful. The client didn’t back out, did he?” I ask, tugging and leading him over to the bed.
Grant scrubs at his face with his free hand, sitting down heavily on the edge of the mattress. Once I let go of his wrist, he starts loosening his tie. It hangs unknotted around the curve of his neck. “No, it’s not the client. That went fine. I’m pretty sure that we’ve got him on the ropes. We just need to flesh out the details of the account, cross the T’s, dot the I’s, and sign on the line. That sort of thing.”
“Okay, so… What then?” I move over to the mini fridge, which doubles as the mini bar. There are little bottles of liquor lining the shelf, along with a half-bottle of champagne that’s gone mostly flat, and some cans of soda.
I grab one of the little bottles of whiskey, and then go to put on a pot of coffee. Grant looks like he could use something a little bit stronger than wine this evening, and I wouldn’t mind the extra caffeine myself.
The machine is soon burbling to life. I realize that Grant hasn’t answered, and I turn to look. He has his phone out, but it’s not turned on, the screen black as he stares down at it. There’s a frown on his face. I step over to him, putting one hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, come on. You can talk to me, Grant,” I tell him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “What’s going on?”
Grant shakes his head, eventually setting the phone down onto the bedside table without having made any calls or texts. “I was going to text Charlie, but I doubt he’s going to answer me. I just…”
I sit down on the bed next to him. “Something happened to Charlie?”
“He and my father,” says Grant, with a shake of his head. “They’re always butting heads and going at it. But today was the worst that I’ve seen in a long time. I didn’t realize us getting engaged would cause my dad to reign down so hard on Charlie. I thought—I just figured that my dad would be happy about us and maybe even ease up on his issues with Charlie. But shit, I was wrong.”
“Do you think Charlie is mad that we’re engaged?” I ask, pulling my hand away. “I wasn’t trying to make things difficult between the two of you!”
Grant waves a hand at me. “That’s not it. Charlie’s not mad at me, not really. Though he does think us being engaged is bullshit. And he’s certainly not mad at you. He’s pissed at our father. It’s just a hell of a lot easier to bitch at me than Don, you know?”
The coffee is finished, but I leave it for the moment. “I know. But that’s not fair, for either of you.’
“That was his whole thing. That this isn’t fair. Don’s on him about settling down, and Charlie just—doesn’t want to.” Grant makes a frustrated noise. “And Charlie’s right! He should be able to settle down when he wants to, not when it’s convenient for the company. But… But Dad doesn’t see it that way. And the part my dad can’t seem to express is that it’s not just about the company. My parents want him to settle down for his personal happiness too. They can’t fathom that he’s happy living the way that he does.” He shakes his head again.
I look at him for a long moment, trying to think of something that will make him feel better. Something that I can say. But there’s nothing that I could do to make my sister feel any better, and I know that there’s nothing I can do to make Grant feel better, either. At least, nothing that I can say out loud.
Physically though, I get up and I make us both a cup of coffee. I dump an entire little bottle of whiskey into Grant’s mug. Nothing that’s going to make him drunk, but the kind of burn that’s going to make him at least feel a little better. And I can do this, too. I take a sip of my coffee and then sit it on the nightstand, next to his tossed-aside phone.
Then I take off his tie the rest of the way and unbutton his shirt with a little smirk on my face. He looks at me slightly confused, but agreeably eases his shirt off his shoulders and sets it on the side of the bed. I climb up onto the bed, and I settle in behind him. Grant curls both hands around the mug that he’d been given and takes a long sip, mouth curling up into a bare sort of smile. “What are you doing?”
“You’re tense,” I tell him as I grab my coconut lotion off the nightstand. I settle on my knees, directly behind him, and then crack my knuckles. “And I’m going to change that.”
With a full pump of lotion my hands settle on his shoulders, both of my hands kneading into each of his shoulders with all the strength I can muster. I take my time really doing my best to massage his knots away. I work my way down his back using my knuckles to press until the muscles along his spine. I’ll be honest, I don’t have any hands-on practice with this. It’s not like I’ve ever actually sat down and done this on another person. But massaging Grant feels like it comes naturally to me. Knowing where his spots are, I lean my weight into his back, palms and finger working over every inch of him.
I start running my hands up towards his neck, feeling out the tension in his muscles and the sharpness of bone beneath his skin. “Just try to relax. I need you to just… Breathe. I know that today was awful, but I think that… that things could still work themselves out.”
“I know they will,” says Grant. “But I hate seeing them at each other’s throats like that. And Charlie’s so impulsive. He just says whatever’s on his mind, the moment that it pops in there. And then he goes off and he makes these stupid, impulsive decisions!”
“You know, my sister’s almost the opposite.” I drag my hands up, over his shoulder, seeking out each curve and pressure point that I can find. Trying to connect with him, to make him feel better. To get at least a little bit of the tension out of him so he can relax this evening.
