AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“MaxCollins? What the hell are you talking about? And why did you even go to that thing with Blair Winters? I didn’t realize you were such a sucker for a gala,” Beckett says, laughing.
I whirl around to face him. “Becauseyoutold her I had to be there.”
He stares back at me with a look on his face that tells me everything I need to know. He had nothing to do with this. It was all Blair. She lied and manipulated me into thinking I had to be at that event. Then hit on me the entire night while I continuously told her I wasn’t interested. I feel like a fucking fool.
“I had nothing to do with it, Gray. I had no intensions of sending anyone from The Liberty because Travel Forward focuses on larger hotel groups. When Blair told me she had an extra ticket, I told her as much.”
“Fuuuuuuck,” I groan, dropping my face to my hands. “I can’t believe I fell for it.”
“I don’t get why Blair would go to all of this trouble,” Beck says. “What’s the angle? She barely even knows you.”
I wince. I could have probably avoided all of this if I’d just sucked it up and told Beck about my history with Blair that first day she showed up at the office. Instead, I was embarrassed and uncomfortable and hoped I could just avoid it. And her.
The shit with Jake already taught me that complete honesty is always the best policy. This just hammers that lesson home. Message received. I get it.
I take a deep breath and fill Beckett in, minus a few of the sordid details. I apologize for not having told him about it sooner. When I’m done, he just shakes his head and then turns to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” I ask, even though I think I have an idea.
Without stopping, he says in a perfectly calm voice, “You and I will talk more about this later. But right now, I’m going to talk to Blair.”
* * *
I didn’t speakto anyone at the office for the rest of the day, my mood so sour I was afraid of what I might say if anyone brought up the photo.
I worked in my office like a caged animal, rage boiling in my veins at Blair’s manipulation. I tried to set that aside, instead focusing on how I was going to explain that photo to Sierra. She already has me at an arm’s length, and I doubt this will help.
She didn’t pick up either of my calls today, but I know she was busy at The Seaside with a presentation so I tried not to read too much into it. Sierra and I are already in the middle of one giant mess, how is she going to react when I tell her about a second one?
My heart is in my throat when I climb the three steps to Sierra’s front door after work. I don’t knock, we haven’t done that for weeks. I find her in the kitchen, pulling a tray of frozen chicken tenders from the oven. Her long hair is pulled back with a headband and she’s wearing a summer dress. When her eyes find mine, I can see they’re tired and veiled.
“What smells so good?” I ask, standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Nothing fancy. I didn’t feel like cooking.”
I watch her dig a pair of tongs from a drawer, and I flash back to the night we painted these cabinets together. That particular drawer kept sticking, we couldn’t for the life of us get it to line up straight. We were deliriously tired from working all day and after a half hour of failed attempts I ended up tossing the drawer out the door onto her front yard in frustration. We collapsed on the floor in a fit of laughter. The next morning, Sierra managed to get the drawer in with no problem. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that day.
“How did the presentation go?” I ask her, my thoughts returning to the present.
“It went just fine,” she says, transferring the chicken tenders she baked one by one to a plate, not looking in my direction once. The tension in the room is so thick you can cut it with a knife. I hate it. And the worst part is that I know it may only get worse when I tell her about the photo.
And it does.
“I saw the photo, Grayson. Is that why you’re here? To try to explain why you were on a date with… who is she, anyways?”
My breath catches in my throat. Someone must have shown her the article because it’s not the type of photo you just stumble upon. “Her name is Blair. She works with me.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s—”
“Look, Gray, I’m exhausted.” Sierra finally turns around and looks at me, her back against the counter, her expression pained. “I’m tired of being sad. I’m tired of not talking to my brother. And then I see a photo of a beautiful woman on your arm—a woman who is clearly into you, judging from the way she’s looking at you—and “couple goals,” and well… I don’t know what to think. What Idoknow is that I just don’t have the energy to deal with this right now.”
“I want to explain, Sierra,” I say, moving to stand in front of her. “It was a work event. I only went with her because she lied to me and told me that Beckett wanted the two of us to be there to represent The Liberty. She lied to me, but I’m the idiot who believed her. I only have myself to blame.”
“Why would she do that?”
I exhale, looking down at the floor. I have no choice but to tell her about Blair and me, about our history. Technically, I haven’t done anything wrong, but Ididhook up with a woman I now work with, and even though I feel nothing for Blair, Sierra deserves to know that.
