“A job.”
I don’t love the vagueness, but I give him a chance to elaborate before lobbing questions at him like darts. I do that to people. I fact-gather. I can’t help it. I’ve always been curious, always wanted to have all the information possible before I make my assessment.
He continues, “I graduated from Montclair State with a degree in Finance. My uncle knew a guy who wanted to hire someone fresh out of college, someone he could shape into the right fit for his company. Jumped at the chance and haven’t looked back since. Best decision of my life. Bar none.”
“You don’t miss the hustle and bustle of the East Coast? Or the seasons?”
Grant shakes his head and makes a face.
“Think you’ll ever move back?” I stir my drink with a skinny metal straw.
“Not a chance.” His beer arrives and he takes a sip, eyes locked on me. “The views out here are … breathtaking.”
I don’t think his comment was a double entendre directed at me, but for some insane reason, my cheeks flush with heat and my heartbeat reverberates in my ear. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—like he’s two seconds from devouring me. Like I’m the only woman he sees in this room full of distracting, prattling strangers.
It’s not something I’m used to.
I tend to intimidate men, I think. Or I attract the kind of men who are easily intimidated, men who expect me to make the first move or throw myself at them like a sex-starved damsel in distress.
Something tells me Grant can hold his own in the sexual prowess department. But I’m not a sleep-with-a-guy-on-the-first-date kind of girl, so my assumption will remain unproven.
For now.
“I never had a chance to ask you about your friend,” I say. “The one who had the accident … is he okay?”
“Funny you should ask,” Grant says. “His sister called me earlier today. They brought him out of the coma.”
I lift a brow. “He was in a coma?”
“Medically induced. They were trying to get the swelling down on his brain or something like that. I didn’t ask for details. Medical stuff makes me … yeah.” He offers a humble chuckle and sips his beer before peering around the crowded restaurant. “Anyway, Claire said he was talking, asking questions, getting his bearings. He was a little confused, but she said his prognosis so far is good.”
I clasp a hand over my chest and exhale. “Oh, that’s amazing. I’m so relieved to hear that.”
“Yeah, same.”
“My sister was in an accident several years ago …” I say. “Unfortunately she didn’t make it, but I’m happy for your friend.”
Summarizing Kari’s life in a single sentence hurts. Physically hurts. But I plaster over it with a winced smile.
“Jesus, Brie. I’m so sorry about your sister. I had no idea.” He reaches across the table, places his hand on top of mine, but not for an awkward or uncomfortable length of time. “That must’ve been horrible.”
“We were twins,” I say. I don’t get to talk about her that often, so I relish the opportunity. “Identical. Crazy close even though we were night and day. She was the wild one. I was … not.”
He offers a bittersweet smile as his dark eyes hold mine with full attention.
I ramble on about Kari longer than I should, telling him silly stories and painting her personality in vivid detail, from her neurotic obsession with peel-able nail polish to her affinity for pinpointing which indie rock bands were going to make it big before anyone else. Not once does his expression glaze with boredom. Not once does he interrupt or change the subject. He gives me his full, undivided attention.
“Are we ready to place our orders?” Our server interrupts our moment.
“Oh … I think we’re just doing drinks,” I tell her—because that was the plan. We were going to meet up for drinks and conversation, nothing more, nothing less.
Grant’s dark eyes soften as he peers across the table in my direction. “You hungry? I’m starving.”
I try to tamp my excitement. “I mean … a girl’s got to eat, right?”
His bright grin fills the dim, candlelit space that environs us.
“Give us another minute to look at the menu, please,” he tells her. “And in the meantime, we’ll take another round.” The server dashes off, disappearing behind the bar. Grant rests his elbows on the table and leans closer. “You were saying?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. Not for a second.
My stomach somersaults.
Who is this guy?
When our second round arrives, he lifts his glass to mine. I don’t know what he’s drinking to, but for the first time in my life, I’m drinking to chance, to strange coincidences, and to the future—whatever it may bring.
4
Cainan
Six Months Later …
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to take off early. My roommate’s in a play tonight with Daniel Radcliffe, and we have tickets … am hoping to get there early.” My assistant, Paloma, lingers in my doorway, one rail-thin hand on her narrow hip. “Unless you need me to do anything else?”