Grace (The ‘Hello’ series)

10. Chapter 10

ten

M r. Brooks’s office blinds are closed, and I wonder if he’s inside, if he’s working, or if the blinds are closed because he’s… No, no, don’t go there. I don’t want to wonder if he’s watching something on his computer. I don’t want to wonder if he’s still into ‘petite redheads’ or if it was just an itch.

My throat dries, and I turn my focus back on my screen, quickly typing away as I finish the report for Mr. Brooks, but my mind seems to play games as I move the mouse and click on Mr. Brooks’s calendar, checking whether he has a meeting.

There’s nothing there, and it makes something stir inside me, an uneasy feeling I can’t place.

Is this because of last night? Did we cross a line we shouldn’t? Did I do something wrong?

I messed up, that must be it. I messed up everything, like I always do…

“Are you okay?” Melissa’s voice makes my thoughts stop, and I glance up at her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I say, mustering a smile.

“Sooo, it seems you got a promotion,” she teases with a waggle of her brows.

My cheeks heat and I nod. “Yes, I did. It all goes so quickly, but I truly like this job.”

“Good, but don’t turn into a bitch like Stacy,” she jokes. “I don’t have anything on you yet.” She laughs, but somehow, her words cut me as my mind takes me to my new crush—Mr. Brooks.

“There’s nothing to find out.” I chuckle as nerves swirl in my stomach.

“There always is.” She winks. “Don’t forget the meeting this Sunday.” And then she turns on her heel, walking back to her cubicle as I struggle to pull myself together.

Her words don’t register as I’m stuck. There’s nothing, nothing to find out because nothing is going to happen. Why would something happen, right…?

It takes a moment, but as I get my mind in order, I throw myself into work, getting every report done, printed, and ready for Mr. Brooks to check when he—

“Grace, why are you here?” His voice startles me.

I struggle to find my words. “Wh–What?”

He grins, amusement glinting in his eyes. “It’s lunch time. You’re the only one here.”

“Oh,” I say as I glance around the floor. “Right, I was just caught up in work. Must have lost track of time.”

I smile up at him as he gazes down. His jaw tenses as his eyes drop to my lips, and I wonder if I’m seeing right. I can’t be. He could have anyone he wants. He wouldn’t settle for me. That late night visit was a fluke. It’s… it’s nothing. It can’t be anything at all.

“Grace,” he breathes, and my stomach tightens, my thighs quiver as heat rises within me.

“Yes?” I whisper as his eyes remain focused on my lips.

Footsteps rush toward us, and as a voice slices through the air, Mr. Brooks blinks and steps back.

“Dad, can I… oh, Grace…” Sebastian’s voice makes all the warmth leave my body, and I straighten myself, trying to keep my head up.

“Hi, Bash,” I say, my lungs stinging as my hands start to tremble.

Sebastian stares at me, then the desk, and back at me. His brows twitch as his lips part and close. “Wait… is she the reason Stacy is—”

“That’s none of your business.” Daniel cuts him off and turns to his office.

“What did you do?” Bash asks, his voice laced with venom as his eyes blacken with anger.

I lean back, my stare dropping to my screen. “I didn’t do anything,” I say, my voice soft.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, what you did… Why are you still here?” He shakes his head, storms after his dad, and the door flings shut. The glass windows vibrate from the impact, and I finally breathe again.

And yet, I wonder what I’m doing here…

With a sharp breath, I jolt up and grab my bag, wanting to be anywhere but here.

With every step I take, I think about what I should do. What to do about Bash, his dad… I’m not sure what I can do, actually. Not until I know what these weird feelings are, why I’m somehow attracted to Daniel.

Lunch barely clears my head at all. I want to scream in frustration. I shouldn’t stay working here, but I need the money. I need the job, and no one is going to hire an employee who quits after a few weeks, so Bash doesn’t get to force me out of this. I won’t let him.

That thought is enough to keep my head held high as I walk into the office and see Daniel leaving his office. He motions to the conference room. “Important meeting. Now.”

“Yes,” I say, remembering not to say ‘sir’ this time.

I drop my purse in my chair, grab my notebook, and hurry to the conference room. I sit next to Mr. Brooks.

“Explain,” he orders.

An accountant steps up and looks around, then starts his presentation. A partner or someone joins in. I take notes, trying to stay caught up, but they’re moving so quickly.

The meeting drags on, and I’m steadily trying to focus on the words, take fewer notes, understand what’s being said under all the business talk.

Then Daniel’s hand brushes mine. His forearm is against mine on my arm rest. Assuming he needs more space, knowing that touching could be something of a problem, or at least it would distract me, I move my arm so it’s against my thigh.

“Cut the high-level talk. If you have to make it more complicated to explain it, then you don’t understand it,” Daniel spits out.

The man up front changes how he’s speaking and suddenly, I understand. Which also means I see a whole lot of loopholes that can be used and serious issues being ignored. How can they make a proposal like this while completely overlooking the obvious problems? These are the kinds of things that people who don’t know I.T. would point out, let alone hackers.

I nod along to the meeting, then feel a weight on my thigh. I ignore it until something brushes across my knee. Since I have on a pencil skirt, I’m hyperaware of Mr. Brooks’s pinky lazily dragging over my skin, rubbing as if it’s calming him down one stroke at a time.

Staring at his hand still doesn’t connect the dots in my head. When he starts to use his whole hand, I can’t pretend that it’s not intentional. His fingers spread around my knee, then drag up slowly. I think he says something to the other men in the room, but my temperature shoots up until I’m sure I’m blushing and burning up.

I adjust my shirt, trying for casual, but his fingers slip along the inside of my knee, his pinky disappearing under the fabric of my skirt. I glance at him from the corner of my eyes and see he’s focused on the meeting. He even asks questions.

Maybe he doesn’t know he’s touching me or sending me into a tailspin. There’s a table in here instead of a desk, but would he put me on it, lay me back, tear my button-up shirt right down the middle as his hand pushes all the way under my skirt and to my panties where—

No, no, no…

I let out a little gasp, then grab my skirt and pull it down as quickly as I can without anyone noticing. It doesn’t do anything to change what’s happening. It doesn’t change that I like what Mr. Brooks is doing. It sure as hell doesn’t stop my heart from trying to hammer out of my chest.

What if he doesn’t stop? What if he keeps going higher? There are other people here. What if they see and get the wrong idea? My thoughts get louder and louder until the room doesn’t matter. All that matters are the eyes that could turn my way to notice that Daniel is touching me, lightly stroking the inside of my thigh.

Squeezing my legs together, I suck in a deep breath and end up dropping my pen. I can’t do this. Just letting my dirty thoughts get the best of me like last time ended up with me sent home because I was ‘sick’ even though I’m betting he knew what was happening even then, or he wouldn’t be playing this game with me now.

“Mr. Brooks?” someone asks.

“I was very clear. Leave the room. I need to think this over before we continue. For the second half of your report, keep it direct and straight forward. Stop backing away from the problems you see and spell them out so we can attack them,” Mr. Brooks says, authority rolling off him in waves.

His hand retreats, lying on the armrest while I start to get up.

“Not you, Grace,” he says clearly, but his voice is much gentler than before.

My face must be redder than my hair now. He doesn’t move from his chair, but he slowly strokes his fingertips over my thigh. “Are you distracted, upset, or… turned on?”

I stare at him, our eyes catching. There’s something dark and needy in his gaze. He leans closer. “Use your words.”

“I… why are… I…” I can’t mange more than nonsense, apparently.

He tightens his grasp on my knee, then uses one finger to spread my legs as he inches closer to me. Oh, dear God. Every breath feels like a choking hazard when I have all his attention on me. He tilts his head to the side. “Are you nervous about something?”

“They could have seen you…”

“Doing what? Stroking your knee?” he guesses.

I nod weakly.

“Does it turn you on?” he asks, his voice rougher, huskier.

I swallow. Answering feels so dangerous. “Y–Yes, sir.”

He groans and rests forward. “And yesterday, you were turned on. That’s why you couldn’t focus and that’s why you ran from me last night?”

“Yes, sir,” I breathe.

He grunts. “Good girl.”