Grace (The ‘Hello’ series)

20. Chapter 20

twenty

“ T he deal is through. We’ve finished the app, and that means we deserve a celebration,” Daniel announces the next day at work. Everyone is excited. Apparently, he hasn’t allowed any kind of work party or celebration in years.

“When I return from my trip, we’ll have a proper party to” —his eyes meet mine— “ reward all the hard work that’s gone into making this deal work. I know that each of you played a role. Melissa and Grace, please let me know what we’ll need, and I’ll approve whatever is required to create a party everyone can and will enjoy. Don’t hold back.”

Melissa gives me a thumbs-up, but my smile is weak. She’s the one who told me about Daniel being with someone else. I haven’t heard it from anyone else, not even a whisper. It has me questioning whether it’s a rumor she heard, maybe one Stacy spread, or…

“Come on, silly. We get a whole day to look at décor, music, drinks, and everything else! We can’t waste the opportunity,” she gushes.

We sit at her desk and go over options, but Melissa lowers her voice and taps my hand. “Seriously, is everything okay with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell if Mr. Brooks just really has you doing a ton of work or if he’s super pissed at Stacy. She’s always upset when you’re involved in the meetings she used to be and how you’re not under her control. Was there something going on?” Melissa presses.

“I’m a really detail-oriented person and Mr. Brooks is too, ” I say, not wanting to say more.

“Ladies, I sure hope you’re working on making this party fantastic,” Stacy says as she walks up.

Stacy gives me a long, frustrated look. She knows exactly who I am. She knows that she’s with my ex… and has been since before Bash was my ex. Why does she feel like she has to be so nasty to me? She got Bash.

“Right, just make sure to stay focused on work. I’d hate for Mr. Brooks to be disappointed in what you two come up with. Honestly, it’s better that you run it by me at the end of the day,” she says before walking toward the break room.

Melissa shakes her head. “Such a bitch. She really doesn’t do anything but walk around and collect a paycheck.”

I shrug and try to refocus us on the project at hand. At least Melissa’s not focused on me and Mr. Brooks anymore.

At the end of the day when I head to my desk to leave, I glance at Daniel. He types a bit, then looks over at me. “How was the planning, Grace?”

“Good. Good.” I nod. “We have everything set. I emailed it to you about ten minutes ago so you can approve it.”

“Well done,” he purrs.

“How… how long are you going to be gone for?” I ask softly.

He gives me his full attention. “Are you worried about something, darling?”

I glance at the open door and shut it quickly. “I just…”

Hate that you seem to only want to touch me rather than let me touch you. It’s all twisted in my head. Does he think I’ll be bad at it? Does he only enjoy pleasing me or…? I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want more than to tease me at work and over the phone. I don’t understand how his kink works.

“I’d rather know what’s on your mind than guess, Grace,” Daniel says seriously. “If there’s something bothering you about us.”

“I was just thinking that you mentioned you wanted to watch me cook once, and I have a new recipe I want to try, but it’ll be too much just for me,” I say in a rush.

He blinks a few times, obviously surprised at the sudden comment. “And your roommate…?”

“She doesn’t get home until late because of her job, and she’s more interested in take-out food, you know? She has a whole system and… and you’re leaving tomorrow,” I say, not exactly sure how to make the ideas connect.

Daniel stands, drawing my gaze, and I notice the smile playing on his lips. He speaks in a teasing tone. “You want me to come to your place so you can cook for me?”

“Yeah, before you have to go away tomorrow for business,” I answer shyly.

“Are you worried I’ll forget you?” he teases.

“No,” I say honestly. “I just want to give you something. You make me feel good, and I know you like my cooking, so… it just seems right.”

Daniel crosses the space between us and hooks his fingers under my chin, tilting my face up until I stare into his eyes. “I don’t please you to get anything in return, Grace. I enjoy it. I like watching you come for me, getting to taste you, seeing you whimpering and satisfied, all for me. It makes me happy.”

I swallow at his words. “But you’ll still come to dinner, right?”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he glides his thumb over my bottom lip. “Of course I will, darling.” His gaze travels over every inch of my face, and then he shakes his head with a soft smile playing on his lips. “I keep waiting for the moment that you’re not perfect for me, that you’ll stop surprising me.”

What’s he talking about?

He gently presses his lips to the corner of mine. “Instead, you always prove you’re more than I planned for in more ways than I can count.” Another soft kiss, this time to the corner of my jaw, right by my ear. “What time do you want me?”

“Always,” I rasp.

Daniel chuckles softly. “I mean for dinner, sweet Grace.”

“Oh… um… seven?” I guess.

“I’ll be there,” he promises.

The wooden floor of my apartment creaks under my hurried steps. My raging heart never slowed on the way here as my nerves spike higher. I quickly change in my room and start getting everything ready in the kitchen. Lasagna won’t take too long, and I want him to be able to see me cook, just like he talked about. That means it’s not a date, not really. It’s not that serious… right?

But his words keep dancing through my head. He planned to have me like this at some point. He thought I’d disappoint him at some point. What does all that mean? That he didn’t want to like me, or he didn’t expect us to be more than a one-time thing?

If I sleep with him, is that the end of what we’ve been doing or the start of something else? None of it makes any sense!

“Just get everything ready,” I tell myself.

I adjust my flirty little dress, pull on an apron, and look at the time. It’s already six thirty. I text Daniel the address—as if he doesn’t know it—then start cleaning the kitchen and picking up some of the clutter that’s built up over the week.

The last thing I want is for my boss-ex’s dad-crush to see my house a wreck. I shake my head at myself. I’m inviting over someone nearly double my age so I can cook for them just to hopefully hear that I’m a good girl and a good chef.

How did I get here?

But does it matter as long as I’m enjoying it?

I fan myself and shake my head again. I have got to stop overthinking or I’ll mess up dinner. I already have the meat thawing and I’ve triple-checked that I have all the ingredients. All my dishes are washed and put away other than what I need for lasagna.

Everything will be fine.

I start working on garlic bread so we have something to nibble on, but I’m still nervous about this new lasagna recipe. It’s supposed to be a more upscaled version with various types of meat to make the flavors richer.

I start working on the sauce, slicing the carrots, tomatoes, and onions, taking my time since I prefer everything made from scratch. Then my phone buzzes and I see a message from Daniel.

I’m here.

Hurrying to the window, I peek out and notice the black car and the driver stepping out to open the door for Daniel. I take a breath and try to calm my erratic heart. It feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest and I have no idea how to tame it right now.

I run back to my sauce to keep it from burning and take a long drink of ice water to calm my nerves. Seeing Daniel at work is one thing. He’s supposed to be there. He’s my boss and that means he belongs, but in my own home?

It’s a jump, and I’m not sure if it’s the right move to make right now. Mostly because I don’t know what I want from our time together or what he expects. Are we actually going to start dating or is this whole thing a fling that I’m reading into too deeply?

Should I just cut my losses, sleep with him tonight, and see what happens? That way, I can move on either way without wondering what if?

Before I land on an actual plan, my door is knocked on. I open it and see Daniel there with a lovely red wine. He gives me an effortlessly warm smile as he takes up the whole doorframe. I suck in a breath as heat floods my body, threatening to drag me into every dirty thought I push away while at work.

“It already smells delicious,” Daniel says.

“I just got started,” I say, then move to welcome him in. He walks right to the kitchen, leaving me to squeeze in between him and the stove. “Sorry, the kitchen is small.”

“I’m not.” He chuckles as he rubs my hip. “Are you making sauce from scratch?”

“Of course. That’s the best way to do it. Then it’s seasoned to taste,” I say.

I tell him more about cooking as I continue to chop the onions and garlic, taking care to send him out of the kitchen during the onion part so his eyes aren’t bothered. Daniel asks me plenty of questions, offer to chop some vegetables or to taste what I’m working on.

I carefully give him a spoonful, entranced with how his lips move as he takes the spoon in his mouth. He groans. “Fuck, Grace. I’m starting to believe there’s nothing you can’t do.”

We laugh and talk about our favorite foods, what we’ve failed horribly at making, and plenty of things that let me get to know him better.

He chuckles and squeezes my hip as he watches me work the sausage and ground beef into the sauce. “There was a time when I was sure that when someone said to stir the sauce, they meant with as much force as possible.”

“No,” I gasp.

“It definitely got stirred, but there wasn’t much left to eat considering it was all over the kitchen. I spent more time cleaning than eating,” he teases.

“That’s how it always is with good food, I think. Everyone ends up cleaning up and spending more time actually making it than eating it,” I answer.

“No wonder people prefer take-out,” he hints.

“I don’t know, there’s something nice about cooking. I have total control. I can make anything I can think of. Plus, giving someone something that you work hard making, something you’ve put your hard work, time, and yourself into means more. I like to think it makes the food taste better,” I muse.

“Based on the last meal you made me, you’re right,” he hums in my ear before kissing my cheek. “Which is also why you should put me to work. If you keep looking this sexy in the kitchen, I can’t promise my hands won’t wander .”

I squeak when he pinches my ass, then pulls my hips back so I can feel how hard he is. I shake my head at him and have him try some of the meat in the sauce.

He beams. “Delicious. This will be the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”

“If you want…” I trail off. “You could make us a salad or get the wine ready.”

“If we start drinking it now, we’ll be proper chefs,” he agrees.

I giggle as he uncorks the bottle. We keep talking as he tosses the salad, tossing things in while asking me if it’s right. We get a little silly with the wine, which means I end up with some on my neck that Daniel playfully licks up.

Even though he’s entirely different from Bash, I can’t help comparing the two. Bash always said the kitchen wasn’t big enough for both of us. He said I was too bossy in the kitchen and that I never made an effort to be sexy with it.

Considering how much Daniel and I are laughing, how he keeps tugging at my apron playfully and kissing my neck, grabbing my ass, making any excuse to wrap around me, I’m more and more convinced that half the issues in my relationship with Bash were Bash’s problems, not mine.

“Are you humming over there?” Daniel asks playfully.

“I’m not good at singing,” I say softly, “but I like music in the kitchen.”

“All you have to do is ask, darling,” he says before playing some light Italian music on his phone speaker.

Daniel spins me in a quick circle, and his eyes soften as I smile. There’s no way that our chemistry is only sexual, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, given all the obstacles in our way.

Then again, I’m not sure it matters if being with him feels this good.