The Grand Duel (The Grand Men #4)

Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

Lissie

I ’m more than a little bit grateful to find Charles, laptop on lap and head in a file, when I climb into the Land Rover the next morning. I smile at Scott and quietly get situated in my seat.

I came to the conclusion late last night, whilst coming to the conclusion that I wouldn’t be getting any sleep with the guilt of coming at the fantasy of my boss, that I need to try dating.

If I have to work with beautiful men day and night and not be able to sleep with any of them, I need to get my fill somehow.

I pull out my laptop and mirror my boss, placing it on my thighs. Opening the email from Jove, I scan the page and then click the link to the dating site.

I peer across at Mr Aldridge’s screen as I wait for it to load, squinting to get a look at what seems to be a list.

What’s he always working on when we’re on the road? It’s not even the laptop he uses in meetings. It seems like a personal one.

He must see me peeking and shifts a little. I look up at him to find him glaring at me.

My face is instantly on fire.

“You’re looking awfully happy this morning, Mr Aldridge,” I say sarcastically.

He sighs and continues his typing.

“Would you mind if I check my personal emails whilst we travel? I don’t have anything in my inbox to reply to.”

He nods, choosing to remain mute.

I smile. After losing a little part of myself to the man’s face last night, I’ve never been more thankful for his silence.

I look back at my screen and click the sign-up button, eyeing the first question.

First Name: Lissie

Last Name: …

“Crap.” I chew on my lip as I consider what to go with. There’s not many Eltons in London, and if I throw up a picture of my face, there’s a chance someone might recognise me and put two and two together.

Charles did.

I’m not famous. But I am unfortunately an Elton.

I look across at the man next to me, noticing his typing has stopped, his long fingers capturing my attention.

He has such big heavy hands.

He continues typing.

“Charles, could I borrow your last name?” I ask, trying my luck.

“Go for it,” he mutters as if he didn’t really listen to the question.

My brows pop in surprise. “Hm. Perfect.” I smile. “Aldridge. Aldridge .” I tilt my head. “Is it problematic?”

“What?” He finally looks up at me, his eyes dropping from my eyes to my nose and then lips.

I swallow, trying to keep my mind from going to last night.

“Well, is it attached to anything scandalous?” Like mine is .

“You want to steal and then lie with my name, but you’re worried it’s problematic?”

I smile at him and type it out. “You’re right. Such an unproblematic man.”

Last Name: Aldridge.

I stare at it, Lissie Aldridge , feeling better about how it looks compared to my own name. “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely, continuing with the profile. “My favourite song.”

I look across at him, his fingers scrolling to the top of his page furiously as if making an edit to earlier notes.

It has to be a case.

The man lives and dies for his work.

I sit and ponder what song I’d pick, not necessarily thinking about my favourites, but anything that brings the vibe I’m looking for. “What’s your favourite song, Scott?” I ask.

When he doesn’t answer me, I look up, finding him watching my boss in the mirror.

My eyes drift to the left of me where an icy blue stare pins me in place. I swallow, forcing my gaze not to ravish his face.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his attention firmly on me.

I turn my screen as he had, hiding it.

His brows rise. “What are you doing with my name, Lissie?”

My cheeks flare without warning at his tone. My stomach dipping. “It’s a dating profile, is all.” I turn the laptop to show him. “I’m taking up my sister’s advice and trying to date. She thinks I’m desensitised to men because of my job at The Nightingale.”

His face seems to harden. “Why would you be desensitised to men because of The Nightingale?”

Crap, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the club.

I look towards Scott, not really wanting him to know my business. “When you said you know what working at The Nightingale entails…” I let my gaze free to roam his features, the results devastating. It’s as if he was handcrafted by the gods. “You know…like fully understand what?—”

His jaw tics. “I know, Lissie.”

“Right.” I chuckle, knowing my face is so very obviously giving me away.

I lean in, not wanting Scott to hear this part. I’m not sure I want Charles to hear this part either, and I can hardly believe that this is what has him talking now, but Jovie told me to be myself and so that’s what I’m going to do. What do I have to lose? We are technically on a cardigan-sniffing basis. “I only work the bar. It’s all I was interested in when I started.”

His face falls, shoulders relaxing.

He looks almost relieved. I chew on my bottom lip, unsure if I want to tell this beautiful man at my side that I sold myself for sex.

But it was him who brought up the club to me last night, and he was the one who asked me the question now. And that look in his eyes, the way he’s waiting, as if he wants to know more.

Why does he want to know more?

Why do I want to tell him?

“So I…I kind of volunteered one night when the owner of the club was short-staffed to do a little more than just bar work, and now my sister thinks I’m in love with this cop boy and won’t ever be with anyone else at the club because of him.”

“Cop boy ?” he remarks, brow furrowing.

“Oh no, it’s not like that. He’s all man.” I sigh dreamily.

Charles looks mortified, and I wonder if my thought process of him being okay with this conversation was the wrong one.

He probably just thinks I’m a horny child.

Which I am.

He blinks, then swallows. “Why would your sister think you’re in love with him?”

I ponder it. “I’ve been a bit needy ever since.”

He frowns harder as if not understanding yet intrigued to know more.

“I was blindfolded, so I couldn’t even see his face,” I explain, my palms starting to sweat. “It felt like it went great, like really great,” I tell him with a smile. “But then he stopped coming in.”

Charles sits back a little.

“I watch the door every shift, waiting for my friends to tell me he’s back and…” I look up at Charles’s paling face. “Sorry, too many details.”

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, so I continue.

“But that’s it. I’ve been ghosted.” I gesture towards the laptop. “I’m all but over the entire encounter now, but you could say that putting myself out there is my way of getting back at a man who couldn’t care less.” Which sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.

I stare at my profile. “Do you think a hair-up picture for my profile or hair down?”

He shakes his head, his lips a thin line. “Down.”

Down it is.

“The guy from the club,” Charles asks, his voice lower, almost breaking until he clears it. “You…you’d be with him again?”

My face heats. “Yes,” I say coyly, but sure. He made me feel too good. Too special. “But I can’t see him showing his face now.” I meet his eyes, his features hard. “Sorry.” I drop my head back. “I overshare at the best of times, but this is another level.”

“No,” he says, firm. “No, it’s fine.” He leans back in his seat.

I sit in silence, clicking around my profile, unsure if it is, in fact, fine. “We have a meeting with Dennis this morning, yes?” I say in a way to steer the conversation back to work territory.

“No. I have a meeting with Dennis. I need you to go to The Montwell, do you know it?”

I nod at him.

“Good. You’ll be meeting with my real estate managers at Ellis and Frey. Collect the papers and keys to the new storage offices. Scott will take you once he’s dropped me off.”

“Oh.” I frown, sitting up in my seat, checking my outfit. “Of course.” I smile at the idea he’s handing off a job to me and quickly google The Montwell.