The Grand Duel (The Grand Men #4)

Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Lissie

I should have insisted. I should’ve said absolutely not, you’re not driving me home and putting together my new bed.

“Do you mind if I drop Daisy and Luna home first? They’ll be all over your things if I bring them, and I don’t like to keep them in the car.”

“Of course not,” I say, looking over at him as he pulls away from the green light and turns right.

It’s not that I don’t want his help. I do. It’s just…him being nice and kind.

Asshole Charles with the pretty face was a breeze.

Nice Charles with the pretty face is somehow hotter and making me feel a certain kind of way.

I should have insisted.

The drive to Charles’s home is short. We pull into an underground parking garage, and he turns to look at me. “I need to feed them and get changed. Do you want to come in for a minute?”

“Sure.” I unbuckle my seat belt and follow him and the dogs into the building.

“You’re quiet,” he says as we stand in the elevator.

“Just tired,” I tell him.

Although my tongue seemed to become tied the moment we passed by my parents’ home—my home.

“Well,” he says, tone promising. “Give me an hour, and you can pass out in a proper bed for the night.”

That earns him a smile. I look up, noticing his eyes look tired too. “Thank you for this.”

He nods, dropping his gaze quickly. The doors to the penthouse open, and I step out with him. “I won’t be a minute. Make yourself at home.”

He walks off towards the stairs, and I linger in the entrance.

The apartment is…nice. I guess. It’s sleek—mostly white. Very modern.

Not very Charles.

Luna’s paws scratch against my hips as she jumps up at me. “You hungry, Lu?”

Daisy follows her sister to where I stand, sitting at my feet.

I wonder where their food is… I walk to the stairs and call up, “Charles?”

Nothing.

I bite my lip for a minute thinking, and then head for what looks to be the kitchen.

The decor follows.

Cold. Cold. Cold.

“Where does he keep your food, babies…”

Luna bounds over to a side door when I get close, and I smile, opening it and finding a room very similar to the one at the office.

It’s colourful and warm, with large wooden dog beds lined with cushions. Dog toys litter the space along with a circular sofa. It’s nicer than his entire apartment. In my opinion, anyway.

I feed the dogs and rinse out their water bowls. By the time I’m done, Luna and Daisy have finished with their food and have run off up the stairs.

I walk to the main living space and across to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Even the view is the same as every other high rise in London. I turn and let my eyes take in the space again, trying to picture Charles living here.

This isn’t what I imagined for his home, especially with the timeless, old-money decor at his office.

“Sorry.”

I turn and find Charles halfway down the stairs. He has on a pair of dark, boot-cut jeans and a navy sweatshirt, making him look a little boyish with the way it fits so differently to his suits. I’ve never seen him look so casual.

“You’re fine,” I observe, tilting my head as he runs his hands through his hair and reaches for his things, filling his pockets.

“You fed the girls,” he says, looking up and across the room at me.

I free my bottom lip from between my teeth. “Yeah…they were ravenous.”

“They’re in bed for the night. You ready?”

I walk across the living area to the entrance, standing next to him as we wait for the lift. “Have you lived here long?”

I feel his gaze on me, but I don’t look up, knowing he’s far too close and will notice the blush it’ll give me the second I do.

“A while. Mason, who you met last week, he found and purchased this place when I was living in my old flat.” His voice grows wistful, the memory clearly a fond one. “I was young. Twenty-eight, maybe.”

“He bought it? Why would he do that?”

“I refused to spend the money. I’d not long set up the headquarters here in the city. I had the Belfast offices on the horizon, and it felt like the company was running faster than I could keep up.”

I nod. “Smart, then.”

When I sense he might be smiling, I dash to get a look.

His lips are slightly twisted, the slight, fine lines around his eyes teasing.

“What?” I ask, my face catching fire.

Age looks good on Charles Aldridge. I’m pretty sure I could add another five on him, and he’d be even hotter.

“You think I’m smart, Lis?”

Lis .

My heart stutters at the way he’s shortened my name, and I wave him off, using the moment to douse the growing attraction I have towards my boss. What is wrong with me? He’s eleven years older than me. “No. Young Charles, maybe. A smidge. You? Absolutely useless.”

“Young Charles. Right. I forget I’m so old.”

I chuckle. “Not old.” I twist my lips like he had, not giving him anything more. If there are lines, professional ones, it’s a tightrope, and I’m walking it with a blindfold covering my eyes. “You’re just a bit diff, remember.”

He darts his tongue out to wet his lips, shaking his head as he puts his hands behind his back and does a little two-step, readjusting his stance. “You wound me.”

Why does it feel like he’s fucking flirting with me?

I link my hands in front of me and step forward into the lift the second it opens, my heart thumping against my chest. “No. If I wanted to wound you, I’d ask why your home is so bleak compared to your workspace and if you even like it or just went along with it because your friend bought it for you.”

“He bought it with my own money, you know. He forged my signature and had access to my funds at the time.”

“What?” I say, laughing as he steps in next to me. “You’re making it sound worse.”

“He’s a good friend,” he says in explanation.

“Well, I’d presume so, or I’d imagine you’d have him in prison.”

“What’s wrong with my home? In your eyes.”

I shrug, wishing the doors would open up and free me from being in such close proximity with him. “It doesn’t seem like something you’d own, that’s all. I pictured a brownstone, maybe. Something a little warmer with space for the dogs to run free.”

“There are places I take the dogs to run off-lead. I have friends who own land?—”

“I’m not judging your parenting.” I smile, loving how serious he takes being a dog dad. “The penthouse is nice. Many people’s dream, I’m sure.”

The doors open, and he walks out ahead of me. “I don’t particularly like it.”

“You don’t?” I rush to catch up.

“For many of the same reasons you don’t.” He glares down at me playfully.

“Then why do you live here? Or why not make it your own?”

“I’ve never had the time to change it and don’t care to pay anyone to do it for me.”

I get into the car and frown over at him in the driver’s seat. “Wait, how long did you say you’ve lived here?”

He starts the engine. “Yes, Lissie, I am as stubborn as you are.”

“This isn’t about me. You said twenty-eight before, didn’t you? That’s seven years!”

“I’m only getting a smidge of judgement.”

My smile shrinks as I’m reminded of something. As the thought of Charles living his life in a home that’s not really that at all, for so many years, makes my heart sail through my chest.

“Hey.” Charles looks between me and the road. “You okay?”

My eyes come into focus, finding his face hard as he searches mine.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, sorry.” I swallow, my smile fake as I watch him drive. “You should change it—your home,” I add, not being able to stop the words. “Put some time and love into it, and make it something more.”

He huffs a laugh. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

I rest my head back on the seat. “Well, what do you picture? For your forever home. Tell me what it looks like.”

He contemplates it. “Not a penthouse on the thirty-third floor. But I’d never move, so this conversation is pointless.”

I let my head dip to the side as I watch him. “Humour me.”

He sighs. “A big garden, I guess. Big enough for the girls to explore. Good location. Close enough to the city to get to the office easily, but far enough out the neighbours aren’t on top of me.”

“What about the inside?”

“An open fire. The girls would love that,” he says, as if envisioning it. “And a big open plan living space—kitchen and living room all linked, sort of thing.”

“Oh, I have one of those,” I say, chuckling as I think about my tiny living space. “Would you go for all white everything?”

He turns his gaze on me and shakes his head. “I’d banish white from the entire house.”

I smile softly. “So, your dream home is nothing like your current one.”

I knew it.

He shrugs. “Tell me yours.”

“My dream home?”

He nods.

“Well, I’d probably have a lot of cream in it. You’d hate it there.” I watch as he fights to hide his smile. “There’s this house down the road from where I grew up. It’s called Heartlands. From the outside, it’s perfect. Beautiful, even.”

My chest aches at the thought of it.

“What about the inside?”

“I don’t really have a vision for the inside. I don’t think it matters if you’re happy.”

“So, if I was happy with my home, you wouldn’t tell me that I should change it?”

“It’s bland, but no. I wouldn’t do that to you, Charles.”

“What’s your dream happy home then?”

I roll my lips and frown, sitting up in the seat as I briefly let go of my sister’s dream home and let myself think about something I’ve always envisioned. “I actually have a thing for this.”

He chuckles. “Let me guess, a white picket fence and two point five kids bouncing on the bed.”

“No,” I tell him with a smile. “It’s not so much things but more of a reality. I picture it, have done since I was a teen. It’s just me and my husband in our home. I’m stressing, worried about something people worry about in their middle age—I don’t know—and my husband, the man that he is, will come up behind me and wrap me in his arms. And he’ll say, ‘put the kettle on, Lis.’” I look over at Charles and smile. “And with those few words, I’d just know that everything was going to be okay.”

His mouth turns down as if surprised, his brows raised. “I didn’t peg you as being a ‘little things’ kind of girl.”

I shrug. “Still a part-time diva when life calls for it.”

He sniggers, and I peer out of the window, hiding my face as I think about my mum and dad and how they’d use a cup of tea to solve any argument.

There wasn’t a lot of good, but there was that.

“There’s not a lot a good cup of tea can’t fix,” I add.

“I’ll remember that the next time you’re being a diva.”

The moment I walk through my flat door, I search every visible surface for anything I might have left out which could incriminate me.

“Come in, sorry about any mess.”

“It’s immaculate,” Charles says, looking far too big in my tiny living space. I’m pretty sure my entire flat could fit in his entrance hall. “You have a nice place.”

“It’s new, so equally as bland as yours.” I smile over my shoulder at him. “Serves its purpose.” I hang up my jacket and turn towards him. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

“I’m fine,” he tells me, his eyes lingering.

I smile, the scrutiny of his gaze stealing my ability to think of anything to say.

He eventually, reluctantly, casts his attention towards my room. “I presume the bedroom is through there?” He points at the only internal door.

“What gave it away?”

His lip curls. “Do you mind?” he asks, going to step around me and towards the room.

“Sure.”

God, this is awkward. It was different at the office. We were working. Cases distracting us and giving us something to look at. But here, in my flat…his presence, his scent, it’s overpowering.

I think about what he’ll see when he goes into my room. My suitcase of clothes I’ve been living out of, my clothing rail which is full of my best work wear, and my mattress.

My mattress that I lay on and thought about him whilst…

He pushes on the door, and I cringe. “Well, this is very cosy,” he says, amused.

“Not quite a penthouse apartment in Mayfair, eh, Mr Aldridge.”

He tips his head back and forth in contemplation. “I don’t know. I think there’s something quite endearing, homey, even, about your little space.”

I smile, my pride threatening to burst out through my chest. “Thank you.”

My bed is made. Even with the actual bed structure missing, I can’t not make it. My issue with it is what it’s seen. Experienced. What I’ve done within it…whilst thinking about the man who is now reaching behind his head and pulling off his jumper. “Did it come with instructions or an Allen key?”

“Yes.”

His long torso twists, his tee rising to show the deep V at the base of his well-chiselled stomach. I wonder how much time he spends in the gym. When does he get the chance if he spends so much time in the office? When does he sleep? Does he sleep with anyone? If he doesn’t date…

“Lissie.”

I lift my gaze and find him watching me. “Yeah?”

“The tools for the bed…” He’s smirking at me now.

“Oh.” I slip from the room and into the kitchen with my face feeling like it’s on fire. I grab my new tool kit from under the sink and quickly open the kitchen window, sticking my head outside for three unsuccessful seconds before I walk back into the room. “Here.” I hand it to him, keeping my head down.

I need to get a grip.

He’s my boss.

“What’s this?” He rifles through my new toolbox, holds up a pink hammer, and sniggers.

I’m still too busy thinking about the body he’s been hiding under that suit for the past three weeks to care about his opinion, though. I don’t know what kind of person that makes me.

He finds the also pink Allen keys and looks up at me.

“It’s my tool kit.”

“It didn’t come in cream?”

“Cream?” I repeat, my lip twitching.

“It’s your favourite colour, isn’t it? You wear it every day, would probably have a lot of it in your dream home.” He looks towards my clothes rack as he repeats what I’d told him in the car.

I frown.

I do wear a lot of cream.

“Just something stupid my mum drilled into me as a child. I don’t think I have a favourite colour. Pink is pretty, though, don’t you think?”

He bends down and tears the instructions from the box. “I like you in cream.”

My face reignites like a crackling fire, threatening to melt off my makeup.

Did I hear that right?

Is he throwing compliments around now?

And helping me?

He removes my duvet and pillows before I can stop him, and then lifts my mattress, standing it against the wall to make space on the floor. I swallow and watch on as his biceps he dared not tell me about flex and go taut with each movement.

“Lissie?” he says, although it sounds repetitive and short.

“Hmm?”

“The piece of wood. It has a D on it, I think. Can you pass it to me?”

“Yes. Yes…sure.” I snap out of my trance and find the part of the bed he needs.

He looks over his shoulder at me as he takes it from my hands, his frown deep. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Just hungry.”

You just make me hot and nervous, and not many men make me nervous, Charles.

He stops what he’s doing and dips his hand into his back pocket, pulling out a leather wallet. “Go and get yourself something whilst I put this together. I’ll eat anything.”

He’ll eat anything.

“Anything?” I repeat.

His back goes rigid, and I wonder if I’ve pissed him off. But then he turns, leaning an arm on the mattress as his body twists towards me. His stare doesn’t settle, a little uncertainty in it. Which is strange considering his eyes seem to burn with an intensity so sure, it paralyses me in place.

I watch as his tongue darts out, brow flinching as if whatever he sees on my face pains him. “Anything,” he confirms.

The second he turns away from me, I let out the heavy sigh that’s caught in my chest. “Won’t be long.”

An hour later, and Charles is dragging my mattress to lie atop the frame. “How’s that?”

I drop onto the bed, my smile filling my face. “You’re an angel.”

I close my eyes, sinking into the duvet.

Perfect .

“How long have you been sleeping on that floor?” I can feel his eyes on me.

“Hmm,” I say, not opening my eyes. “Too long.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m more than capable of putting together a bit of furniture, Charles. And it’s not like you showed any signs of such skills during our riveting conversations when we first met.” I open my eyes and find him watching me, his hands lodged deep in his pockets. “I am extremely grateful for this, by the way.”

“I’ll have you know those riveting conversations between us were the most exciting parts of my day.”

I nod, liking that he has a sense of humour. “Because you’d just give me so much.”

I chuckle, but he doesn’t join me, and so I let it die on my lips.

That was a joke, wasn’t it?

He bends to pick up the tools and then begins straightening out my room.

I reluctantly get up to help him.

“Are you looking forward to Italy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Is there a particular reason why?”

He stands to his full height with my tool kit in his hands, readying to pass it to me. When his head lifts, and he finds me right there, a foot away, he blanches.

I watch as he takes his time with my face, a torment on his own that I don’t understand until his hand lifts up past my temple towards my hair. I wait, only he doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t allow it.

His jaw goes rigid, and he lowers his hand. “I’d better get going.”

He turns and walks from my room.

I sigh at the lost promise of his touch and follow him. “I ordered you food.”

He stops at the door, and I can’t help but think he’s fighting himself to leave. To stay.

He turns, gaze falling heavy on my face again. “I should get back.”

I search his blue eyes, not wanting him to leave yet. It’s been nice having him here. The flat feels so empty and quiet sometimes.

“Of course. I bought pizza, so take half.”

I go to my kitchenette and quickly pull the pizza apart down the middle, putting it onto a plate. I hand the box with the other half to Charles. “Here.”

He takes it from me, refusing eye contact and pinning his stare to the box. “Thank you.”

Did I say something before in the bedroom?

Because I don’t think I did. I think he felt it too. Whatever it was that made my heart skip a beat, I think he felt it.

“The trip will be fun, you know. I think Edna was right. You deserve a break.”

His nostrils flare, a bitter smile following. “I don’t. But I do appreciate what you’re trying to do. It will keep Edna happy if nothing else.”

I shake my head as he reaches for the door handle. “You’re a pessimist.”

“No,” he says defensively, standing on the other side of the threshold.

“You bloody are. Why not embrace it? You said you would.”

He sighs, his throat working on a swallow. “I’m going, aren’t I?”

“Just.” I shake my head as he steps back, putting distance between us. “I’ll see you in the morning, Charles.”

“In the morning, Lissie.”