Happy New Years Everyone! Hope you enjoy this chapter. I would love to know what you think about it.
Olivia's POV
Just then, I hear knocking on the front door. I totally forgot I have to get a doorbell installed. Anyway, it must be my shipment. Without wasting a second, I bolt out of the cramped storage room. As I round the corner, my excitement turns into sheer disbelief. Standing on the other side of the glass is none other than Mr. Grant. What in the hell is he doing here? And how on earth did he find out where I work?
My pace slows instinctively, and a confused expression creeps onto my face. Mr. Grant, too, seems nervous, which is evident from his shaky hand wave. Well, at least he has two cups of coffee, trying to find a bright side to this unexpected visit. He's even hotter than he was last night.
Swinging the door open, I say, "What are you doing here, Mr. Grant?"
"Well...um...I came to bring you coffee." He says, holding up the coffee cup with an awkward grin on his face. He looks so uncomfortable. It's pretty cute.
"How did you know this was my place?" Crossing my arms in irritation. "Are you stalking me?" I ask as I grab the cup of coffee from his hand and step aside so he can come in.
"Well, I guess you can say that, but not in a creepy way." He says before taking a sip of his coffee.
"I would say stalking is creepy anyway you look at it.", I say as I take a sip of mine.
"Black?" he said with wrinkled eyebrows.
"Excuse me?"
"Black. You drink your coffee straight black?" He asked, confused and disgusted.
"Is there a problem with that?"
Hastily, he speaks up, "No, no, no, no. I just don't know too many people who drink straight black coffee. I have sugar and cream here if you want.", he says, extending the bag towards me.
"No, thank you," I say, leaning back against the table and crossing my left foot over the right. "What are you doing here? I know it's not to bring me coffee."
"I guess you're right." He begins to walk through the place, looking around, not saying a word. What the hell is wrong with this guy?
"Excuse me, Mr. Grant. Why the hell are you here?" I say in a more elevated volume. Not that I'm not enjoying the view of his backside in those jeans. He whips his whole body around to face me.
"Are these your paintings?"
"Yes, now will you please answer my question."
"She's right, they're incredible." He mumbles. "You're a fantastic artist." He bends down to look closer at the most recent one leaning against the wall."
"Who's right? And why the hell are you here?!
He stands quickly and turns towards me, "Oh, sorry. I...um...I came to offer you a gift."
"I don't want any gifts from you. What didn't you understand about what I said last night?"
"I know what you said, but I owe you an apology for my behavior."
"I accept your apology; now you can leave," I say, walking towards him.
As I inched closer to him, an invisible force seemed to pull me toward him, urging me to close the distance between us. His gaze burns deep into me, leaving me feeling exposed and defenseless. His lips, slightly parted, hinted at a desire that mirrored my own. Finally, only a few steps separated us, and our eyes locked in a magnetic connection. I felt an overwhelming urge to hold him, but I had to resist. "Mr. Grant, you can go now," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady.
He steps even closer to me, and my heartbeat increases. "I own the Grant Hotels and um... I would like to donate to your studio."
I roll my eyes at him. "I don't need your donation, but thank you." I look away from him, trying not to show my attraction to him.
As I turn, I can see him grinding his jaw. "Why are you being so difficult? I've apologized for my behavior countless times. I know I was an asshole. I get it." He lets out a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders a little. "In my life, I can barely think of a handful of women who have cared about me for the hell of it. I just assumed you wanted something— a free meal, a ride, or access to some party. I just..."
At that moment, a sudden revelation hit me. This is Fitzgerald Grant, the governor's son, the face plastered all over the newspapers. It makes sense now. His seemingly arrogant demeanor last night perhaps comes from a place of defensiveness and protectiveness of himself. Having navigated the political field myself, I understood the burden that can come with being a family member of a prominent figure. The strain it puts on their children and spouses is all too familiar. I managed to gain a calm demeanor, reassuring him with a softer tone, "Mr. Grant, it's fine. Don't worry about it."
"I do worry about it and want to make it up to you." As I stand here gazing deeper into his eyes, I can't ignore the sadness in his handsome face. It was there last night as well.
"Listen," I said softly, offering a smile to reassure him. "You've gone out of your way to find me, which I still would like to know how you managed that, apologized once again, and even brought me coffee. That's more than enough. I do believe you're sorry."
He shifted uncomfortably, his hands finding their way into his pockets. "Ms. Pope, can I take you to lunch? I'm free right now," he finally spoke, his voice filled with nervousness. I paused for a moment, considering his request. I can't ignore his sincerity.
"No," I said firmly. His eyes widened in shock, and he let out a huff of frustration. "I have a shipment being delivered today, and I can't miss it."
A wave of relief washed over his face as he replied, "Are you sure it's not because you hate me?"
"I'm positive. You haven't done anything that I would hate you for. You being rude to me last night was your loss, not mine. You would be lucky to have me care for you." Whoo, where did that come from?
A slow smile crept across his face, and his eyes became fixated on mine. "You're right, Ms. Pope...I would be lucky to have you." It was as if my words had sparked something within him, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had just set myself up for more trouble. Locked in each other's eyes, I feel a surge of conflicting feelings, lust, and the fear of what could come of it.
Just then, a sudden knock interrupts our moment. I turned to see it was the delivery driver with my shipment. "There it is. Can you excuse me a moment?" I set my coffee down on the table and head to the door. Propping it open, I took the clipboard the driver handed me and signed. I walk out to the truck and start taking boxes out. Unfortunately, I have to unload my shipment myself. I need to save a dollar anywhere I can.
Out of my peripheral, I see Fitz in a quick jot in my direction. He swiftly takes the box I'm holding from me. "I got it. Let me help." He says enthusiastically.
Before I could respond, he was already on his way back into the studio. I shake my head slightly with a half grin. This guy is impossible. I followed him, yelling, "Take it into the back room on the right side!" I mean, why not? If he wants help, I sure could use it.
He yelled back, "Okay!"
We brought in my entire shipment, which included over 40 boxes. He even made his driver help. I can honestly say I did appreciate the help. I feel bad for working him so hard, but it was needed, and he's a big, strong, strapping man from what I can tell. He can handle it.
"I appreciate your help," I say, wiping the sweat from my brow. "You didn't have to do it, but I'm thankful."
"Yes, I did," he responds firmly, his eyes fixed on mine filled with determination. "What kind of man would I be if I stood there watching you," he adds, his voice carrying a hint of passion. He takes a deliberate step closer, and I can't help but notice the mesmerizing color of his eyes once more, a striking shade of blue that mirrors the ocean.
Needing to break this trance he's putting me in, I ask, "Don't you have important work that you should be doing as the owner of the Grant Hotels? Why are you doing grunt work?"
"Grunt work? This is not grunt work. I'm doing important work helping you. I do this kind of stuff all the time.," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice.
"When was the last time you unloaded boxes from a truck?" I challenge, crossing my arms, a playful look in my eyes.
"Well...I have...okay, fine, never." We both start to laugh.
"That's what I thought." I give him a sly grin and feel satisfaction at teasing him. "You're something special, Mr. Grant?"
"Oh really, I'm glad you think so." His smile is to die for, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that makes my heart race. He has to leave before I do something I regret, like throwing him against the wall and devouring those lips of his.
"I meant that sarcastically," I say feeling a surge of childlike nervousness as I glance down at the scuffed hardwood floor. This man is just too much to handle. "You've done more than enough today. Seriously, I am grateful for what you've done, and I appreciate you stopping by. You're welcomed here anytime," I manage to say, trying to hide the whirlwind of emotions I'm feeling.
"Are you kicking me out?"
"I'm not kicking you out, but I have to get these boxes unpacked; as you can see, there are tons of them."
"I want to stay if that's okay with you. It looks like I can still be helpful doing something around here," he says, surveying the chaotic scene around us. As he walks closer to me, I feel my heartbeat quicken. "My schedule is completely clear for the day." I could lean in and kiss him, but I won't. I don't even know this man, and as I look down and notice the wedding ring on his finger, a kiss would be completely inappropriate.
Unable to look away from him, in an almost whisper I say, "I guess that's okay then."
Out of nowhere, he says, "You are so beautiful, Ms. Pope," his voice low and husky. It takes a second for me even to form the words thank you, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. Damn, this man is doing something to me. I want him so bad. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my hands trembling with anticipation. Come on, Olivia. Keep it together. We got this.
Well, I guess we better get started then."
"Ready when you are."
"Good, I better order us lunch then."
"I will do that."
"No, I will, for you and your driver."
"No, he's leaving, and I will order us lunch."
"You are a stubborn man, Mr. Grant. It would make me feel so much better if you let me buy lunch." I say, batting my eyes at him in a playful and silly way.
"I am stubborn. And as difficult as it is to resist those beautiful eyes of yours, the answer is still no." He says very matter of fact.
"Fine. But, if you are still here for dinner, then I'm buying- end of discussion.
"I'll be here, but I couldn't possibly..."
Shut up, Mr. Grant. I'm feeding you. Now, let's get to work.", I say firmly, walking away from him. As I glance back over my shoulder to offer a half-smile, I catch him taking a glance at my ass. Be careful, Mr. Grant. You may get more than you bargain for.
As he followed, he said, "At least call me Fitz."