His Saving Grace

Chapter 6

GRACE

Slamming the door to my flat closed behind me, I slide down against it until my bum hits the floor. Drawing my knees up into my chest, I throw my head into my hands. I hate him. James Davidson. I detest him, and I don’t even know why.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

My heart flies into my mouth and I almost snap the bones in my neck when I look up to find Tess hovering over me. “Jesus, Tess! You scared the living s**t out of me! What are you doing here?”

“Naomi’s got her boyfriend over,” she explains, referring to her roommate. “I don't want to hear a guy panting and moaning all night long.”

I manage a small smile and Tess joins me on the floor, propping herself up on her hands while she stretches her legs out in front of her. “Bad day?”

A humourless laugh flies from my throat. “You know the guy I never have to see again? The one who stole my morals and turned me into a raging s**t just by looking at me?”

“David Gandy?”

I nod. “Turns out David Gandy is, in fact, James Davidson. My boss. Not just my boss, but everyone’s boss. The f*****g boss of all the bosses.”

Tess gasps, and then pisses me the hell off by giggling. “No way!”

“It’s not funny, Tess.”

“Kinda is. I’d say you couldn’t make that s**t up, but I think you already did in one of your books.”

She’s right. I have three self-published titles under my belt and in my first novel, Lost and Found, the main characters find themselves in a situation not dissimilar to the one I’m facing right now. The difference, however, is this is real life and James and I aren’t going to drive off into the sunset together. The real life version ends with me dreading going to work every single day because I can’t bear to face my jerk boss with an ego the size of China.

Tess’ hand appears on my knee and I stack one of mine on top of it. “So you’ve slept with your boss. Big deal. I’m sure you’re not the first.”

“I’m not if the rumours are true.” The thought makes me queasy.

“I meant in general, but whatever. If he’s the CEO you probably won’t have to deal with him anyway. Don’t CEO’s just sit around on their a*s, smoking cigars all day, while everyone else does the work?”

I shrug, so many thoughts, scenarios, and emotions running through my head it feels like my brain is about to splatter all over the wall. “He’s persistent.”

“So you’ve already spoken to him again?”

She says again, but today is actually the first time, given the fact the feel of him on my skin last week rendered me completely speechless. “He gave me a lift home. My car’s knackered and I didn’t have another choice seeing as neither you nor Tom would answer your damn phones.” I can’t help scowling at her like it’s all her fault I’ve just had the most uncomfortable car journey of my life.

She pulls her lips into a firm, guilty line, exposing her teeth. “I’ve got this new phone case and it knocks the silent switch every time I take it out to charge. But…you could’ve gotten the bus.”

Yes. Yes I could. Why the hell didn’t I think of that? Oh yeah, because I can’t think of f*****g anything when James Davidson is around.

“So, I’m guessing, by the foul mood you’re in, that he’s a dickhead?”

I open my mouth to say the only reasonable answer. Yes. Except it’s not reasonable, so I close it again. “He’s…” Hell, I don’t even know what he is, or why he’s crawled so far under my skin I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get him out. “He’s not actually done anything wrong,” I admit, but it doesn’t stop a sour taste bubbling on the surface of my tongue. “I just hate him.”

“Now, do you really? Or are you just mad at yourself for sleeping with a stranger?”

“No. It’s him,” I spit, refusing to acknowledge the alternative. I’m being petulant and I know it. I am mad with myself. Some people don’t see an issue with casual s*x and I don’t judge anyone for living that way, but it’s not for me. At least, it wasn’t before Friday night and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let myself down.

“Seriously, Grace, I think you just need to accept that it happens and move the f**k on.” I can always rely on Tess to give it to me straight, and whether it pisses me off or not, I know she’s right. “I bet he’s not wasting his time thinking about it. Probably got his d**k in another hole as we speak. You can’t change it, so just forget it instead.”

A part of me that I don’t understand doesn’t want to forget, and for that reason alone I wish I could kick myself. “You’re right,” I agree, forcing conviction into my voice as I slap my knees. “I’m starving. What d’you fancy?”

“Real chips and egg?” By ‘real’ chips, she means homemade and deep-fried.

I’m already salivating at the thought. “You peel the potatoes and I’ll butter the muffins.”

I raise my hand and she gives me a high-five. “Deal.”

**********

This morning, I’m glad that Tess stayed over last night. A Netflix marathon and two bottles of cheap wine were just what I needed to get my stupid boss out of my head.

I’m drinking coffee when Tess comes barrelling out of the bathroom, pulling on her trainers at the same time.

“Coffee?”

“That cheap s**t isn’t worth me being late for,” she says, grabbing her jacket from the floor and swinging it over her shoulder.

“I’ve already had a verbal warning.”

Tess isn’t the best timekeeper. Something I’m sure her boss at the sportswear shop doesn’t appreciate.

“Will you be here tonight?” I ask as her hand reaches for the door handle. “I’ll pick up a takeaway on the way home if you are.”

“I’ll text you when I know what Naomi’s plans are. In a bit, little shit.”

“Sure,” I reply, but she’s already gone.

Sliding my finger under the sleeve of my grey jacket, I check the time on my watch and huff. I need to get a move on if I’m going to make it to work on time. Buses are unreliable on a good day. I haven’t been on public transport since I was in college but I imagine it’s still over-crowded and smells awful.

I drain my coffee, silently agreeing with Tess that it does indeed taste like s**t, and then put my heels. I’m out the door and jogging down the stairwell, as usual the lift is out of order, just seconds later. Outside, I stop in my tracks, knitting my eyebrows together, sure I’ve just walked past an all too familiar car. I dismiss it, certain I’m going f*****g crazy, and carry on walking.

“Need a ride?”

“Oh for f**k’s sake,” I mutter under my breath before begrudgingly turning around. Seemingly, I’m not going crazy, I’m being f*****g stalked.

“I’m fine with the bus,” I say, feeling rather proud of myself for not giving into him…again.

The confident asshole c***s his head and then leans over to open the passenger door. “My leather seats won’t leave you smelling like stale sweat all day.”

I don’t want to, yet I’m walking towards him. It’s almost as if he severed the connection between my brain and my muscles when he f****d me last week because I seem to have lost all control over my body. That pride I felt just seconds ago? Yeah, that disappears the second I slide into his pretentious car. It’s all silver and black leather with more gadgets and technology than b****y NASA. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he was over compensating for a tiny d**k.

But I know he’s far from tiny and my p***y clenches at the mere memory. I need to stop thinking about that before I get wet so I reach out and switch on the stereo to distract myself. It works, until his hand lands on the back of my seat, supporting him as he turns to the rear window while reversing out of his space. His skin is so close to my face. It’s the same hand with the fingers he shoved in me and I can’t stop thinking about it, remembering how good it felt.

He returns his hand to the wheel and I spot flashes of colour on his wrist where the cuff of his jacket has rolled up slightly. It surprises me that he has tattoos. He’s so refined and business-like. Suddenly, I want to know if he has more, if he has a full sleeve, two full sleeves. Does he have them on his chest, his back, his legs…

“If you keep staring at me like that I might start believing you don’t hate me as much as you want to.”

Shit. I rip my gaze away from his arm and shift in my seat so I can’t see him, even by accident out of the corner of my eye. He’s so f*****g arrogant and it makes me scowl out of the window. Why the hell am I in his car? Again! I decide I’m going to have to practise saying ‘f**k off, you condescending, cocky bastard,’ in the mirror when I get home.

We drive in silence, only interrupted by the small puff of humourless laughter that pushes through my nose when Creep by Radiohead starts trickling through the speakers.

“You think I’m a creep?” he asks, amusement tickling his tone.

Among other things. “You have to admit it’s a bit weird waiting outside my flat like that. You don’t even know me.”

“You work for me. I take care of my employees.”

“That’s not why you did it.” The words come out like an accusation and a tiny part of me wants him to agree.

“So why do you think I did it?”

I can’t see his face, I won’t let myself, but I can imagine the smug expression he’s wearing.

“Because you want to screw me again.”

“And that makes you mad?”

No. But I want it to. “Yes.”

“Well you can relax. I’m not a r****t. It won’t happen until you want it to.”

“It won’t happen, full stop.”

“Because I’m your boss?”

“No. Yes. Partly.” I’m flustered and it makes me hate him even more. He’s wearing me down and I can’t even begin to comprehend how the hell he does it.

“Partly because I’m your boss,” he repeats. “And the other part?”

“Because…because…” Jesus Christ, Grace, pull yourself together.

“Because?”

“Because of comments like that! You’re an arrogant, cocky, pretentious, self-important, patronising, arrogant ars-”

“You’ve already said arrogant.”

I’m seething so vehemently my blood vibrates in my veins, and seemingly, I revert to being a child, huffing as I fold my arms across my chest.

I plan to stay silent the rest of the way, the rest of my life when he’s around, but curiosity overpowers me when he veers onto a road that doesn’t lead to Davidson Publishing House.

“Where are you going?”

“Costa. I need caffeine to sustain this level of arrogance. Want one?”

Twat. “No.”

Shrugging, James pulls onto a side street and parks against the curb. He gets out and walks off without another word and I drag some much-needed oxygen into my lungs. All weekend I dreamt about those damn eyes of his, the story they told, the demons they possessed…but now I can’t even bring myself to look at them, because every time I do I forget how to function like a normal human being.

When I see James returning to the car I seize the opportunity to take another deep breath, knowing in a few seconds the art of breathing will become a luxury I’m not privileged enough to possess. My eyes roll at the sight of two tall cups in his hands. It’s as if his sole purpose in life is to annoy me.

He balances one cup in the crook of his arm while he opens the door and then holds it out to me. “Caramel latte.”

“I said I didn’t want one,” I spit, staring at the cup. I don’t intend to take it out of pure childishness but James doesn’t move and I suspect he won’t until it’s in my hand. So, as f*****g usual, I give in and take the cup.

He slides into his seat and I refuse to look at the smile on his face but I know it’s there. “But you do really. You were just being stubborn.”

He’s right, but he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be able to read me so well when he doesn’t even know me. It frustrates me. He frustrates me.

The feeling dies down just slightly as I sip on the first decent coffee I’ve had in weeks, but then he ruins it by opening his mouth. “So what made you decide to move into the publishing industry?”

I shrug. “Curiosity. Passion,” I say, forcing nonchalance into my tone.

“You like to read?”

“And write.” s**t! Why did I tell him that? No doubt he thinks I only took the job to try and further my career. That’s not even my biggest concern. I don’t particularly care what he thinks, at least that’s what I tell myself, but I don’t want him to know anything about me. He’ll only use it to his own advantage. He already has some kind of unfathomable power over me and I don’t want to give him any more leverage.

“Have you published anything?”

“Three novels so far.” f*****g hell, stop talking! “I’m only self-published though.”

“You say that like it devalues your achievement. Writing takes strength, commitment, a unique mind that has the ability to see the world differently and put that vision into words. Don’t ever undersell yourself, Grace.”

His voice sounds so genuine that I break the vow I made to myself and look at him. I can’t help it. His eyes are on the road but they hold something that intrigues me, compels me to look deeper.

I think I see a vulnerability, a darkness, but I force myself to ignore it. I don’t know this man and I never will. He pisses me off too much. I feel like he’d make a good character, that maybe I could write about him, but he’d end up getting a happy ever after and he’s too much of a tosser to deserve one.

“They could be a bag of trash for all you know,” I say. I’m feeling a little too content in his presence and I rectify that by being a total b***h.

“I doubt that.”

“You haven’t read them.”

“I don’t need to. I can see your passion. I feel it. I saw it the first time I met you, the way you looked at me.”

“I don’t remember,” I blatantly lie. “I was drunk.”

“You do,” he says with that unrelenting confidence that makes me want to punch him in the face. There’s no point arguing. Not only is he right, I do remember and I don’t think I’ll ever forget, but we’ve arrived in the car park.

“Your car is still here,” he notes, nodding over to it.

“Perceptive as well as arrogant. That’s a talent.”

“Do you want me to call a garage to come and pick it up?”

“I’m not a moron,” I snap, and it instantly sparks a twinge of guilt in my stomach. He’s being nice and I’m behaving like I don't have manners. “I’ve already sorted it.”

Except I haven’t. I can’t afford to right now. Hopefully, my brother will lend me the money to have it towed back to my flat this afternoon and I’ll get it repaired on payday.

James’ phone rings in his pocket as we get out of the car and I’m grateful for the interruption. He answers with a curt, “Davidson,” and continues to talk throughout our walk to the building. I don’t listen to what he says, too busy trying to make sense of the unsettling emotion swimming in my chest.

Still on the phone when we step inside Davidson House, James offers a brief wave before carrying on without me towards the lifts. I still have half my coffee but, feeling tense, I toss it in the bin before taking the stairs to my floor two at a time. I don’t run as much as I used to and I need to burn off some of the energy that takes over my body whenever James f*****g Davidson is close.

I head straight to my desk and bring up my first task of the day on the computer. I need to type up a pitch to several distributors for Mike newest client and get them emailed out before lunch.

Speaking of Mike… “I need these taking down to admin when you have a minute,” he says, placing a tray of sealed envelopes on my desk.

“Sure,” I reply with a fake smile.

I expect him to turn away, but instead he stares at me through narrowed eyes.

“Have I done something wrong?” I ask, trying to remember if I photocopied the documents he told me to yesterday. I did. I’m sure.

“You can’t skip rungs to get to the top of the ladder here. You have to work for it like everyone else.”

“Um…” I’m confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“I saw you getting out of Davidson’s car this morning. You should know he doesn’t return favours with promotion.”

What the… “My car broke down. That’s all there is to it.” My tone is acidic, my expression disgusted. Who the hell does he think he is?

“Whatever you say.”

My fist itches to knock the smarmy grin off his face. What is it with this place? My mood is set for the rest of the day. I complete my work with a permanent scowl etched onto my face and don’t bother speaking to anyone unless asked a direct question. It only gets worse when my computer crashes and I have to stay late while I wait for the technician to arrive.

Alone, bar the company of a handful of cleaners dotted throughout the building, I kick back in my swivel chair and prop my feet up on my desk. After texting Tess to tell her I’ll be late home, I pull up the f*******: app on my phone and tap out a quick status update about my bad mood. Switching to my author page app, my stomach flips when I notice I’ve reached the two thousand likes milestone. I doubt half of them have read my books but I don’t care. If my stories have only reached one of them I consider it a success. I type a thank you status from my alter ego TS Roberts and then move on to Twitter.

“You’re still here?” My eyes dart toward the sound of James’ voice and find him standing a couple of stations away from me. “It’s almost seven.”

It surprises me that I’m actually pleased to see him. He’s still an asshole, but Mike is worse, and I’m grateful for a break from the boredom of my own company.

“My computer went down. I’m waiting for tech to arrive.”

“You’ve waited long enough. Go home. It’ll still be broken in the morning, they’ll have to come back.”

I consider it for a moment but decide against it. “I don’t mind waiting.” It’s an excuse rather than a lie. “I don’t need to give Mike any more reasons to chew my a*s off.” Damn. Why’d you tell him that?

“You’ve messed up?” he asks. I expect him to gloat or make fun of me but he doesn’t. He walks over to my desk and perches on the edge of it, his thigh brushing against my ankle.

I almost gasp, but disguise it with a forced yawn. “No,” I say. Unless you count the fact I rode in your car this morning. “Just don’t think he likes me.”

“I wouldn’t worry. The only person he likes is his reflection in the mirror.” There’s a playfulness in his voice that makes me smile and, for the first time, I feel relaxed in his presence. “Get tech on the phone for me.”

I pick up the phone and dial, but I don’t know what he hopes to achieve. I’ve rang them four times already. “They’re waiting for one of their guys to finish up in Middleton. They can’t get here before nine.”

He winks and it sends a rush of heat surging through my body. f**k me, he’s so gorgeous. He’s still an asss, but a damn gorgeous one.

“This is James Davidson, CEO of Davidson House. A member of my staff requested technical support several hours ago and I find your response time utterly unacceptable. I want assistance in my building within twenty minutes or I’ll take my business elsewhere.” There’s a brief pause while James gives the poor sod on the other end of the line a chance to speak, and then he puts the phone back in its cradle. “They’re on their way.”

Wow. “Impressive.” I’m more than impressed. I’m actually a little turned on. I won’t give him the pleasure of knowing that, of course. He’s still a jerk.

James shrugs. “I don’t pay good money for bad service.”

Damn, he’s so close to me. There’s no way I can bring my legs down from the table without touching him, so I don’t try, even though I’m getting cramp in my calves. I assume he’ll leave soon. There’s no reason for him to stay.

“Is your car in the garage?”

“It’s being picked up in the morning. My brother sorted it.” I arranged it with Tom a few hours ago and he offered to cover the repair costs, too, until I get paid.

“How old is your brother?”

My brow wrinkles in confusion. “Twenty-nine.”

“And you’re the youngest?”

“Um, yeah.” Where is this going? “Why?”

“Just trying to work out how old you are. It’s not business related, so I can’t ask you directly, right?” A sly smile dances on his lips and I want to slap it straight off the beautiful bastard.

“You mean you haven’t looked it up on my file?”

“That’s too easy. I prefer a challenge.”

“Unfortunately for you, so do I.”

I don’t know what’s changed but I have no problem staring at him right now. His intense gaze pierces mine and I allow it. I have no choice. I don’t think I could look away even if I wanted to.

“So why did you get into publishing?” I probe, and realise it’s the first time I’ve actually asked him a question of any significance.

“It was expected of me,” he says, and I think I hear a hint of sadness in his voice. “This business has been in my family since the early nineteen-hundreds. I took over from my father just before he passed away.”

“I’m sorry.” I wonder if that’s where the pain in his eyes stems from. “My dad died, too.”

“We were close.” His voice is low as he stares down at his knees. “He saw something in me that no one else does. Even me.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t. Weirdly, I want to touch him, maybe even hold him, but I don’t do that either. Instead, I freeze, my eyes refusing to abandon his troubled face.

After several seconds that feel like hours, he looks at me, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his cheeks. “Sorry. Bit heavy for a Tuesday night, eh?”

I want to agree, but I can’t. I can’t seem to do anything but stare at him.

“I should get going,” he says, standing up and turning immediately away from me. “Let me know if the tech guy doesn’t show. I don’t want you waiting around all night.”

“I…” I pause while I remember how to breathe. “I don’t have your number.”

James stops next to the desk in front of mine, pulls what looks like a business card out of the hidden pocket inside his jacket and then scribbles something on the back of it. He takes a few steps towards me and holds out the card. Swinging my legs down from the desk, I take it from him, my thumb brushing against his. The contact sends a shiver down my spine that I can’t ignore, but thankfully I manage to stop it reaching my expression.

“That’s my personal number. Don’t share it.”

“Sure,” I think I say, but my mouth is dry and there’s every possibility I imagined it.

I watch him walk away and I’m unable to make sense of how I’m feeling. I didn’t want him to give me a lift home but I must’ve subconsciously assumed he would because I’m surprised he’s gone.

Will he pick me up in the morning? Or is this, whatever this is, over now? The thought should make me happy. It’s what I’ve wanted since the moment he walked out of the bathroom last Friday – to forget him. I don’t want him to talk to me again. I don’t want him to even look at me, and I certainly don’t want to ride in his f*****g posh car.

So why do I feel so deflated?

...........................