Authors: Mia Kay
Chapter 19
Grace stood in the doorway of the Hilton ballroom and surveyed her friend’s handiwork. String quartet, ice sculptures, every color in the rainbow peppered with black tuxedos.
“Quit fidgeting,” Meg scolded. “You look amazing.”
“I’m uncomfortable,” Grace whispered.
“Bullshit. You tried on every pair of shoes in L.A. until you found a pair that didn’t hurt your feet, none of your underwear pinches you, and your dress doesn’t itch, wrinkle, or trip you.”
“It’s too tight,” Grace grumbled.
“It has Lycra in it. It’s all in your head.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Then you should have eaten something other than a Lean Cuisine. Smile, Gracie.”
Searching for something to distract her, Grace focused on the crowd. Some were dancing, others were drinking, but everyone was having fun.
Bennett was across the room. In his tux, bent to hear a question, he might as well have been wearing a “movie star” sign around his neck. He was in his element, and she felt like an impostor.
“Congratulations on the event at the library. It’s rare in this city for the same topic to be hot for an hour, much less a week.”
Grace pulled her focus to the man in front of her. Jeb Grant was the distribution executive in charge of their project. “Thank you, Jeb.”
She prayed she didn’t stutter. She still fought the urge to call him Mr. Grant, which only made her feel like she was in a Mary Tyler Moore episode. Then she wondered how many people in this room had spent Monday evenings with their mothers watching sitcom reruns on the nostalgia channel.
“. . . Harry Levy,” Jeb said. “Harry’s the president of a wealth management group in Malibu.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grace.”
She resisted the impulse to wipe her palm on her dress before she took his hand.
“You as well, Harry. Thank you for coming tonight. I’m sure you’d rather be on the beach.”
His smile slashed through his beard. “It’ll be there later.”
As he stopped a waiter, Grace looked for something else to say. Dark curly hair, dark eyes, dark tux, long tie, Marvin the Martian tie tack.
Harry handed her a glass of champagne. “Besides, this is the most talked about project in the city.”
“But it’s no illudium Q-36 explosive space modulator.”
He choked on his drink before dissolving into a laugh. “No, it isn’t. I’ve brought a few clients, so would you mind making me look cooler than I am?”
Grace took the arm he offered. “Lead the way.”
Harry’s group of inventors and ‘dot-com’ brainchildren were fascinating. Grace listened to peoples’ stories until she began to enjoy herself. It increased as Bennett came to her side. When everyone stopped to stare, she introduced him.
The circle widened, and he stepped forward. His voice rumbled through her while he continued her tactic of questions about them instead of answers about himself.
“We’re keeping you,” Harry said after a lengthy and lively conversation. He offered his hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”
Grace hated to see him go. “Thank you for making me feel comfortable, Harry.”
The group left them, and she noticed the glass in Ben’s hand. “Your drink will get watery.”
He handed it to her. “It’s not mine.”
She took a sip. It
was
water. “Thank you. Champagne hurts my teeth.”
He frowned, and she explained. “It’s like drinking the sound of nails on a chalkboard.”
Laughter shook him, right down to the fingers he settled at the base of her spine. “Hullo, Idgie.”
Grace couldn’t speak. She’d worried about a backless dress for all sorts of reasons, but this hadn’t been one of them. Heat pooled under his hand and spread through her stomach and then lower.
“Hi.” The whispered syllable was all she could manage.
Bennett dragged his fingers away, and the heat went higher. She hoped the latex pasties the dress shop had sold her stayed put. They’d probably pop off and fall from under her dress, right at her feet.
“Sorry,” he said. “You’re beautiful. That dress makes you look like you tumbled out of the sky.”
They walked together, not touching, and she missed him.
“That’s why I picked it. It reminded me of nights at home on my deck, when the stars look close enough to touch.”
“Are you homesick?”
“Not really. I miss Mom, but I’ve learned to carve out space wherever I am.”
“As long as you have enough tables?” he teased.
“Even that may change. I’m testing some software that might allow me to work efficiently in a digital space. My back is loving the lighter load.”
Another group approached them, teachers eager to discuss a project aimed at promoting science careers. When they finished their pitch for her participation, Ben still stood at her side. He wasn’t bored. He even had a smile on his face.
She looked for a place to put the teachers’ business cards. “It’s odd. Everyone wants me to talk about science.”
Bennett took the cards from her and slipped them into his jacket pocket as they renewed their walk. “Do you regret doing all this?”
“No. It was time to fill E.G.’s shoes. Oddly enough, giving up my anonymity has made me more comfortable instead of less.”
He nodded. “Would you like to dance?”
“How’s your ankle?”
“As long as we don’t quick-step, I should be fine.”
If they quick-stepped she’d probably break his toes, but she wanted to dance with him more than anything. As she reached for his hand, another tux-clad man strode toward them, his honey blond hair glinting under the lights.
“Grace? I never imagined I’d run into you.”
She’d heard his voice every day for three years. She remembered grinning like an idiot the first few times he’d called her. Now, he hugged her like nothing had happened and she didn’t return it.
“Ryan. What on earth are you doing here?”
“Paul sent an invitation to one of my clients, and they suggested I come with them to sniff things out.” His gaze darted to Bennett.
Grace hurried through the introductions, anxious to get Ryan out of their way. “Ryan Franklin. Bennett Oliver. We were about to—”
“Let me take you to meet my client. He’d be interested to learn more about Paul’s project.” Without waiting for an answer, Ryan dragged her away. “I’m sure Bennett won’t mind. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Grace looked over her shoulder, damning the reason for this stupid party. “Excuse me.”
Bennett nodded and gave half a wave, and she faced the crowd so she wouldn’t run into anyone as Ryan propelled her forward.
“Charlie,” he called out, “this is Grace Donnelley, the author of the book the movie is based on. She’s an old girlfriend I was stupid enough to let get away.”
“I’m also the screenwriter and one of the associate producers.” Grace forced a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charlie . . .?”
“Devlin. I’m a friend of Ryan’s from law school. But when he came out here, I went to Vegas. This is my wife, Dana.”
Grace offered her hand to the pretty redhead. “It’s nice to meet you, Dana. I was in Vegas a few years back for the World Fantasy Awards, and I made it a point to leave the strip and see more of the city. It’s really lovely there.”
“It is.” Dana leaned in. “You know when I tell people we live in Vegas, they assume all we do is gamble and eat at ten dollar buffets.” She tapped another woman on the shoulder. “Chelsea, meet Grace, the screenwriter for
Partners in Time
.”
As the group surrounded her, Grace forgot about Ryan. Bankers, lawyers, designers, architects—while their jobs were traditional, the people were fascinating. Ultra-runners, sailors, bicyclists, photography buffs.
When Harry Levy walked past, she included him in the conversation because he’d mentioned sailing earlier.
She was proud of herself for remembering that until Ryan grasped her elbow and pulled her away.
“You made me look like a moron,” he hissed.
“How?”
“You didn’t talk about anything I understood.”
“They’re your clients. How could you not know what interests them?”
“Don’t turn this around. You always make yourself the center of attention.”
“How?” She challenged him. “All I do is listen. People like to talk about themselves and
their
interests.”
“You ask too many questions,” he grumbled. “I want them to listen, Grace. Not talk around me. How am I supposed to get ahead if they won’t hear what I have to say? And now I have to compete with Harry Levy. You couldn’t just help me?”
“So you want me to be bait?” she asked. “Nod like a bobble head doll to get their attention
for
you?”
He rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t you be quiet? Shy, country introverts are supposed to be quiet, aren’t they?”
“How many country girls have you met, Ryan?” She sneered up at him. “Couldn’t be many, because I remember you as a fan of city girls.”
“Look, I was trying to learn more about your work and what always kept you so busy. I wanted someone to answer industry questions.”
“How many answers did you find up her skirt?”
“At least she knew the value of being seen and not heard,” he jeered.
She snorted and shook her head. “Come to think of it, I
do
remember how much you like passive women.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t,” Bennett said from behind her. “Grace, would you like to dance?”
“I would, thank you.” She turned toward him and found herself snared by Ryan’s hand circling her wrist in a cold, iron grip.
Bennett’s eyes were icy in his grim face. “Let her go, mate.”
“No,” Ryan growled. “We haven’t finished talking.”
“She thinks you have.”
Caught between them, Grace stayed silent but she refused to return to Ryan simply to avoid a scene. Around them, the partygoers stilled. She jerked her arm and winced as Ryan’s grip twisted. Ben didn’t move, but his free hand was in a fist at his side, his skin white along the tops of his knuckles. He widened his stance, bracing for battle.
“The Beast of Britain,” Ryan sneered. “What are you gonna do, hit me?”
The crowd quieted in concentric rings, leaving them at the center. Instead of causing a larger scene, Bennett put a light arm around her waist. She curved into his shoulder, making her preference clear. Her other arm was outstretched as if shackled by a weight. She looked over her shoulder. “I didn’t intend on a line dance.”
The nervous laughter from a few bystanders brought Ryan to his senses. He released her, and Bennett whisked her to the dance floor.
“Pompous, self-centered, misogynistic jackass.” Grace muttered the grave list under her breath and against his shoulder.
“I hope you’re talking about him.”
His warmth and his laughter relaxed her. “He only came because he thought he could use me as a bragging point. Thank you for rescuing me.”
“You’re welcome.” His fingers brushed her wrist. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’ll probably have a bruise.” She stopped him from turning around. “I bruise easily, Bennett. It’s not a big deal.”
“It bloody well is.”
“He isn’t going ruin my night or take up any more of my time.” She relaxed as his hand returned to her waist. “Would you have hit him?”
“I’ve not hit anyone since Noah and I had our row about Fe.” His voice lowered to a growl. “But if you’d flinched away from him again, I would have pounded him into a pulp. Crowd be damned. Was he always that way?”
“Obnoxious? Yes. Violent? No. I get the feeling he’s desperate.”
“For you?”
She snorted. “No. He was never desperate for me. He wants something and he needs me to get it.”
Their steps slowed, and Ben brushed her spine with one hand while the other kept hers in its grasp. Grace dropped her head to his shoulder. They gave up stepping for swaying.
“I’ve enjoyed talking to everyone tonight. They’re all so different.”
“Different from what?” he asked.
“From me. My dad ran a drill press his entire life. Do you know what that is?”
Bennett nodded. “He was a machinist.”
“Blue collar through and through. I grew up on catfish and s’mores.”
“I’m not surprised,” he teased. “You’d have to have chocolate in there somewhere.”
“He always told me I could do whatever I wanted, but I don’t think he ever imagined anything like this.”
“He’d be well chuffed with you, Grace.”
“Does that mean proud?” Grace couldn’t stop the squeak in her voice. It was a question she always asked but couldn’t answer. Her father had been proud of his little girl, but he’d died as her professional life had begun.
Bennett tilted her head and caught her tear with his thumb.
“Yes, sweetheart. Any man in your life would be proud of you.”
“I don’t belong here, Bennett. I’m not like these people. Investment bankers and ‘dot-com’ geniuses. Actors.”
“
You know, the people from the library looked at you just like you see this lot.”
“They didn’t.” She stared up at him. “Did they?”
That was something to think on, but she was too exhausted to think and dance at the same time. She dropped her head and hid her yawn in his shoulder.
“I think we’ve done enough for tonight,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
She shook her head. “Meg and Paul—”