Wherever It Leads(55)

“Hello?” I try to sound as relaxed as I can, like I was just lying on my bed, watching television. The syllables come out forced, breathy, but it’s the best I can do.

“Hey, Brynne. It’s Fent.” His voice wraps around me like a warm blanket on a winter night. It tugs at the memories of being actually wrapped around him and that stings. Even so, I can’t help but feel the little hope budding in my gut at his attempt at reaching out.

“Fent, huh?”

“It’s a newly acquired moniker given to me by a beautiful, sassy, bikini-clad girl. I kind of miss hearing it, actually.”

“Whoever gave it to you was clearly a genius.”

“That might be stretching it . . .”

The laugh that radiates from me betrays my attempt at sounding cool and unattached. Our banter is too comfortable. It’s almost as if we haven’t lost a step in the easy way we have together. Had together. Whatever.

The uncertainty of where we actually stand and the anticipation of why he might’ve called riddle me, and as much as I want to just start talking, I don’t. The ball is in his court.

“I thought I’d check on you,” he says.

“I’m good.”

He breathes heavily and I know he’s squeezing his temples. I wonder where he’s at and how things are going for him. And before I know it, I’m asking. “How are you?”

“Hanging in there. What did you do today?”

“I’m working, actually. On a break. What are you doing?”

“The same.”

His answer is super simple, leaving both nothing and everything to the imagination. He didn’t say enough for me to decide if it’s a good day or a bad day, and I’m not sure I’m supposed to press for more.

“Sounds fun,” I reply and then decide to take a gamble. “Did you ever work out that big problem you had?”

“Maybe,” he grunts. “But I don’t want to call you and talk about work.”

“Well, what do you want to call and talk to me about?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait. I’m holding my breath, hoping, maybe even praying a little bit, that he’ll say something I want to hear.

Instead of something over-the-top, or even hopeful, he laughs. “I just wanted to hear your voice, to tell you the truth.”

“Well, here I am. Hanging in there, as you say.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” A long moment passes between us and I wait for him to continue. “Do you have plans tomorrow night? I’d love to see you now, but I have meetings that are probably going to run late,” he sighs.

I have half a notion to tell him I don’t. I want to see him so much that I would blow off Grant and maybe never hear what he has to say just to lay my eyes on Fenton again. But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I know I can’t do that. I’m just a distraction for Fenton and I need to hash this out with Grant.

“I do, actually,” I say, feeling the words fall off my lips.

I don’t miss his groan in response, but I can’t make out the words he mutters.

“What do those entail?” he asks cautiously.

“Dinner. Then wine.”

“With the same person?”

“Not necessarily,” I shrug. “I might have wine at dinner, but Presley and I will also be having wine when I return.”

“So it’s safe to assume you’re not having dinner with Presley?”

“That’s true. It’s also safe to assume, for what it’s worth, that I won’t be wearing a bikini.”

“Brynne . . .”

The deep timbre of his voice floods through me, sparking the spots in my body that only he can. I shiver from the onslaught.

“Who are you going to dinner with?” he asks, his voice rough, not at all the cashmere effect.

“Grant.”

Tension fills the line and I instinctively pull the phone away from my ear in some sort of pointless self-defense maneuver. Without being able to see him, I know his eyes are narrowed, his strong, sexy jaw pulsing. He would be looking down at me, taking a step closer to me, invading my space and my senses with all that is Fenton.

I gulp, the mere vision of him making me sweat.

“Can I ask a favor of you?” he says finally.

“Sure.”

“Don’t go to dinner with him.”

I snort. “Fenton, really? This is none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business.”

“Too freaking bad.”

He laughs, but the rumble isn’t filled with amusement or sincerity. “Go to dinner with me instead.”

I leap off the sofa, my cheeks aching from the smile stretched from ear-to-ear. Pulling the phone away from my face, I exhale a rushed breath.

It’s what I want—definitely what I want—to see him, to spend time with him. But as I pace across the break room floor, reality sets in. If not because I need this resolution with Grant, but because I’m not letting him think he can just call the shots. That’s not how I roll for him or anyone else.

He needed a pause to this relationship and now I do.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

The innuendo thick in his voice makes me shiver, my thighs clenching shut at the promise of things to come.