Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(30)

“GRANT!” LIZ PICKED UP the call on her cell phone as she pulled sandwich makings from the fridge. The deck demolition was harder work than she’d expected, and she was starved. “Hi! I was just making myself some dinner.”

“It’s only four-thirty.”

“I skipped lunch.”

“You know that’s bad for your blood sugar levels.” Liz was silent as she grabbed a bottle of Russian Dressing. To hell with calories, she’d worked hard all day. “Listen,” he said, “I’m glad I caught you. We need to talk.”

“Talk? Is something wrong? I sent the revised timeline you asked me to work up hours ago.” She kicked the fridge door shut and tucked the phone under her chin so she could wash her hands.

“No. Things are good...” Grant paused, and Liz frowned. She got the sense this call wasn’t his usual nightly checkin. For one thing, it was about four hours early.

“Listen,” he said again. “Ethan asked me to join him tonight for this... function. It’s a business thing.”

“He didn’t mention anything in his e-mail earlier. Are you meeting a client?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Uh?

“Who? Do you need help preparing something?”

“No. No. I’m all set.” He paused again, and Liz wiped her hands dry, waiting for him to continue. She folded the towel. Grant exhaled. “I wanted you to know... I’ve been thinking. About us.”

“Us?”

“About how out of sync we’ve been lately. Let’s face it. We’ve been so wrapped up in this merger the last few months, we’ve hardly had time for us. You’ve been distracted… irritable—”

“Irritable? I haven’t—!”

“I’m not pointing fingers, Liz, and I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m only saying… I know we’ve been talking about taking things to the next level. But, I think it’s good you’re home and… away for a bit. It’ll give you a chance to see things from a fresh perspective. It’ll give you some space. Some breathing room.”

“I don’t need…”

“It’ll give us both some space.”

Liz caught her breath. She swallowed. “You need space?”

“I’m only saying I think a little siesta will do us both some good. Then, when you come back—”

“What do you mean ‘siesta’?” she asked.

“Don’t be difficult, Liz. I’m trying to be understanding here. I’m trying to be patient. But, it’s clear you’re having trouble commit—”

“Trouble committing?” She interrupted. “But…”

“I don’t want to get into this over the phone. It’ll get us nowhere. Look, I’m sorry. I am. But, I’ve got to go. I’ve got that—thing, and I’ve got to get ready. I just wanted you to know I’ll be gone for a couple, few days, okay? I’ll call you early next week.”

“Next week? Why—?”

“Liz,” he sighed, “I’ve got to go. Enjoy the weekend, all right? All right?”

“Sure. I— You, too.”

Liz pressed end and set her phone on the counter.

A siesta? Did he mean he wanted to take a break? And what did he mean she was having trouble committing? She wasn’t having trouble committing! She was ready to commit! Had been ready to commit.

Unless it was Grant who needed the siesta.

Liz swallowed again and looked out the slider at where the deck used to be. Was he trying to tell her he was tired of waiting? But, she wasn’t the one holding things up. He’d had bronchitis, and then they were busy with the merger. And, that night at his apartment… he couldn’t blame her for that!

Liz frowned at the deli meat. True, she hadn’t relented as Grant had pressed—ever more frequently—to consummate their relationship, but she wasn’t the one reluctant to bring their romance into the open. In the nearly five months they’d been dating, not once had he dared ask her out even to the corner deli in case they were seen. As if Ames & Reed had spies lurking around every street corner ready to nab randy employees.

A siesta? Liz peeled a slice of swiss cheese from the package. It didn’t sound like a restorative break. It sounded more like a stalemate in a buy-out negotiation, each side needing a leap of faith from the other before they would proceed.

You’re waiting for Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet, marry you, and carry you off to your little white picket-fenced house, Trish had accused.

Liz shook her head as she laid the cheese on the bread, feeling like all her plans were like so many sheets of paper caught in a sudden gust of wind. Why was it up to her to stop everything from flying to pieces? Why was it up to her to think and plan and organize and commit? And what was Grant doing all weekend that he couldn’t pick up a three-ounce cell phone and call until next week?

She didn’t want a break or a siesta or whatever the hell he’d called it.

She didn’t want time to think.

Why was it always her job to be the one who planned ahead? Followed through? Took responsibility?

Liz shook her head and slapped roast beef onto the cheese, even though it was entirely the wrong order in which to make a sandwich.