“No,” she murmured, squeezing his hand in return. “I think it’ll be okay. I’ll find you.”
He ducked his head and kissed her soundly. “I’ll be waiting. Good luck.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I might need it.”
He swatted her bottom playfully as he started to walk away and winked at her over his shoulder. When she heard the door at the end of the short hallway click closed, she turned toward the closed door of Grant’s office. A sliver of light could be seenbeneath the door. Taking a deep, courage bolstering breath in, she raised her hand and knocked.
“Come in,” she heard him call gruffly through the door, and then she reached for the handle and turned it, pushing the door open. She stepped inside and closed it before raising her eyes to his where he stood on the other side of a smooth, polished wooden desk. A set of windows overlooked the bay behind him, though it was so dark outside all she could see was just a hint of waves as the moonlight reflected off of them in the distance. One dim lamp was turned on in the corner of the room, casting him half in shadow.
“Hi…” she whispered nervously, licking her lips. He was staring at her, his jaw clenched tight. When he made no move to greet her or soften his gaze, she fidgeted with her purse. “I didn’t know how else to find you… I just want to talk,” she said, swallowing hard. Her eyes traveled over him, but didn’t linger, dropping to the floor when the anger in his eyes didn’t abate. The harsh lines of his face made her chest ache. “Van showed me—”
“Van can mind his own fucking business.” The words were harsh, clipped, and strained with rage. His hands were shoved into the front pockets of his slacks, and he remained where he was, standing on the other side of his desk.
She swallowed again, nodding. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Get out, Hope.”
Her shoulders sagged. This was not going as well as she had hoped. Maybe she should have taken Van up on his offer to stay.
“Please let me explain—”
“I said. Get. Out.” The quiet words were bitten out through tightly clenched teeth and she faltered back a step as she stared at him. “Get the fuck out of my office. Now.”
Lifting her chin, she leveled him with a stare that was far more confident than she felt. “No.”
His dark brows rose in surprise, but his facial expression did not soften. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he braced them, palms flat, on the top of his desk and leaned on them. “You have ten seconds to leave before you regret it, Hope.”
She shook her head.
“Ten.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Nine.”
“Stop. Please, Grant,” she whispered.
“Eight.” He straightened.
She gulped and shook her head.
“Seven.”
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me!” she cried, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously.
“Oh, we won’t be talking. Six,” he growled low, rounding the corner of his desk.
She trembled where she stood. “You don’t scare me, Grant.”
The laugh that escaped him was hard and so devoid of emotion she almost fled. Almost. “I should scare you. Five.”
“You won’t hurt me,” she whispered, tilting her head back to look up at him as he stepped closer.
“I plan to. Four.”
Again, she shook her head. He rolled his shoulders, staring down at her.
“Three. This is your last chance, Hope.”
