Page 9 of Stolen Sun

“Anyway! I got back to my office tofind an email from him. His company is hosting a charity event tomorrow night, and he’s asking if I’m available to attend. Kate, he still calls me ‘sunshine’. And now he’s inviting me to an event. We’ve already seen each other twice this week. Am I overthinking this?” I ask her, hoping she understands my confusion.

“You are a new contact for his company. He’s inviting you to a company event through email. It’s definitely not a date, and he will probably be too busy to talk to you much. But, I have to admit that emailing when you just left his office does make it pretty clear that he wants to see you again.” She trails off on the last part.

I groan into the phone. “Should I go?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely! I wanna go too!” She answers excitedly.

I quickly type my response to him before I can talk myself out of it. It’s not a date per se, and Joe would encourage me to go for the company. Kate can come with me to buffer any flirting, and it’ll be good for everyone.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: RE: Invitation

DATE: July 18, 2024

I am available. Please send me the details.

Noel

“So, did he mention where it is?” Kate brings me back to our conversation.

“The Grand Bohemian.”

“Oh, I know about this event, and I know exactly what we’re going to wear! Hey, I need to run. I’ll come over early tomorrow. See ya!” She hurries off the call.

My phone beeps as soon as I set it down on my desk. It’s a text from a number I don’t recognize.

Grand Bohemian Mountain Brook at 7pm. Black tie, dinner served at 8pm, open bar, silent auction. Claire will add you to the list with a plus one.

I’m stunned for a moment trying to figure out how he got my cell number before I remember that it's included in the signature of my emails.This is professional.I save his contact and respond.

Thank you.

For the first time in a while I’m actually looking forward to something, but I can’t help looking over at Nateon my desk and feeling guilty for it.

Grant Holdings is a multi-story building downtown. The ground floor is parking, and the floor above it is a restaurant and shops. Several floors are dedicated to the investment firm’s offices and meeting rooms. Then there are apartments. Grant lives in the penthouse on the top floor. He truly eats, sleeps, and breathes his company.

I go to the hostess stand at Haven’s Half Shell and give my father-in-law’s name. She walks me to a private room with floor-to-ceiling windows giving a view of the bustling city below. Grant intentionally purchased the property next door to insure his lower-level restaurant would be able to boast a view in its private rooms. It’s truly beautiful at night.

A waiter quickly pours water into the glass already on the table and asks for my drink order as soon as I'm seated. Because it’s already been one hell of a week and this lunch is bound to be draining, I decide to order an espresso martini and call the work day done.

The hostess is bringing Grant to the table just as the waiter delivers my martini. He chuckles at my drink choice. I stand to hug him and do my best to ignore the way my chest tightens at seeing him. Nate’s blue-green eyes look back at me from his father’s face as he takes me in for amoment.

“You look beautiful, my dear. It’s so good to see you.” He squeezes my arms gently and hugs me again. Then, he stands behind my chair to push it back in for me once I’m seated again.

He looks to the corner of the room and nods, letting the waiter know to come over. “Would you please go over the specials for us?”

The waiter calls off the memorized list of specials while I sip my martini. The smells and sounds in this room have me fighting the memories just to stay in the present. Nate and I came here often to have lunch with Grant. We even snuck in here a few times to get away from him. Toward the end of our senior year of college, Nate was working for his dad almost full-time, so this private room became our personal dining room more often than not.

“Are you ready to order, ma’am?” The waiter interrupts my drifting thoughts.

“Yes, I’ll have the grilled salmon special, please.” I answer, hoping it isn’t too obvious that I’m struggling to keep myself together.

Grant orders as though everything is as it should be, but once the waiter is gone he says, “I suppose I should’ve made reservations somewhere else. I wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me.”

“It’s all good memories. Some days I even smile over them.” I smile for him now, and he smiles back.

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