Page 44 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
“Don’t worry. I got this,” Grant said, grinning as he turned in to a random garage. Putting the car in park, he pressed the ignition button and looked over at her. Something in her expression must have read as terrified, because he added, “This is the most murdery part. I promise,” before unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the car.
Sam couldn’t imagine where this fancy place was among all the eerie warehouse vibes, but she got out of the car anyway, mostly because the prospect of staying alone in it was more terrifying. She caught up with Grant right as a parking attendant crept out of the shadows, sending her heart into her throat.
“We are closed today. Unless you are the Johnson party,” the bored-sounding parking attendant with a patchy beard said.
“We’re with the Johnsons,” Grant replied, with all the confidence of a man who was actually with the Johnsons. Never mind that the attendant had asked if theywerethe Johnsons.
The attendant looked at them for a moment, then shrugged, taking Grant’s keys. “Lot closes at eleven p.m.”
“Right. We won’t be more than an hour or so,” Grant said, his solemn demeanor never cracking.
Handing Grant a ticket, the attendant said, “Entrance is through that black door on the left. Hope you find what you are looking for.”
“Thanks,” Grant said, taking the ticket. He waited until the attendant was in the car before turning and mouthing to Sam, “Hope you find what you are looking for.”
“What does that even mean?” Sam whispered, the apprehension she’d felt in the car continuing to build.
“That they have a catchphrase that the poor people who work here are forced to say.” Grant winced, then added, “I’m sure we can ask them not to do that for your mom’s event, though.”
“Or you brought me to some kind of twisted sex club turned murder room,” Sam said as they watched the car disappear into an elevator lit by none other than red lights.
“First, I wouldn’t bring you to a murder-themed sex club. I’d bring you to a way nicer one. Second, ‘sex club turned murder room’ sounds like a B horror movie.” Grant shook his head as if the idea were offensive. “And finally, what sex club would murder its patrons? They’d be out of business within weeks.”
“That’s what they want you to believe,” Sam shot back. “Tell me this doesn’t look like a murder dungeon.”
“It’s supposed to. Trust me, the inside is well worth it.”
“You better not murder me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Grant said, gently taking her elbow and steering her toward the shadowy black door. Every bit of skin he touched tingled with his closeness. It was one of those small, intimate gestures that people who were comfortable with each other’s bodies used every day without thinking. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But it stole the attention of every one of her senses. Lost in the sensation of his touch, she didn’t have time to think of anything clever to respond with before someone in black slacks, suspenders, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up opened the door and said, “You’ve found the Lost Key. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’m sorry?” Sam asked, right as Grant said, “Sparkling water for me.”
“And for you? We have water, soda, or wine. Red, white, or sparkling.”
“I—”
“Actually, could I have sparkling wine?” Grant asked like he should be drinking the Johnsons’ liquor.
“Of course. And you?” the server asked again with the most practiced patience Sam had seen in years.
“I’ll have the same.”
“Wonderful. If you’ll just step this way to the front of the house, I’ll bring your beverages shortly.”
“Thank you,” Grant said, stepping through the door and turning to face Sam. He whispered, “Whoever the Johnsons are, their party is getting top-notch service.”
“Let’s just hope, whoever the Johnsons are, they don’t realize that we aren’t one of them,” Sam said, shaking her head.
“Oh, we’ll only be a second; I doubt they’ll even notice.” Grant smirked, then walked into the dark hallway and pushed aside a heavy red velvet curtain. Taking a deep breath, Sam stepped into the hallway and then into what was possibly the most exquisite room she had ever been in. Big frosted gallery windows lined one wall and bathed the entire place in a delicate light, while black-and-white tiles checked the floor. Strategically placed around the room were massive palms, ferns, and an array of lilies, their bright colors highlighting the clean, unadorned white walls, while an octagonal fountain in the middle of the room ran playfully over the sound of a piped-in string quartet.
“Wow,” Sam whispered as she turned to look at the lighting. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Grant standing at a simple check-in desk, his hands tucked into his pockets and a small, satisfied expression on his face.
“Was I right?”
“This is—”
“Sorry, we are closed to street traffic.” A deeply uninterested-sounding woman with a long blonde ponytail stepped out from behind one of the curtained-off hallways and glared down at them.
