Page 52 of Grumpy Glitter Christmas
“I’ll handle the sound system,” Grant said, his voice carefully neutral now. Professional. Distant.
She moved toward the door, not letting herself look back. But she could feel his gaze on her, could feel the weight of all the words they weren’t saying.
She walked through the doors, leaving Grant standing alone by the tree they’d saved together.
Four hours until the gala.
Four hours until Felicity would have to prove she could hold herself together while her heart broke in real time.
Would Grant show up with Victoria?
If he did, she could handle it.
Felicity wrapped her arms around herself and headed toward the caterer’s staging area.
She could survive four hours. She’d survived worse.
She’d survived Mark telling her she was too much. She’d survived coming home jobless and single. She’d survived Grant’s initial contempt, his dismissal, his cruel words overheard in the lobby.
She could survive him choosing Victoria and Boston.
She would pull off this gala. She would collect her paycheck. She would prove to herself and everyone else that she was a professional, that her sparkle had substance.
And then she would let herself fall apart.
But not yet. Not now.
Now, she had choirs to wrangle and a catastrophe to prevent.
The tree glowed behind her, perfect and beautiful and utterly heartbreaking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grant stood in his office reading Victoria's message on his phone again:
Have you given more thought to my offer? Boston would be a fresh start for you. Away from all this small-town... complications. Call me.
He should call her. He should tell her clearly, unequivocally, that he wasn't interested. That he'd never be interested. That the life she was offering—sleek, sensible, safe—felt like a prison sentence compared to the messy, chaotic, glitter-filled reality of staying here.
With Felicity.
Except Felicity wouldn't even look at him. And he couldn't blame her.
"You look like a man at a crossroads."
Grant turned to find Meena leaning against the doorframe, her ever-present clipboard tucked under one arm. She'd lost some of her usual corporate polish—her hair was escaping its neat bun, and there was a coffee stain on her cream blouse—but her eyes were sharp as ever.
"Just thinking," he said.
"About?" She walked into the ballroom, her heels clicking on the newly polished floor. She stopped beside him, following his gaze to the tree. "Or should I say aboutwhom?"
Grant let out a long breath. "Is it that obvious?"
"Grant, I've known you since we were Economics majors sharing a study room in the library." She gave him a fond smile. "You spent four years being the most buttoned-up, emotionally constipated person on campus. Watching you actuallyfeelthings is like watching a glacier learn to salsa. It's obvious."
Despite everything, he almost smiled. "That bad?"
"Worse. You look like someone kicked your puppy and then told you the depreciation schedule for puppy-related losses." She set her clipboard down on a nearby table. "So. Talk to me. What's going on?"
