Page 5 of The Dis-Graced
“Wow, that really would be great, but I feel like I’m never around anymore.”
“Luke, little Annabelle isn’t going to be little forever. Enjoy this time with her. I’ll call you if there are any fires.”
Wow—Luke really has all the luck.
“Thanks,” Luke says, following with, “I’ll see you around Gracey.”
I smile and wave goodbye to him, but the anxious butterflies in my belly refuse to allow me control over my vocals.
Once Luke’s gone, Drake shuts the door and turns to me.
“Where shall we begin?”
I don’t know…on the desk, bent over a chair, on the plush rug, against the floor to ceiling windows…
“How about we discuss the project I’ll be working on,” I reply smartly.
“Not yet.” Drake smirks, taking on a relaxed stance. “Instead, how about we get reacquainted? Gosh, it’s been what? Ten years?”
He steps towards me, holding out his arms for a hug.
Holy Jesus, I don’t have the willpower for this…
I step forward into his embrace, my body coming fully alive when his arms wrap around me.
I breathe in his the woodsy aroma of his cologne, which does nothing to abate my want. How is he clueless to the effect he’s having on me? Or maybe he knows.
He pulls away, his large hands still gripping my shoulders. “God, look at you. I was eighteen when I last saw you at the dorms, you were so shy.”
I smile awkwardly.
“I hear you did well at SU, graduating with honors.”
“As you did yourself,” I reply back, “at Stanford.”
He chuckles lightly. “Yeah, but I have a feeling my parents’ generosity had more to do with that than my studies.”
At least he’s honest.
“I didn’t recall you wearing your glasses in the interviews I’ve seen you in,” he says. “I had figured you got LASIK.”
“Oh, no,” I say, taking the clunky black frames from my face and looking down at them. “The last couple days have been chaotic, and I wore my contacts for too long. I decided to give my eyes a rest.”
“Well, you look good.”
“Thanks, so do you,” I return.
And that is no lie. Not only is Drake genetically gifted, with sexy dimples, a strong jawline, and a six-foot-four frame, but I can practically see his muscles bulging under his three-piece suit.
“Why don’t we take a seat.”
I sit at a small table, setting my portfolio down in front of me while Drake prepares two cups of coffee for us.
Drake sets a sugar caddy in the table’s center, then offered me a cup, which I thanked him for.
“So, Grace, I see that you’ve done a lot of impressive work over the past three years.”
It’s not an exaggeration. I graduated from Syracuse University with my bachelor’s when I was twenty-one, a year ahead of schedule, and worked on my master’s while I took odd jobs with various public relations firms. Eventually, I struck gold when I covered for a journalist while he did a stint in rehab. I finished his work, fact-checking for him and doing video edits, and as a reward for my discretion, he got me work I would have never gotten on my own.
