The Kiss That Launched 1,000 Gifs (10 page)

He studied her in the darkness for a few moments, then nodded. “Yep,” he said, then walked to his car as if it was as simple as that.

Seriously?
Yep?
That did not just happen. It had to be a dream.

Three years of Grace’s life… and it all ended with a
yep
?

She slammed the door before angry tears flooded out of her eyes. When she took a step to storm off to her room, the sharp pain had her tossing her shoes and slumping down to the floor in an undignified heap. Her bed would have been much more comfortable, but once the tears started coming, the cold floor of her entryway held her in one place until her eyes were hot and cried out. Then she rolled over and slept on the carpet.

There was not enough coffee in the world to make Grace’s day not feel like a surreal time warp. She’d woken up with a cry hangover. The alcohol from the wine tasting she’d attended the night before probably hadn’t helped. Between that and sobbing herself to sleep, a lightning storm had made a home in her brain by morning.

If ever there had been a day to call in sick, Grace had pressed snooze on it eight times before the chirp of her dying phone battery had put her at full alert. She’d skipped out on her morning workout and decided that a fix up of yesterday’s hair would have to do. And as Grace had walked into work—half human, half zombie—all she could think was that it must have been a dream.

There was no way she and Phillip had actually broken up, especially not like that. They
never
fought like they had last night. Disagreed? Yes. Bantered? Yes. But thrown out the
I have other options
card or descended into ultimatums? Never.

It must have been a dream,
Grace kept thinking in a loop as she stared at her computer screen and accomplished exactly nothing. Well, unless she counted categorizing Phillip’s female restaurant staff in the order of least appealing to most appealing an accomplishment, because she had definitely been doing that all morning.

When it came to hiring servers, Phillip had a type. He liked petite girls who wore bras for decoration purposes only. Grace had noticed the trend, of course. She’d even asked Phillip about it a few years back, but all he’d said was that people were likely to feel better about the food they were eating more when it was served by petite people. The explanation made sense, so Grace had let it go.

But what if petite, narrow-hipped women were really Phillip’s type?

The thought ate at her all morning. She obsessed over it as she did a report from the courthouse for the noon news. And when she came back to the office, heard distinct giggling, and spotted petite little Emily leaning up against Ashton’s desk, Grace nearly lost it.

Grace slumped into her seat, glaring at the romance budding across the room. The longer she watched Emily and Ashton, the more her depression was replaced by rage.

They were at work, not at some single’s bar, for crying out loud! The way Emily was leaning up against Ashton’s desk… the way she smiled down at him… the way she moved in closer than necessary to show him things on his phone? Flirtation. All of it. And Ashton was playing along every step of the way—smiling back and making room for Emily to lean in as much as she wanted to.

Was no one capable of professionalism anymore?

For nearly thirty minutes Emily stayed at Ashton’s desk, talking, laughing, and pointing at his phone from time to time as they engaged in some form of work Grace wasn’t familiar with. No one’s fingers were typing, no interviews were being held, and they certainly weren’t brainstorming.

No, Ashton and Emily were just talking. Connecting. Flirting. And they didn’t stop until Grace stood to head over to the sound booth for the afternoon show.

Ashton quickly fell in step next to her.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice lowered so only she could hear.

She kept her eyes forward. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been giving me the death stare for about a half an hour now. Did I do something to offend you?”

Grace kept walking. “Like you care.”

“If you’re legitimately mad, then yes, I do care,” Ashton said, easily keeping pace with her.

Grace turned into the sound booth, and waited for him to follow in before shutting the door behind him and giving them a little privacy. Then she planted her feet, faced Ashton, and… faltered. The earnest look in his blue eyes caught her off guard and took the angry edge off of her words.

“Just keep it in your pants at work, okay?” she said, her voice way more breathless than she’d planned on.

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “In my pants? Grace, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never dated anyone from work.”

“Yeah?” Grace stepped forward. “Does Emily know that?”

He shook his head. “Emily giving me tips on how to use Instagram is not a date.”

They were standing way too close. Part of Grace’s brain registered that even as another part of her brain urged her to lean in more. When she did, Ashton gripped her arms to put distance between them.

“What’s gotten into you today?” he asked.

“Take your hands off of me,” she warned, shrugging out of his grip. He immediately pulled away and stepped back, which inexplicably made her even more mad.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Grace, I know we don’t talk off the air all that often, but if you need to talk something out, I’m here.”

Sensitivity. Thoughtfulness. Those were not the things she was looking for out of Ashton Miller at the moment.

“We have a show to record,” she said, stepping toward her chair.

“I’m aware of that. But if you need to rant, let’s get it out of the way now,” he said. “Our listeners like banter, but no one wants to listen to an all-out brawl. So if you’re mad at me, let me know what I did.”

Great. Of all the days for Ashton Miller to be professional and rational, he had to choose the day when Grace had the most steam to let off. It seemed life wasn’t cutting her any breaks at the moment.

“Look, it’s not you,” she admitted. “It’s just… other stuff.”

“Other flirting-at-work related stuff? Are you talking about Phillip?”

Grace blinked in surprise at his absurdly accurate shot in the dark. Ashton seemed to take one look at her face and decide he was on the right track.

“I was at his restaurant last night,” he explained. “But according to my niece’s freakishly insightful eyes, you have nothing to worry about.”

The insight did not soothe her. In fact, Grace felt fifty times worse.

“And I can personally vouch for the fact that he’s not doing anything with a server named Traci,” Ashton added with a big grin. “Because I have a date with her tomorrow.”

Ashton seriously needed to stop talking before Grace punched him. To avoid looking at him, she locked her eyes on the computer monitor while her mind processed what he’d just said.

Traci? Ashton had a date with Traci? She was more than a foot shorter than Ashton and a third his weight. Sure, Traci was on the top of Grace’s list of employees Phillip might be interested in, but Phillip had a slim build himself and was several inches shorter than Ashton. Next to Phillip, Traci would look like a petite woman. Next to Ashton, Traci would look like a babysitting responsibility.

No, no, and no. Just…
no!
There was no planet on which Ashton and Traci should date.

“Grace?” she heard Ashton say softly, and only then did Grace realize she’d been staring at her computer monitor without really doing anything.

“I don’t think I can do this today,” she heard herself say.

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they were true. She’d been sleepwalking all day and no one had called her out on it. But Ashton could and he would. And that wasn’t what she needed.

As much as it killed Grace’s pride to admit, she was done for the day.

When she looked at Ashton, all she saw was a broad chest that was perfect for a crash landing and strong arms that could wrap around her and hold her with ease after she made impact. If she duct taped his mouth shut and closed her eyes, she could forget he was a coworker she had always fought to keep at arm’s distance, and finally learn how it would feel to have those arms wrapped around her.

In her mind, Grace could already feel one hand at the small of her back while the other stroked her hair. He would be warm and firm as he—

Grace blinked back to the reality where Ashton stood several feet away with a concerned look on his face.

“Grace?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

No. She was not.

Turning to her mic, she glanced at the two-way glass and was happy to see Frank on the other side. She clicked her mic on. “Frank, if I were to tell you that I can’t do today’s show, what would your response be?”

“I, um… wait a sec,” he said, then picked up the phone on his side. The silence on side of the glass with Ashton was heavy for about thirty seconds before Frank flipped his mic back on.

“I’d say you’re due a sick day,” Frank said into the mic. “Go for it. As miracles would have it, Layla is available to fill in.”

Grace blinked in surprise. “Layla? From The Morning Show?”

“The very same,” Frank said. “She’s headed up now. Ashton can cover until she gets here. You’re good to go.”

Part of Grace was unnerved by how quickly her shoes had been filled, but one more glance at Ashton made her certain she’d made the right choice. One part of her brain told her that she had two hours of work left to do on a Friday. She just needed to buck up and plow through. But another part of her took one look at Ashton and wanted to…

Yeah, she needed to go.

“Thanks, Frank. This means a lot.” Then Grace tore out of the room and didn’t look back.

Esme let herself in the front door, which was a good thing since Grace had no intention of getting up off of the couch.

“I come bearing Mercer’s,” Esme called out before the door was shut behind her. “All of the red flavors.”

Wine ice cream. If ever there was a perfect day for it, this was it. Grace’s life may have just hit a low point, but at least she still had friends with taste.

“My butt’s on the couch,” she called back. “And it’s not moving.”

When Esme stepped into the room, Grace was happy to see that her high maintenance friend hadn’t come straight from work. She’d gone home and changed first, trading out her work dress for yoga pants. The bag she carried looked like it held more than ice cream.

“We’ve got Chocolate Cabernet,” Esme said, pulling out the first pint. “Along with Cherry Merlot, Port, and Spice.”

“You are a hero,” Grace said, reaching for the chocolate.

Esme took a slow breath and looked her over. “So it’s true? You and Phillip?”

Grace nodded. “Yep. Who told you?”

“Well, it
should
have been you,” Esme said. “I shouldn’t be hearing things like this from anyone else.”

“It felt like a dream,” Grace said, enjoying the too-cold feeling of the ice cream carton in her hand. “Last night… all of today… I almost texted Phillip to ask if it was a dream, but I know it wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Esme said.

Grace sighed and sent Esme a narrow look. “We both know this news just tears you up.”

“If it hurts you, it hurts me,” she said. “But to answer your question, Phillip told me about the breakup. When you weren’t on the show today, he texted me to see if you were okay.”

Grace’s hand was getting colder, but she didn’t put the ice cream down. It felt good to feel something unambiguous. “That was thoughtful of him.”

“Which means I’m guessing he’s the one who broke up with you,” Esme said, heading to the kitchen. “Usually the more composed person is the one who delivered the blow.”

“We both knew it was coming,” Grace said as she heard Esme grab spoons. “Phillip just got to the finish line before I did.”

Esme walked back in, studying her through narrowed eyes. “And that’s all you’ve got to say on the matter? Do I need to show you YouTube videos on how Latina women are supposed to react when their men dump them? Because I know what a Latin breakup looks like, and this ain’t it.”