Pitching for Her Love (8 page)

However, the papers had seemed to ease up and there was now newer and more exciting news to cover.  I began to feel more excited for my date with Grayson, but I still decided to take him up on his offer for a car service when he called to confirm that afternoon.

“What are you wearing?” Megan asked, once again excited by the idea of me dating her celebrity crush.

I motioned to my outfit, a dark purple wrap dress and simple nude pumps.

“Probably just this.  I don’t think I have the time to go home and change,” I said.

“Are you sure?” she asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Look, after the way this week started, he’s lucky I’m showing up at all,” I said and smiled.

Megan laughed.  It was great to hear that deep throaty sound again. It made things seem like they were back to normal.

“I love the way you talk about him like he’s just another guy,” she said, “as if he isn’t a multi-millionaire, super hot, incredibly generous, and the most perfect man ever.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Maybe it’s better not to look at it that way.  I thought it only put pressure on me, but think of all he has to live up to if that’s what everyone thinks of him,” I said.

Megan thought about this for a minute and then quickly smiled, as if just realizing something for the first time.

“You really like him, don’t you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, but my smile gave me away.

I left work around six, and as promised, there was a dark sedan waiting for me outside.  As the car pulled away from the curb, I looked around for any signs of photographers and saw none.  Maybe tonight really was going to be better.

I
must have underestimated just how much money Grayson Hunter had.  I know Megan told me he was wealthy, but when we pulled up to the white stone townhouse, I was in awe at the large property surrounded by a wrought iron gate.  The driver noiselessly entered a long code into the console and the gate opened automatically.  We drove into a circular driveway and stopped in front of a set of stone steps leading up to an impressive front door.  The driver opened the door for me as I was admiring everything through the window and led me up the front steps, where the door opened in front of me.

“You look beautiful,” Grayson said as he opened the door wide and invited me in.

To say that his home was beautiful would be the understatement of the century.  Dark hardwood floors sprawled throughout the first floor, and a massive, sweeping staircase greeted us in the two-story foyer, which lead up to a landing with tall French windows.  The home was somehow lived in but pristine, and I realized that he most likely spent very little time here.  He traveled all the time, so no wonder everything looked perfect and in its place.

“This is amazing,” I said while I gazed up the staircase.

“Thanks,” he said and handed me a glass of wine that had appeared out of nowhere, “but I really can’t take credit for it.  I had a great realtor and an even better decorator.”

“Until right now, I was super proud of my little one bedroom in Wicker Park,” I said. “Now I think I need to redo everything!”

He led me underneath the staircase and into a massive kitchen.  The cabinets were dark and masculine, the countertops reflecting a deep maple color with gray and beige.  The appliances gleamed in the low light, and the copper pots reflected brilliantly as a team of chefs prepared what looked like a meal for 100 people.

“Please don’t think that way,” he said.  “I would love to have that kind of place.  Just something normal.”

I had to laugh at this, and I motioned to the men preparing food in the kitchen.  “I thought you were cooking for us!” I said.

“Trust me, if I was cooking, you really would never want to see me again,” he said.

At this, my smile disappeared.  Not even five minutes in and we already were talking about the other night.  He seemed to sense my unease immediately.

“Let’s go sit on the porch.  I think Jean Francois has put hors d’oeuvres out already,” he said and took my hand.  He guided me out through a set of large French doors and onto a patio overlooking a secluded backyard.

“Do you have neighbors?” I asked, peering over the railing to the left and right.

“Yes, but one is a teammate and the other is this investment banker who is never around.  You don’t have to worry,” he said, and suddenly he was right beside me.  He took my wine glass from my hand, placed it on the table, and reached his hand to the left side of my face, tilting my chin up toward him and bringing his lips to mine.

“Grayson, wait,” I said before he could kiss me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.  He didn’t seem angry or frustrated, just confused.

“I kind of want to talk about Saturday and”—I paused, a little uncomfortable—“I guess everything that happened afterward.”

“Okay,” he said while he nodded, and he motioned to a comfortable-looking set of chairs.  I chose one and took a large sip of wine before I continued.

“The papers seemed to focus a lot on my body type,” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant and unembarrassed as possible.  “Do you have any idea why they might do that?”

At this, he smiled widely.  His face lit up from his dimples to his eyes.

“I told you I liked curvy girls,” he said, and it was impossible not to smile back at him.

“What about your ex?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer or not.

“Everyone has a type,” he said, “and I told you about her and what she did.  I’m not going to lie: you look a lot like her.”

This must have visibly put me off, because he immediately said, “But you have a much kinder heart.  You’re smart, clever, and all the things I’m looking for, and you happen to be the most beautiful woman I think I have ever seen in my life.”

I couldn’t do anything but smile.  When I was with Grayson I felt so happy and complete, as if my whole life was opening up in front of me.  It was a life I wasn’t even sure I wanted, but here it was offering itself to me anyway.

Jean Francois and his team of silent chefs brought out course after course for us, a fusion of French and American food that was unlike anything I had ever eaten.  The wine flowed freely, and it was even more delicious than the food.  Tonight made all my wine tastings and restaurant openings look like elementary school play dates.

We laughed and talked and shared stories for hours.  He asked about my family, and I told him about my mom, stepfather, and sister, Carrie.  He told me about his two brothers, one older and one younger, and his parents who had been married for forty years.  We joked like old friends and shared our favorites and dislikes, having a heated debate over the merits of various new films of the year.

“I can’t believe you would rather sit through two hours of a talking teddy bear than a classic action film!” he said as he finished his glass of wine.

“Classic is just another word for old!” I laughed back, and he snorted a laugh into his chocolate tart.

I finished my glass too and took time to look at him while he ate.  I’d had enough wine to make me feel comfortable enough doing it, and he smiled when he noticed.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he said.  “I know you didn’t want to at first, but I hope you had a good time.”

“I had a great time,” I said and reached over, putting my hand on his.  His smile got even wider, and he appeared to blush a bit in the candlelight.

We sat like that for a few moments until a busser came to clear our dessert plates.

“I don’t think I can ever eat again!” I said.  “That was truly amazing, but next time I insist that you cook yourself.”

“Next time?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with a proud-looking smile.

“Next time,” I said, no doubt in my voice.

The quiet came upon us very quickly, and we sat there in silence, just holding hands for some time, as if neither of us wanted to be the one to break the silence.  When I glanced at my watch, I realized that it would have to be me.

“I have to get going,” I said. “I have to get in to work early tomorrow.”

I pulled my hand away, stood up, and had to try my hardest to stay on my feet.  How many glasses of wine did I drink?  I felt Grayson’s large, reassuring hand on the small of my back as he guided me to the front door.

“Do you want me to call you a car?” he asked.

“No, that’s fine,” I said quickly.  “I can catch a cab easily.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.  “I don’t mind.”

I turned to face him, feeling more confident than I had in weeks.  I leaned up and kissed him on the lips.  It was soft and gentle.  His lips tasted like wine and chocolate, and I couldn’t help but smile as our lips parted.  He reached up to stroke the side of my face and smiled back at me.

“I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in a long time,” he said, and he put both his arms around my waist, pulling me closer.

I didn’t want to go.  He was right.  I hadn’t been this happy in a long time, and I was thrilled that it was with him, but I knew I had to be responsible and take this relationship seriously from the beginning, which meant acting like a lady and going home at the end of the night.

“Call me tomorrow,” I said before I planted one more short kiss on his cheek and walked out the door.  I could tell he was still watching me from the open door as I passed down the stone driveway and out onto the sidewalk.  I immediately pulled my phone from my purse and started to text Megan.

I was walking slowly, head bent over, when I realized there were no cars on the street.  All that meant was that I would have to walk a little farther for a cab, which was fine.  My pace quickened a bit, and I was getting a little hypnotized by the clacking of my heels.  The sound that came from behind me was quiet, and I only noticed it because there was no noise on the street.  I turned to look over my shoulder, and before I could register anything I was seeing, I felt a sudden, dull pain on the side of my head and everything went black.

T
he vibrations were the first thing I felt.  My cheek was pressed into the rough carpeting of the car trunk, and I could feel every bump we hit reverberate through my skull.  The right side of my head was in so much pain that I doubted I could open my eyes even if I wasn’t blindfolded.

I tried to piece together everything I could.  I think it had been a man, but that could be because I could hear a gruff, muffled voice now.  Was that a man’s voice?  Or was my hearing messed up too?  I couldn’t tell.  The only thing I knew was that this had something to do with my date with Grayson Hunter.

~~~

F
ind out what happens next in Pitching For Her Love Book 2! Available Now!

––––––––

T
o find out when Tori Blake has new books available and to get exclusive free ebooks sign up here:
http://bit.ly/1DjgnvG