Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

“I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk.”

I glare at him. “Thanks.”

“Sit down,” he says, helping me back down to the couch and crouching beside me. This isn’t exactly the graceful exit I imagined.

“Tell me what you need. Water? Crackers? Are you going to be sick?” The obvious distress in his face is disarming so I close my eyes, which only makes the world spin faster.

“I need to go home.”

“You’re not going anywhere like this.” His stern voice leaves no room for question.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I say stubbornly.

“I’m not a savage, Danielle,” he responds hotly. “When we have sex – and I have little doubt that we will – I want you to remember how you begged me to fuck you.” His words send a flutter of desire over my flushed skin. It’s not fair that he can do that. Not fair at all.

Tonight was so perfect and then he had to ruin everything by opening his stupid mouth.

Sebastian scoops me up in his strong arms as though I weigh no more than a child. “Let’s get you to bed,” he says, long legs carrying us across his majestic living room.

“You’re an asshole,” I mumble, keeping my eyes shut tight. The world is rocking like we’re at sea, but Sebastian’s warm smell envelopes me and somehow, despite everything, I feel safe.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He lowers me gently onto a bed and I can feel him slipping my shoes from my feet, his graceful fingers brushing lightly across my arches. “Such beautiful little feet.”

He pulls the duvet back and tucks me into the softest, whitest bed I’ve ever seen, and I sink deep into the pillow top. “I’ll be right back. I want to get you water and paracetamol.”

“Hmmm.” I burrow deeper into the blankets. “Para-what?”

“Paracetamol,” he repeats patiently. “Painkillers.”

Later, I feel the mattress dip as he sits next to me, brushing the hair from my face with a gentle hand. “I’m sorry about tonight,
petitona
.” His soft voice is tender and contemplative and I feel his lips brush against my forehead and then I’m out cold.

Chapter Seven

I nuzzle into the soft sheets and luxurious pillows. I feel like I’m floating in a cloud. A soft, white cloud, and aside from the pounding behind my eyes, I’m perfectly content. My eyes shoot open, and I peek at the clock beside the bed. Shit! It’s 9:45. I sit straight up, blankets pooling around me and it feels like someone knocked me over the head with a hammer.

I’m never drinking bourbon again.

I grimace, a rush of embarrassment rolling over me as I replay the night before, thankful at the very least to notice I’m still fully dressed. To describe last night as an epic failure doesn’t even begin to cover it and I wish I’d insisted on going home because this has to be the last place on earth I want to be right now. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

I look around. I’m in a sparsely furnished bedroom. White curtains flutter in the morning breeze. There’s a note on the bedside table next to a glass of water and two painkillers, which I swallow thankfully, draining the glass in a single go.

Danielle,

Let me apologize again. It was never my intention to upset or offend you. Stay as long as you need. I called the Gramercy and they aren’t expecting you. Relax. Take a shower. I like the thought of you naked in my home, even if I’m not there.

Please consider my proposal. You’re a stunning woman, Danielle, and I would very much like the opportunity to get to know you better. All of you. Take your time to think about it.

Gary will drive you home whenever you’re ready.

Yours, Sebastian

I place the paper down gently and bury my face in my hands, letting out a strangled groan.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

As promised, Gary is waiting outside Sebastian’s building. Briefly, I consider ducking down to avoid him, but the idea of being trapped underground in the subway makes my stomach queasy. I slid into the backseat, grimacing. Sudden movements are not so great in my current state. I pull out my phone, staring at it for a moment before texting my best friend, Connor. If nothing else, at least he’ll find this amusing.

Brutally hungover. Went on date and was propositioned with sex for money.

Moments later, my phone buzzes and I can just imagine Connor, leaning back at his desk, laughing.

Amazing. I take it you said yes.

Said no then proceeded to drink a bottle of bourbon and pass out in his apartment. Clearly not my finest hour.

I want details. Hair of the dog that bit you? I’ll see you after work.

I groan. Just the thought of alcohol makes me want to die.

I’ll text you later. Must go collapse in my bed with a bacon, egg and cheese.

I know I have to listen to my voicemail but I really, really don’t want to. The first message is from Dan, at a little past seven, asking where the hell I am. I hit erase, as though by erasing it, I can erase all the humiliation of last night. The second message is from Tom, the owner of the Gramercy.

I curse. I am totally screwed. Tom’s a nice boss, but he almost never gets involved with the day-to-day scheduling. Just hearing his voice makes me realize how fucked I am. I may not love my job, but at least it is a job. If I get fired, I’ll end up living on Connor’s couch because there’s definitely not enough money in my bank account to cover rent while I look for a new job.

I listen with increasing shock to the message. I’m honestly expecting Tom to fire me, or at least yell a little. Instead, he tells me he heard what happened and not to worry about it. Apparently I have paid sick days. Funny how no one mentioned that to me in the two years I’ve worked there.

I hang up, in shock. I was honestly expecting Tom to fire me, or at least yell a little. I certainly wasn’t expecting a week off, with pay. Funny, in the two years I’ve worked at the Gramercy, no one bothered to mention we get sick days.

I type a furious text message to Sebastian.
What the hell did you say to my boss?

By the time the car pulls up outside my building, there’s still no response. I go inside, brush my teeth and change into pajamas. I won’t be able to sleep, but at least this way I’ll be comfortable.

When my phone vibrates, I’m so startled I almost knock a bottle of water from my bedside table.

Morning, beautiful. Tom believes you are suffering from a particularly gruesome case of food poisoning. Please don’t make him think I’m a liar.

You are a liar.

Just a tiny white lie, nothing to get your panties in a twist over.

I have nothing to say in response so I pull out my computer and head to Hulu, ready to catch up on all the mindless television that’s been piling up in my queue.  When my phone vibrates again, I want to ignore it but somehow, I can’t.

Think about what I said last night. I’m serious. I want you. I know you want me.

I groan but don’t respond. Right now, all I want in the world is to lose myself in mindless television, forgetting all about my problems, and all about Sebastian Casal. 

Chapter Eight

“What about this screams hooker?” I shout at Connor, waving my hands frantically. I’m wearing leggings and a tank top and my hair is pulled into a messy bun.

I look like a demented college student during finals.

Connor gives me one look and bursts out laughing. I glare at him and grab my beer off the coffee table. He was right. Hair of the dog and I am feeling a little better.

Connor and I have known each other since taking a British literature class together sophomore year. When he walked into the room that first day, with his sunglasses on and his messy blonde hair, I assumed he was in the wrong room. He didn’t look anything like your average English major. His lithe, muscular body gave him away as the California surfer he is, so I was naturally surprised when the professor had us all go around the room and say the name of our favorite book and Connor smiled his radiant smile and said, “
Finnegan’s Wake.
”

I thought he was fucking with us but as the semester progressed, I realized how wrong my initial impression had been. Behind that California surfer exterior was a sharply intelligent guy with great taste in books. One afternoon after class, he asked if I wanted to grab a beer and we ended up sitting at the bar, talking non-stop until the bartender kicked us out at last call.

We’ve been friends ever since.

Connor works for Brooklyn Quarterly, a literary magazine that was started a few years back. It may not pay well, but he loves what he does and that’s all he cares about. A year ago, after much pestering on his part, he convinced me to submit several of my translations to the magazine. I didn’t expect anything to come of it, and I’d all but forgotten about it when I received an email from their poetry editor saying they wanted to publish them in their spring issue. It was my first publication and I was over the moon.

He laughs. “Technically, I think you’d be more of a high class escort, actually.”

I make a face, but even so, I find myself laughing with Connor at the absurdity of it all. Somehow, Connor always knows exactly what to say to make me relax and I can’t help but think it’s a pity we aren’t compatible sexually because everything else between us is so easy. Plus, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes. But we’ve been down that road and we are definitely better as friends.

“So, are you going to do it?”

If there were something at hand to throw at him, I’d do it. I know he’s just messing with me, but still.

I shake my head, but I can feel the blush creeping unbidden across my cheeks.

“Holy shit! You’re actually considering it!” He cackles.

“I am not,” I protest, but even to me it sounds weak.

“Holy fuck, Danny! If you’re that broke, you know I’ll lend you the money, right?”

I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation with Connor and I just hope he thinks that I’m kidding.

“It’s a lot of money,” I mumble, hoping that he’ll think that’s all it is. The fantasy of being able to pay off my student loans.

When Connor finally stops laughing, he gives me a somber look. “Seriously, though, you aren’t really considering this, are you?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course I’m not. What do you think I am, completely insane?”

Connor seems satisfied with my answer. “Toss me my phone, I’m starving. Let’s order a pizza.”

“Hawaiian?”

Connor gives me a look. “Is there any other kind?”

We end up eating pizza and drinking beer, curled up on the couch, watching re-runs of
Law & Order.
I’ve seen every episode, but there’s something comforting about re-runs and junk food and just hanging out with an old friend.

Chloe comes in and grabs a slice of pizza and curls up on the couch next to me.

“What’s the occasion?” she asks.

I glance at Connor but luckily, he doesn’t say anything about the whole Sebastian thing and we go back to watching television. But it doesn’t matter how many people get serial killed on TV, I can’t stop thinking about him. And every time I do, I can feel my cheeks doing that horrible thing, like they are trying to smile even though I really, really don’t want to smile.

Because what the fuck am I smiling about? A gorgeous guy wants to pay me for sex? Not exactly something to write home about all excitedly.

At midnight, we call it a night. Connor gives me a hug and I crawl into my bed, exhausted. I expect to crash the second my head hits the pillow, but I find myself tossing and turning, unable to get Sebastian’s proposal out of my mind.

Would it really be that terrible to agree? I mean, obviously I could use the money, but it’s not the money I’m thinking about. It’s the way Sebastian looked at me, the way his lips felt on mine, the way those gorgeous green eyes of his seemed to look straight through me. Every time I close my eyes, he’s there, staring back at me, asking me to say yes.

I wake up groggy. I feel like I’ve barely slept. I spent all night tossing and turning, thinking over Sebastian’s proposal. And the problem is, I’m no closer to knowing what to do than I was before.

I’ve spent my entire life taking care of myself. When my father ran off, it was just my mom and me and then when she died, I was alone. I worked and I went to school and I did everything I could to get by. And I did it. It wasn’t easy but I did it.

Sebastian’s proposal would give me the financial freedom to do what I want. No more worrying if I’ll have enough money to cover rent. No more coming home exhausted from work and knowing that I have to sit down and translate. For the first time in my life, I’d be able to focus all my energy on translating. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of. The question is: am I willing to pay the price?

I want Sebastian so badly, it hurts. An ache that hasn’t gone away since he first kissed me. Sleeping with him isn’t what worries me. No, I’m terrified of what happens when I say yes. The moment I accept Sebastian’s money, I’m his. He sets the rules of the relationship. And no matter what he might say to the contrary, I’d never be his equal. I’d always be the one who took the money.