Is this what it’s like to be loved by a man like him? Not coddled or managed, but taken care of, just because he can.
I can’t even try to pretend like it doesn’t feel amazing.
I love him. He loves me.
And now, whatever lies ahead, we’ll face it together.
Chapter 22
FRANCESCA
When we pull up in front of Russell Field, he’s waiting at the staff entrance, t-shirt still a wrinkled mess, his jeans slung low on his hips, the autumn wind tousling his hair when he steps out of the stadium’s shadow to meet me.
I thank Vlad and watch him toss Charlie a little salute before he drives away.
“They’re all there,” Charlie says, shoving his hands into his pockets as he falls in beside me, matching my stride with his as security lets us through the entrance. “The entire ownership board and Hannah Vinch. Stew’s up there with them now, trying to find a solution.”
“The solution was not firing me in the first place just because Dan Wilson is a little bitch.”
“That’s the gist of Stew’s pitch.”
“They can’t undo it.”
“No, they can’t,” he agrees, simply.
“So, I listen to what they have to say and we go from there.”
His eyes twinkle at me as we wait for the elevator and, when the doors open, Gregory is there.
Stew’s assistant – turned my assistant – looks me up and down carefully and then nods, like he was afraid I was going to show up as raggedy-looking as Charlie.
Charlie’s hand falls from the small of my back; the comfortingweight had been there since I arrived and I hadn’t noticed, but the loss of it, the sudden emptiness, that makes me stop.
“You’re not coming?” I ask, as Gregory holds the elevator. He’s taken a step back from me.
“Nah, they know where I stand and this is your show. Go do your thing. You got this.”
With a final nod, I step into the elevator and Gregory straightens his shoulders before pressing the button for the top floor. We ride in silence for a few seconds before he spins in place. He blinks at me and clocks the pinstripes in my outfit, maybe for the first time, and then he grins. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen him smile before. It’s a nice one, a little hesitant and a little shy, but nice.
“I want you to know,” he says suddenly, “that if you’re going elsewhere, I’d like to come too, if . . . if that’s okay with you.”
“More than okay. You’re my first hire.”
His shoulders relax and the elevator arrives at the intended floor.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I say, stepping out, seeing Stew waiting for me about halfway down the hallway.
“I mean for them,” he mutters, and I just manage to control my sputtering laughter as the elevator doors hide his.
Who knew Gregory had a dry wit?
At least there’ll be one familiar face in the Bronx with me when I get started.
“Stew,” I say, thrilled to see him, and I suddenly have a pang of regret for not making more time to go and visit him in the last couple of weeks. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fit as a fiddle. Got the doc’s clearance to get back to work soon, so there’s that. Rita is thrilled to get me the hell out of the house.”
