Look But Don't Touch~Enemies to Lovers by Olivia Hayle

Author:Olivia Hayle [Hayle, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-27T05:00:00+00:00

15

Ada

Grant bid on me.

It was all I could think as I walked down the dais and grasped his arm. His eyes were indecipherable, dark and calm like the surface of a lake, but I could feel the tension in his arm.

Was it because he won? Or because Ben was here?

I didn't think I could bear it if he only bid on me because of Ben, to make a territorial point in this stupid war between auction houses.

“Why is he here?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t invited, but I’m sure he’s here to stir things up.”

We headed towards one of the tables in the back, away from the crowd and the on-going bidding.

“Don’t tell security to throw him out. It’ll only make a scene,” I warned.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Grant drained his glass of champagne. “He may be unprofessional all he likes, but he won’t see Hathaway’s indulge him in that.”

The silence between us stretched on and I was thankful we were away from any prying eyes.

“So what do we do now?”

I laughed. “I’m your prize. You decide.”

Grant shook his head. “There must have been some plan. Dancing, perhaps, once the auction is finished.”

I looked back, seeing that there were only a handful of people left up on the dais. "I'm sure it will start soon. Or we could slip away if you're tired of all these people."

Grant slid a sideways glance to me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

"You're probably right." I forced myself to keep a light tone, to not be intimidated by our recent strained friendship or the fact that my heart raced by his nearness. "Hey, you haven't thanked me for those cookies."

"Yes I did. Right away, even."

“Yes, but you're supposed to mention it later. ‘Thank you, Ada, they were delicious. By the way, here's your pan, washed and clean.'"

"They didn't come in a pan."

“You know what I mean.”

Grant gave me a reluctant smile, eyes lightening. "I do. Well then. Cue background music?" He cleared his throat. "‘Thank you Ada, the home-made cookies were incredibly delicious. Please fax me the recipe.'"

I laughed, delighted. “And the Oscar goes to… Grant Wood!”

"Thank you," he said. "I'd like to thank my acting coach for getting me this far."

“Your acting coach accepts this praise. Also, faxing?”

“I improvised,” Grant shrugged. “Not my best moment.”

I loved it when he was silly, partly because it happened so rarely, and because I felt like a child who'd managed to peek behind the curtain at the theatre. Seen behind the facade and the stage, to the real-life workings behind.

"Hey, I went to the Japanese Reading Room at the Met."

He turned to me fully. “You did?”

It was the first time any of us had mentioned the late night phone calls, which felt unreal, almost as if they existed in another dimension, one where we weren't Ada and Grant but just two voices in the dark.

I swallowed. “It was beautiful. Very quiet, like you said.”

“It is a reading room, after all. Did you like it?”

“Yes. Though next time I’ll bring a book or something.

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