Chapter Text
"You're a baby."
That was what Eva Stratt said to Ryland Grace when he leaned in and murmured something into her ear—not “I'm married” or “I'm your boss”, but “you're a baby.”
Not that she would've been wrong to say either of those things if she'd wanted to. But she'd chosen these words instead, and maybe, just maybe, Grace still had a chance.
"I'm thirty."
"That's practically a baby to me."
"No, it isn't." Ryland replied, his voice steady, a smug smile tugging at his lips. It made Stratt turn fully toward him, one arm resting against the bar, the other folded in her lap with a glass of vodka in hand, her lips—perfect and red—slightly parted in surprise. Grace slid his stool closer until his leg settled between hers. "You're far too logical for that."
Eva took a sip of her drink.
“Am I?"
"Yes. And logic says I'm a grown man who's interested in you, and you're a grown woman who may, or may not, be interested in me."
She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
If it had been anyone else, Ryland would've accepted defeat, finished his drink, and left the party with whatever remained of his dignity. He could've gotten something to eat, gone to bed, and shown up to work the next morning as though nothing had happened.
But this was Eva.
And because it was Eva, all Ryland could think about was how beautiful she looked when she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes at him.
"Grace, there's a seventeen-year age difference between us."
"I prefer older women."
"But I don't prefer younger men."
He shrugged.
"That's fine. I'm singular, not plural."
That made her laugh, and he fell in love with the sound of that.
"I'm married."
"He's not here." Wow. Idiot.
Grace would've respected the tattered remains of that marriage if Stratt's husband had been a decent man—which he absolutely wasn't. Heinrich was a fifty-two-year-old German diplomat. Slightly hunched, graying hair, drooping eyes, a thin goatee.
A strange man, in Grace's opinion. Unworthy.
Grace had met Heinrich three times over the course of two years. The first time, Heinrich spent Christmas dinner talking over Stratt, cutting her off every chance he got, patting her arm dismissively whenever she tried to speak. Somehow he was always trying to prove he knew more than she, and if Eva said the sky was blue, Heinrich would find a way to insist it was red.
The second time, Grace and Stratt were talking on the vat’s bow, their arms resting close together on the railing as they mocked one of Leclerc's botany jokes that nobody had understood over breakfast. She had been smiling at Ryland so beautifully that he had almost thrown up from the force of his heart trying to escape through his throat.
He would never forget how Stratt's expression changed the moment Heinrich approached.
Not as though she'd been caught doing something wrong—because she hadn't—but as though the mere presence of the man was enough to sour her mood.
Then, naturally, to push Ryland aside, Heinrich wrapped an arm around Eva's waist and crushed his mouth against hers before either of them had time to react. It was the ugliest kiss Grace had ever seen. Completely devoid of passion.
The third time had been five days ago. Heinrich was drunk, stumbling through the bar when someone mentioned that Ryland and Eva spent a lot of time together—mostly for work, much to Ryland's eternal disappointment, since he'd happily spend every waking hour fucking her if she'd let him—, and fine, maybe Grace should've kept his mouth shut instead of calling Heinrich's brain a graveyard of neurons, but once the man's fist smashed into his face and blood poured from his nose and Stratt ripped her wedding ring off, said something to Heinrich, then cupped Grace's face in both hands and tilted his head back to stop the bleeding—it became the happiest day of Ryland Grace's miserable life.
His face burned like fire, yet he still managed to flash Eva a blood-soaked grin, as if he were Rocky Balboa after defeating Apollo Creed, and asked: “So… Single?”
Heinrich tore free from Carl's grip and lunged at Ryland again.
Grace let him.
If a second punch was what it took for Eva to sign the divorce papers, then every ounce of pain would be worth it.
They didn't get divorced.
"How's your nose?"
Ryland took another drink to drown the memory before leaning toward her, turning his face slightly.
"Healing."
Curious, Stratt gently took his chin and traced the fading redness along his cheek with her fingertips, brushing over the roughness of his growing beard before following the sharp line of his jaw. When her fingers reached the cut on his lip, Grace's posture shifted involuntarily.
Pain twisted somewhere deep in his stomach.
"Sorry."
"It's okay," Grace said with a shrug. “You should've seen the other guy."
Eva laughed.
"I did. He walked away without a scratch."
"Right, but karma has a way of coming back."
"And karma, for you, would be sleeping with his wife?"
Oh.
He shook his head, set his glass down on the bar, and met Stratt's eyes with genuine seriousness.
"You're so much more than someone's wife." Grace reached for her stool and pulled it closer until they were practically on top of each other. Their legs pressed together. Their arms brushed. Their faces hovered dangerously close. “I want you because you're you, not because of someone else."
“Grace."
He could've gotten drunk on the way she said his name.
"Yes?"
"We can't."
Ryland pressed his lips together, let out a quiet sigh, and nodded. His vision was blurry, his glasses had slipped down his nose, but he could still see Eva's hand resting on his thigh.
"It's okay."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Grace repeated, trying very hard to ignore the way Stratt's fingers moved lazily against the denim of his jeans, dangerously close to the zipper.
"But, you know... ‘we can't’ doesn't mean you don't want to."
She laughed.
"We have bigger things to worry about."
"Right. Of course. The astrophages. You're right."
Ryland cleared his throat, scratched the back of his head, and abruptly stood up as though someone had shocked him with electricity.
"Ryland?!"
"It's okay! I'll be right back!"
Grace muffled a groan into his hands while the sound of running water drowned out the pathetic noises escaping him. He muttered to himself, replaying the last twenty minutes with Stratt over and over again.
Only an absurd amount of alcohol mixed with pain medication could've convinced him he stood a chance with Eva Stratt—his older, far more attractive, and very, very married boss.
"Idiot."
He splashed cold water over his face again and rubbed his eyes hard, praying the sting would somehow erase the humiliation. He didn't want to keep Stratt waiting. That was what her husband usually does. And more than anything, he didn't want to keep her waiting because she'd brushed her fingers along the inside of his thigh before rejecting him and it was good. Apparently, he'd become pathetic enough to survive on those crumbs.
"All right, I can do this."
Grace forced his best smile at the defeated man staring back from the mirror and stepped out of the restroom.
Eva was waiting for him at the end of the hallway, both of their coats draped over one arm.
"Can you walk me to my room?"
Ryland answered with a silent nod.
“Sure.”