Chapter 9

Grayson

DAY 6

I’m taking the advice I gave to Isabella for myself today. I wake up to the beeping of my phone. A message. For a quick flash of a moment, I hope it’s her. Don’t be ridiculous, Gray. No, I hope it’s Mr. Fink, confirming our meeting for as soon as we get there. I play the message. It’s not him.

It’s Elodie. We fucked almost as soon as I landed in Seattle. I picked her up at the airport bar while I was waiting for Eddie to get through customs and worked the charm on her until she came back, giggling and flirting, to my hotel room. The first thing this bed got was a hot fuck. Even I, womanizer alpha extraordinaire, took that as an achievement. Want to hook up again? I’m free tonight. Last time was amazing. Let’s have round two. Her message is so empty. I fling the phone on the bed and feel exhausted. I don’t even want to look at a woman right now.

Where’s the remote? I find it buried in the covers and put the TV on. I scroll through. Any mindless movie station, please. People blowing up cars or shooting other people would be good, thanks. I’ll stay in here all day and order room service. A burger. Fries. A big salad. A pizza. A bottle of champagne. Cake. I’ll eat it all and charge it to Eddie’s room.

As soon as I reach over to the hotel phone on the nightstand, my own phone spits its ringtone out. It’s far too loud. I pick it up planning to reject Elodie’s call and turn it off. But it’s not Elodie. It’s Isabella.

I’m not sure I want to speak to her. But I can’t have her thinking she’s rattled me. I put on my best arrogant, carefree voice. I try to feel like my normal self. “Hello?”

“That advice of yours doesn’t work.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“I spent all day doing nothing yesterday, like you advised. Then when I got up this morning, I had double the amount of work to do and double the stress.”

I don’t doubt that. Her stress pulses out of the phone and through my nerves. “Frankly, whatever, Isabella. Do what you want. No one put a gun to your head and forced you.”

She’s like a steamroller. “I want to talk business, exact figures. You said fifty million. I want to talk to the dollars and cents. I want a written agreement, signed by you. Before you flit off with my money and say I take life too seriously.”

“Not now. We’ll do it on the plane.”

“I’m not stepping on that airplane until this is done. I’m coming over now.”

I sit up. “No, you’re not.”

“I am. Or the whole deal’s off.”

I snort. She thinks she’s the one in control? “Fine then, let your business collapse around your feet. See if I care.” I hang up and switch the phone off. I’m getting my damn room service burger, fries, and a pizza, thank you very much. I call my order in and then find exactly what I want on TV—some movie with guys and guns and explosions. I pull the sheet up over me and feel victorious.

Before I know it, there’s a knock at the door. Yes. Pepperoni pizza and a thick slab of prime Angus burger with cheese, coming right up. I rush out of bed and to the door. But when I open it, it’s not just the room-service man with his food trolley. Isabella’s standing right next to him, wearing her business suit and a scowl.

Why do I feel so weak? This isn’t like me at all. But I put on my regular self. Imagine that, my regular self has become like a piece of clothing I can take on and put off. How in the hell did that happen? “Come in, Isabella,” I say. It’s a command. “Bring the food in.”

“Yes, sir.” He pushes the trolley through and takes the silver covers off everything. “Enjoy, sir. Enjoy, madam.”

“Thank you.” I give him a tip from the stack of small bills I have on the dresser.

Isabella gives him a distracted, “Thanks,” but she clicks her heel on the wooden floor over and over. Her whole body is tense.

I’m not going to get caught up in her drama. I take a slice of pizza and sit down on the bed. “Want some?”

“No, thank you,” she says tightly. She sits on the chair in front of the table and mirror. She thumps her business folder down. “I came to talk business, not eat pizza. I want you to look over all the figures and understand what you’re investing your money into.”

“I said I’ll give you the fifty million. Draw up a contract if you don’t trust me. But I’m not looking over the papers.” Damn straight I’m not. By the first paragraph, my eyes would be glazing over. There looks to be hundreds of pages.

She screws up her lips into a little tight ball. “So, you’re telling me you’re willing to give away fifty million dollars of your father’s hard-earned money without even checking where it’s going? I could just be using you to get rich. I could be a total liar. Aren’t you going to even check? Or does your father’s hard work mean that little to you?”

Hard work is exactly the phrase that springs to mind. Why does she have to make everything such hard work? Why is she so much hard work? I grab another slice of pizza. “You should be happy you’re getting your money.”

“It’s not just about the money. It’s about the integrity. You should have more.”

Fury leaps up in me. I stuff pizza in my mouth and stand up. “You’ll stop preaching at me, right now.”

But she won’t quit. “Values, you know? Ever heard of them, Gray?”

Something in me flips. “Yeah, I know all about those. Nobody wants to hear about them. Nobody cares. It’s time you woke up from your dream world, Isabella. The world is about money and people’s selfish desires and people wanting to be bigger and more powerful than other people. Not about values, or integrity, or any of that shit. If you want to believe that all that will save your father’s business and save the world, then go ahead. More the fool you are. But I know what I know. Integrity is a waste of time. Nobody wants to hear anyone else’s values. So, you might as well decide what you want in life and do what it takes to get it. Values be damned.”

“Oh, really?” Her eyebrows shoot up. I thought she’d be broken by that speech. If anything, she looks stronger. “And what do you want, Grayson Fairfax the Second? To sleep with every woman on the planet?”

“No. I want to get this fake engagement over and done with so I can inherit my money.”

Her legs are crossed one over the other. Her free high heel swings back and forth with frustration. “And what are you doing to do with that money? Squander it on crap, probably.”

“It’s none of your damn business what I do with it.” I wrench a slice of pizza from the plate.

Her leg stops swinging. She sighs. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m only asking… well, because I care.”

“Stop caring then.” I’m uncomfortable standing there in my boxers. I thrust the pizza back on the plate and go wash my hands in the bathroom. Then I pull on a shirt and long shorts.

I glance up at her as I retrieve my pizza slice. Her eyes have taken on some far-away look. “I guess I’m also asking because I don’t get it. I really don’t. I mean, the thing I want most in the world right now is to protect my father’s legacy. To turn the business around so he can be proud of me. Just like I’m proud of him. But I don’t get why you wouldn’t want to do that for your father, too. It’s like you only care about the money and not that it’s his money.”

I sit back on the bed. “Are you sure you don’t want pizza?”

She shakes her head, frustrated. “I’m fine.”

A silence stretches out between us. I can practically hear her willing me to answer the question in her mind.

“Maybe my father wasn’t like your father,” I eventually say. “Maybe he’s someone people should forget instead of remember.”

Isabella frowns. “But he was a duke. He was very successful. He achieved so much. And you were his only child.”

I shrug and take another bite of pizza. None of it means anything. “You didn’t know him.”

“I always heard he was a great man.”

“People talk shit.”

Her voice is soft. “It sounds like you hate him.”

“He was an arsehole. That’s all there is to it.”

“Why?”

“He just was. Who cares why? Look, I’m not into all these questions, OK?” I didn’t even want her here. I could have stayed cooped up in the room all day. But now it feels like a prison. I have to get out, but I don’t want to see anyone. “I’m going to the park. If you want to come, then come. If you don’t, you’re free to leave.”

She walks over to the door and crosses her arms. “I’m coming. I’ll wait for you outside.”