Chapter 19

Grayson

DAY 12

Today’s the day. I’ve set up everything old Finky likes in the drawing room—a bottle of port, plain digestive biscuits, and a small portion of salted peanuts. Everything’s going to go well, I’m sure about that. I don’t know what happened to me yesterday. It didn’t count, at any rate. I’m focusing on the billion. The billion that will buy me my freedom to live my life how I want.

I banned Lilly from the house in no uncertain terms, told Eddie to back me to the hilt, and instructed Isabella to wear a slightly tempting but still modest dress. I’m in conservative chinos, boring brown Clarks, and a polo shirt in the dullest, safest blue shade I own. Finky likes dull. Bright colors and cigars and designer trainers raise his heart rate. He’s such a nervous guy.

I swig back Diet Coke and survey the drawing room. Everything’s in perfect order. I even sent one of the staff out to buy a Financial Times. I laid it out next to my glass of port—I hate the stuff but it’ll be good to mirror his tastes—so he thinks I’m getting interested in finance and will manage the money well. I tried to actually read it, but it was dull as ditchwater. My eyes glazed over after “quantitative easing,” whatever the hell that is.

“Come on, Isabella!” I shout up the stairs. Thankfully, her room is near the top of the grand staircase. It can take nearly a full fifteen minutes to get to some of the more remote rooms. My voice echoes up around the atrium.

I toss the Diet Coke can in the bin in the kitchen. Mr. Fink disapproves of all that sort of thing. And as for drinking straight out of the can? I can imagine his tight face constricting into the kind of disapproval that would only really be warranted if I’d pissed in his port. Eddie and I have always joked that he needs a big bottle of rum and a few good-time gals to loosen him up.

By the time I’m back in the hallway, Isabella descends the stairs. This strange warmth spreads through me, seeing her. It’s weird. Like the lovely feeling you get when you drink a nice whiskey and you’re just slightly tipsy, in a nice cozy pub. Not drunk. But slightly out of your normal self. Happy. Content. She’s wearing a nice dress, also in blue, that hugs her tightly at the top and flares out from the waist.

“Do you think he’ll like this?” she says.

I like it. Surprisingly. It’s a little more conservative than my usual taste. “Yes. It’s brilliant. Now let’s go and sit in the drawing room and look in love until he comes.” I holler, “Rose, make sure to answer the door!” Rose is one of our longest-serving members of staff and can usually be found in the kitchen garden smoking a cigarette and complaining about how we don’t have enough staff to keep the place clean. She always says we should gift the mansion to the National Trust before it crumbles to the ground.

I lead Isabella into the drawing room. “Now, my beautiful fiancée, take your seat over there.” I point to the chair next to my armchair with the strategically placed port and newspaper. “You should drink port. It’ll make Finky warm to you immediately.”

She takes her seat and pulls a face. “Port tastes like raisins. I hate raisins.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

She scans the shelf behind me with all the exotic liquor bottles. “That blue bottle is so pretty.”

“Bombay Sapphire. Gin. Want some?”

“Ooh, yes, I’ll have a gin and tonic. That would help my nerves.”

“Nerves?” I scoff. “I thought you were the Ice Queen.” There’s this weird distance between us we haven’t had for a while. We’re not fighting. But there’s just this gap. Everything feels disconnected. I’m not sure if I want it to be or not. In any case, for now, I’m only focused on pleasing Mr. Fink.

“Just because I’m an independent woman, that doesn’t mean I’m some coldhearted bitch who doesn’t feel anything, you know.”

Eddie arrives at the door.

“Oh, good,” I say. “Get me a tonic, bro. The Ice Queen wants a G&T.”

“I’ll have one myself,” he says with a smile and disappears.

“Don’t call me that,” she growls.

I feel nerves myself. No way in hell I’m admitting that, though. I have to pace the room. “Independent Ice Woman, then.”

“Drop the ice.”

“You drop the ice. You’re still a glacier.” After the hot sex. After all the declarations of caring about each other. After having her head rest on my chest. It’s like none of it ever happened.

She adjusts her dress. “You’re still rude. And you evidently still enjoy making personal insults.”

“Oh, get over yourself.”

The doorbell rings. I flinch a little bit then check to see if she saw. She did, and an infuriating teasing smile draws up one side of her mouth. “Nerves? A bad boy like you?”

“Nerves?” I laugh and hurry to my chair. I pick up the Financial Times and try to look absorbed. I look over the paper from the top of my eyes and nearly say “For fuck’s sake!” out loud.

Lilly is hanging off Mr. Fink’s arm. She’s laughing and batting her eyelids. I’d expect him to look uncomfortable, but he seems charmed and flattered.

“Oh, hey, guys!” she says, like she didn’t know we’d all be here.

I rise to my feet, desperate to tell her to get lost. But I can see Mr. Fink’s enjoying the attention. I can’t antagonize him.

“Hello, Mr. Fink. Hello, Lilly.” I go over and shake Mr. Fink’s hand. “Please take a seat.”

They both do, and I settle back in my seat.

“Good morning, Miss Price,” he says.

“Good morning, Mr. Fink,” she replies.

I place the Financial Times deliberately on the coffee table. I see Mr. Fink’s eyebrows rise and his eyes track the paper.

Lilly’s do too, but with mischief. “Ooh, what have you been reading about, Gray?”

“Quantitative easing,” I say, quick as a flash. “But we’re not here to talk about that. And, not to be rude, Lillia, but this is a private conversation.”

“Tonic!” Eddie jumps in the doorway and shakes the tonic cans in front of his face like an extension of jazz hands. “Oh, hello, Mr. Fink. Lilly.”

Mr. Fink rolls his eyes. “It looks like you’ve swapped personalities with Gray. He’s the more stable one. And you, Edward, are the show pony.” Haha. Perfect.

Eddie looks sheepish. He pours gin in Isabella’s glass, then makes himself one.

I jump to my feet. “How rude of me. Let me pour you a glass of port, Mr. Fink.”

“I’ll have one, too,” Lilly says desperately.

“This really is a private conversation,” Mr. Fink tells her reluctantly. “Perhaps we will see each other another time.”

I raise my eyebrows at Eddie as I pour Finky’s port.

“All right,” she says, her voice gushing with insincere enthusiasm. “But one thing before we go. You know Gray is doing all this as just an act, right?”

“Lilly!” I say.

“It is, Gray. I’ll bet my father’s title that he has no idea what “qualitative reeling” or whatever is. He’s still a wild child, just pretending not to be, to inherit.”

I want to explode. Hold it in, hold it in, hold it in. If I lose my cool in front of Mr. Fink, I’ll lose all credibility right along with it. I pass Mr. Fink his glass and say to Lilly in the calmest voice I can muster, “Everyone’s entitled to their opinion.”

“I’m the only one who can tame him,” she says, hanging on Mr. Fink’s arm. “You remember how he started to settle down when he was with me? Everyone thought he was a new person. Then when we sadly broke up, he went off the rails more than ever.”

Eddie leans against the column by the fireplace. “No. Isabella is much better for Gray than you, Lilly.”

Lilly turns, her eyes almost slits with rage, her face contorted. “You traitor,” she hisses. “Liar.”

I seize my chance. “This is getting unpleasant. Lilly, please leave.”

She looks to each of us in turn like she’d kill us all if she could. Then she gulps like she’s swallowing down tears. She turns to Mr. Fink, her face totally different. Wet and soft and open, like a pathetic little petal being battered by rain. “It seems I’m unwanted.”

Mr. Fink looks out of his depth. He pats her on the arm and averts his eyes.

“Time to go, Lilly,” I repeat.

“I heard you the first time,” she snaps. She gathers her handbag then walks out. “You don’t know what’s good for you, Grayson Fairfax.”

“I apologize,” I say, and take my seat. Eddie remains by the fireplace.

“I think we should really be apologizing to poor Isabella,” Mr. Fink says.

“I agree,” Eddie says heartily. “Really, Finky, don’t believe anything that gold digger Lilly says. Isabella is a great woman. Very responsible. Working on her father’s business. She’ll make a great heir to the money.” He gives me a wink. “And I’ve never seen Gray so calm and level. He hasn’t even played any of his signature pranks.” Boy, Eddie’s such a great friend. A wonderful cousin and my best friend. The brother I never had.

Isabella has been sitting statue still, observing everything. “It’s all right,” she says. “Thank you, Eddie, for your compliments. That’s very kind of you.”

Bloody hell, she’s doing good. She sounds like a fricking princess. I take a glance at Mr. Fink. He’s watching her, impressed. I try to keep the grin from forming on my lips.

“So, tell me, Miss Price, do you think Edward’s analysis is correct?” Mr. Fink says, then takes a sip of port and watches us all with suspicious eyes.

“Well, he’s very flattering,” she says. “Now, you’ll remember I know Grayson from school.”

“He was a prime scallywag back then, wasn’t he?” Mr. Fink says. “I remember his father complaining to me about the school reports.”

She laughs. “He was a little arrogant. But what I’ve learned is that hard, cocky exterior hides a much softer center. He has much more integrity than he lets on.”

“Really?” Mr. Fink leans forward in the armchair. “How so?”

“He’s been nothing but a gentleman to me.” She gives me a look that says she’s being a bit economical with the truth. Then her face falls. “All right, he’s not always been a gentleman. But he’s tried. He really has tried. It can be hard, once you’re set in your habits, to change them.”

“But I intend to,” I rush to add.

She smiles at me. It looks genuine. “He seems a changed man. There’s still a ways to go. But he’s seen that there’s more to life than drinking and chasing girls and partying the night away.”

Mr. Fink leans back in his chair and narrows his eyes at me, like he’s trying to see into my soul and read it. “People rarely change. Not in a meaningful way. It takes a great deal of effort.”

“He’s changing, Mr. Fink, I can assure you,” Isabella says. “You probably think he’s going to squander his father’s money like a clueless lottery winner. But he actually plans to be an angel investor and help struggling businesses.”

“That sounds like a good way to rapidly throw money down the drain.”

“Not necessarily,” she says, a little hotly. “Some businesses can turn themselves around. As long as he has a good business partner by his side who can evaluate the businesses’ viability, I’m sure he’ll do quite well. At least he’s not going to buy a fleet of yachts.”

“Or ambulances,” Eddie says with a snigger.

Mr. Fink blinks. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “You know Eddie, always making dumb jokes that don’t make sense.” I laugh and glare at him at the same time, something I didn’t even know was possible.

“Hmm,” Mr. Fink says, not sounding entirely convinced. “Well, this all looks and sounds good. But we have a little more time to go yet. I want to see some more concrete evidence that this is a genuine change in Grayson. I want to make sure it’s not… well, let’s just say, money can be a powerful motivator.”

Isabella gives him a charming smile. “I have become very fond of Gray now that he’s letting down his walls. I can assure you it’s not an act. But yes, let’s see how things go. That sounds sensible.” She turns her smile to me. Is it real? Is that “very fond” just an act? How much of this is still pretend?