Grayson

 

I SHOT TO my feet the moment her face made contact with the glass, ready to rush to assistance if necessary, despite my serious aversion to blood. If the rattling sound the glass made was any indication, she smacked into that thing like a linebacker.

“Sonofabitch, that hurt!” she shouted.

I took a step in her direction just as the hand not cupping her nose came up. With her back still to everyone, she announced loudly, “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m just… going to go now.” She took two small side steps, to where the actual doorway was, and mumbled, “Good day to you,” before hightailing it out of there like her ass was on fire.

I heard the squeak of chairs and turned to see the two women Lola had attempted to sit next to at the start of the meeting stand and point in the direction she’d just scurried off in. “We’d better….” the tall one with the jet-black hair and thick bangs started to say.

“Yeah, Sophia,” Sam sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Go make sure she didn’t break anything.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” the somewhat shorter blonde next to the Amazon announced. “She hasn’t managed to break anything yet.”

“This isn’t the first time she’s walked into a wall?” I asked, aghast. “Is this a daily thing or something?”

“More like monthly,” the tall woman, known as Sophia, answered. “She’s been complaining about all the glass for years. Poor thing’s been a bit of a klutz for as long as we’ve known her.”

I pointed a finger between the two women. “So I take it you’re the other two members of the Girl Talk trio?”

“Uh….” The blonde’s cheeks started growing pink as she looked anywhere but at me. “Gotta go! You know, make sure Lola’s all right and all that. Don’t want any worker’s comp claims. Nasty business.” She laughed uncomfortably and the duo began to move.

Before I could get another word out, they bolted from the conference room.

I turned back to Sam and the woman from PR — I couldn’t remember her name — and spoke in my most commanding voice. “I’ll be expecting an e-mail with all of Miss Abbatelli’s personal contact information by the end of the day.”

The PR lady’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Mr. Lockhart, I’m not sure that’s—”

“It wasn’t a request,” I interrupted, looking up to find Sam tugging at the collar of his shirt in discomfort. “Do we have an understanding?”

“By the end of the day,” he answered quickly. “Yes, sir, you got it.”

Neither my father nor I uttered another word as we made our way out of the conference room and to the elevator. I jabbed the Down button and stood tall, my arms clasped behind my back as I watched the red digital numbers descend with each floor until my father’s chuckle pulled at my attention.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing.” He grinned in amusement. “Just wondering if our employees would be nearly as scared of you if they had any clue what a pushover you actually are.”

I turned back toward the doors. “I’m not a pushover.”

His voice was still laced with humor as he asked, “You’re not? So it wasn’t you who spent three hours out in the freezing cold last Christmas because Nana’s beloved Fifi got loose and she was so distraught she just couldn’t imagine celebrating a holiday without that damn dog?”

It was my turn to tug at my collar uncomfortably. The damn dog in question was an overweight Great Dane who’d been sleeping comfortably in the laundry room the entire time. Seriously, a Great Dane named Fifi. My grandmother was a bit… eccentric, to put it politely.

“Well, I come by it honestly,” I defended. “Need I remind you of the soap opera fiasco?”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Your mother loved that character!” he insisted as we stepped in and began our journey down. “She was devastated when they killed her off. Cried for two whole days.”

I chuckled. “You realize it’s not a normal reaction to use your connections to get a damned soap opera character ‘brought back to life’ just because your wife misses them, right?”

He waved me off. “Happy wife, happy life, son. Besides, I work hard for my money and connections. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t take advantage of them every once in a while?”

It was true that my father worked hard. He had for as long as I could remember. He’d started Bandwidth from the ground up, turning it into a multimillion-dollar company through nothing but blood and sweat. It was a legacy I was happy to have passed down to me when he finally decided to retire. But unlike all the other rich assholes we had to deal with on a daily basis, Dad had always taught me that all those luxuries could disappear in the blink of an eye. My brother and I had been raised to be humble, never expecting things to just be handed to us because of our wealth.

We might have been rich, but my parents were two of the most down-to-earth people I’d ever come across. Hell, my old man could waltz into Seattle’s dingiest bar and make friends with everyone there just as easily as he could command attention in a boardroom. It was a trait I strived to embody.

“I’m curious,” Dad started once we exited the elevator on the floor that housed the epicenter of Bandwidth Communications. “You seemed familiar with that woman in the conference room. Have you two met before? What was with the ‘Venti Americano’ thing?”

A small grin worked its way across my face as I thought about the feisty woman I’d just had the pleasure of dealing with. “I ran into her at Starbucks yesterday morning. She was having an… interesting phone conversation. It caught my attention.”

Dad gave me a knowing grin. “If she was as passionate during that call as she was in that meeting, I have no doubt it caught your attention.”

“She refused to give me her last name when I asked. Blew me off, then walked out like it was nothing.”

He let out a loud bark of laughter and clapped me on the shoulder. “I knew I liked that girl! Oh, this is going to be fun to watch, son. So much fun. A woman like that, she’ll keep you on your toes.”

My mouth gaped open. “Have you forgotten that this is the very same woman who publicly humiliated me just yesterday morning?”

He brushed that off like it was nothing. “What have I always told you, son? First impressions aren’t everything.”

My face fell flat. “It’s because of her that that psychopath has probably revitalized her efforts to track me down and filet me to make her very own Grayson skin suit.”

He simply shrugged. “People make mistakes. Besides, you like her. I can see it written all over your face. That’s why you jumped at the chance to spend time with her… whether she was a willing participant or not.”

“I—” I had no argument because, honestly, it was true. When I walked into the room and saw her sitting there, bare feet propped on the table like she was in her own home, I’d been drawn in. Just like when I’d eavesdropped on her conversation at Starbucks. She interested me. She was a ball of fire wrapped up in a tiny, sexy-as-hell package.

“It’s all right,” Dad offered. “You’re a Lockhart, after all. We aren’t easily intrigued, so when someone catches our attention it’s hard to let it go. It was the same way with your mother and me. And it’ll be the same with Deacon when he finally finds a woman.” He got a faraway look in his eyes as a small grin formed on his lips. “Damned woman had me tied up in knots,” he said in a tone that belied just how much he’d enjoyed it.

My phone pinged and I pulled it out of my pants pocket, smiling the moment I opened the e-mail.

“Ah,” Dad chuckled, looking over my shoulder, “looks like Sam’s on the ball. That tough guy façade back there must have really scared the piss out of him if it only took—” He looked at his watch. “—six minutes to get you that girl’s personal info. Hell, I’m surprised he didn’t include her social security number and blood type.”

Everything I needed on Lola Abbatelli was right there at my fingertips. The day before I couldn’t even get her to tell me her last name; now I had a home address, personal and work e-mail, along with her phone number. I closed out of my e-mail and shoved my phone back in my pocket before looking back over at my father.

“Yep.” He laughed again when he saw the pleased expression on my face. “This is going to be fun to watch.”

 

 

AS I LAY spread out on the large sectional in my living room, ESPN creating white noise in the background, I flipped my phone with one hand, lifting my beer bottle to my lips with the other and taking a long swig. I’d given it a few hours after getting home before reaching out, not wanting to come off too eager or anything. But the urge to shoot Lola a text was no longer going to be ignored.

 

Grayson: Dinner at The Warf tomorrow at 7. I’ll pick you up.

 

Her response was almost instant.

 

Lola: Who is this?

 

I grinned as I typed, knowing my response would undoubtedly set her off.

 

Grayson: The billionaire who plans to use you as arm candy for the foreseeable future.

 

Lola: How’d you get my number?

 

Grayson: I have my ways. Be ready at 7.

 

I watched the tiny bubbles flutter on the screen as she typed, looking forward to whatever snarky reply she was working up. She didn’t disappoint.

 

Lola: Can’t. I’ll be busy trying to find a way to solve world hunger. I expect it’ll take hours. Sorry.

 

Grayson: While your work is admirable, I still expect you to be ready at 7. Even humanitarians need to break for dinner.

 

Lola: Not this one.

 

Man, she was lively. I’d have been lying if I said it wasn’t a bit of a turn-on.

 

Grayson: We have an agreement.

 

Lola: If I recall, I didn’t agree to anything.

 

She even added an angry-face emoji at the end of that text before my phone pinged with another one.

 

Lola: I’m sure you have enough money to pay a woman to fake enjoyment while in your company. I’ve heard if the price is right, you can even get a happy ending.

 

At that, I full-on laughed.

 

Grayson: It would be such a shame if unemployment pushed you into that particular line of work… wouldn’t it?

 

The bubbles on the screen popped up, then disappeared, then popped up again. I’d just started to question if I’d pushed too hard when my notification went off.

 

Lola: You’re a dickhead!

 

My assumption was right. She wasn’t the type of woman content with not having the last word. As long as I kept this game up, she’d play along.

 

Grayson: Why do I suddenly feel like I’m having a conversation with a middle schooler?

 

Lola: I’m rubber and you’re glue, asshole.

 

I just couldn’t help myself; something about the fire in that woman set me off. I typed out another message.

 

Grayson: Just so you know, I’ve never had to pay for sex. And I’ve never had a single complaint.

 

Lola: Just because it wasn’t said to your face doesn’t mean it wasn’t said behind your back. Not all women are as vocal as I am.

 

I was still smiling like crazy as I shot off one last text.

 

Grayson: We’ll just have to see, then, won’t we? I look forward to hearing just how “vocal” you can be.

 

Lola: What’s that supposed to mean?

 

Lola: Did you just proposition me?

 

Lola: That was innuendo, wasn’t it?

 

Lola: You should be ashamed of yourself.

 

Lola: Damn it, Lockhart! Where’d you go!

 

Lola: You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?

 

With that, I closed out of my text screen, allowing her to have the last word she was so desperate to have.

My father was right. This was going to be a lot of fun.