CHAPTER SIX
Dorian
Sunday morning workouts both revived and exhausted Dorian. The gym around the corner was convenient, open twenty-four hours, and gave him a discounted rate for all the Knights. One of the perks of his role, arranged by his boss.
Dorian switched the playlist on his phone to classic rock, and chugged the last of his sports drink. He turned the corner, and froze.
A mass of people swarmed the entrance of his condo. Most of them held up smartphones, others with old school cameras with large flashes or zoom lenses. All of them equally determined to get inside.
What the hell?
He moved toward the crowd. When he tried to maneuver his way to the doors, someone shoved him. “I was here first!”
“Excuse me. Tryin’ to get through.” Dorian pushed in again, and someone elbowed him.
“You snooze, you lose, pal.”
He gripped his phone tighter. “I live here, jackass.”
A few heads in front of him turned. A bunch of cameras flashed. “You do?” someone asked.
“Do you know Grace Evans?” another cut in.
More flashes blinded him.
“Can you let us in?”
“How long have you known her?”
Dorian blinked, then hands grabbed for him.
“Mr. West!”
From somewhere beyond the crowd, Marco’s face appeared. The doorman’s cheeks were flushed.
“What’s going on?” he called, and shrugged off an overzealous photographer who tried to pull him back.
“This way, sir.” More people squeezed in on him. “Let him through, you vultures. Or I’ll call the fire department.”
Someone’s video camera banged Dorian in the face, the sting biting. His cheek throbbed, but he badgered his way through the throngs, and followed Marco inside. The doors clanged behind him, into the quiet, cool escape of the lobby.
“Apologies, sir.” The man straightened his uniform. “They showed up an hour ago, the bloodthirsty leeches.”
“What’s all that about?” He pressed his cheek. No blood. Good. He tossed his sports drink in the trash and pulled his ear buds out. “Why are they asking about Grace? Is she a celebrity?”
Marco’s face turned serious. “I’m not at liberty to say, sir. Do you need me to call the police? You could charge for assault.”
Dorian waved off the thought. “Probably did more damage to his equipment.”
“Serves them right.” The ruffled doorman scowled out the front door. “I can call a security escort to your car.”
“Is she all right?”
“Ms. Evans is fine, sir. A bit shaken up when she saw all these sharks. Ran right back up to her apartment.” Marco smoothed down his hair.
He bit the inside of his cheek. All of this because someone thought she was dating me? He shook his head. Nothing made sense. “Thanks, Marco.” He retreated to the elevator, and pushed for level nine.
The trip took twice as long as normal. His sweaty workout shirt and shorts with black tennis shoes was hardly the swoon-worthy image he wanted to give her, but this couldn’t wait.
Dorian arrived on the ninth floor, and knocked on her door. “Grace? It’s Dorian. Are you all right?”
Several seconds passed with no answer. He pounded again. “Grace?”
The door swung open. She stood on the other side in jeans and an ice-blue T-shirt, with her hair loose around her shoulders. No makeup, with slightly puffy eyes and red cheeks. She’d been crying, but looked as if she’d replaced the tears with a determination. “What?” Her voice was clipped, and scratchy.
“Did someone hurt you?”
Grace scoffed. “Not quite.”
“Is all that mess downstairs because of last night? With you and me?”
She laughed, sarcastic and painful. “The world does not revolve around you, Dorian. But I take it you haven’t seen the news this morning.”
“No. Just returned from the gym.” He held his breath. She’d just used his first name. The way it sounded from her lips was cold, but he’d take it.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. A stern, elderly man with a long pointed nose scowled at him. “Is this kid bothering you, Grace?”
Kid?
“No, Daniel,” she sighed. “This is my neighbor.”
“I’m here to help take care of the nuisance downstairs, sir. Just give me a few hours. None of this is Ms. Evan’s fault.” His tone softened, but his scowl remained firmly in place.
The throbbing extended to his temple and into Dorian’s eye.
“What happened to your face?” Grace asked, the vengeance in her eyes slightly diffused.
He felt his cheek again, and it was a lot warmer. “One of those pricks hit me with his camera.”
Daniel’s stern expression turned concerned in half a blink. “You could press charges. I’ll have the police here in a few minutes.” He pulled out his cellphone.
“No, thanks.” His gaze landed on Grace.
She sighed. “You should ice that. Come inside. I think I have a pack in the freezer.”
His injury wasn’t that bad, but he wasn’t about to turn down an invitation into her apartment. He’d been dying to see where she escaped to every evening. He stepped across her threshold, followed by Daniel.
A sweet citrus scent filled the air, like fresh cleaner and sugar cookies. The layout matched his apartment upstairs, with the dining room off to the right and the living room to the left. Only a single, mint-colored loveseat sat in the corner, and a dark pewter desk with glass top centered in the room.
No television, no couch, or coffee table. The center and primary attention was that desk, sitting on a forest green rug. As if it the contents of that furniture were her life. The only things on the surface were a flat computer screen and keyboard.
A spartan interior was more lavish than what she had. Beyond the living room was the kitchen, and the hallway beyond led to the bedrooms and bathroom.
“Are you…still unpacking?”
“No,” Grace tossed over her shoulder.
His eyes stopped on the mantle, where a pink marble cherub sat in the middle. On either side were black picture frames of a young boy, smiling with a thumbs-up in every shot.
She has a son?
Dorian glanced around the rooms again. Normally with kids in the house he’d expect toys, a video gaming system, or at least a backpack slung somewhere. The entire place was devoid of signs of childhood.
He followed her into the kitchen. The area was a carbon-copy of his, except spotless and bare save for a coffee maker in the corner. Another picture was taped to the fridge, this one of the same little boy in a red cap and gown. Kindergarten graduation, perhaps.
Everything about her place was clean, classic, and simple. Perhaps barren. The apartment screamed lonely.
Daniel helped himself to the dining room, his briefcase echoing across the walls as clunked it down on the table. “We should get straight to work. I want your privacy restored by the end of the day.”
Grace pulled an ice pack from the freezer, and handed it to Dorian. Her expression melted into sympathy. “I’m sorry for all that mess downstairs.”
“Grace?” Daniel pushed again.
“I heard you.” She gave a sigh that ricocheted down her body. Her skin flushed, and the lines at her eyes deeper.
Despite her fatigue and stress, every inch of her was still captivating.
“What happened?” Dorian asked, pressing the pack to his face. “Who’s ass do I need to kick?”
A slight smile pulled at her lips. “Actually, that’s why he’s here. This is my attorney, Daniel Harlot. He was first in line for that this morning.”
Invasion of privacy.
“Someone get naked pictures of you on the internet or something?” He tried to make it sarcastic, anything to get her to smile.
Only, her scowl reappeared. “Might as well have.”
Dorian blinked. “Holy shit, seriously? Then I get first dibs at pounding the prick.” The idea of Grace’s naked body all over people’s computer screens made his blood boil. He admitted his own dark, animalistic desire to see her en flagrante, but only for his own eyes. No one else’s.
“Seems we had more than charity photographers at the fundraiser. Hackers somehow sneaked in. Social media should be banned.”
“Grace,” her attorney cut in. “Your privacy has been invaded enough. You shouldn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter, Daniel.” Her voice was sharp, edgy. “The video is damn near everywhere by now. I can’t keep prying eyes from watching it.”
His stomach dropped.
Video?
She crossed her arms, as if protecting her heart. “Keep the ice pack. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t comment to any of the reporters or photographers downstairs.”
Dorian shook his head. “I’m not really the kind of guy to talk to the media.”
Grace’s stare turned condescending. “Occupational hazard?”
If she meant it as a joke, he didn’t appreciate it. Then again, she’d been through a lot this morning.
She sighed and covered her forehead. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. My perception of people has been jaded recently.”
Dorian laid his hand on her arm just above her elbow, and gave a gentle squeeze. “How can I help?”
She looked at him, and the gray center of her irises made the blue darker. Her shoulder muscles relaxed.
If only she’d loosen up enough to let him in. Let him help.
“Call the police and complain about the nuisance downstairs,” her lawyer answered. “The more complaints they receive, the more pressured they’ll feel to clear the area.”
He looked at Daniel. “With respect, I was asking Grace.”
The man glared, but Grace wore a small tinge of a smile. “It’s actually a very good suggestion.”
Dorian nodded. “Will do. By the way…” He plunged his hands in his pockets. “You hardly seem the type to make a video.” With a smile, he raised an eyebrow at her.
Any pleasantness in her face disappeared instantly. “It’s not that kind of video.”
“Relax. I’m trying to get you to loosen up.”
“Then use better jokes.”
“Grace,” Daniel butted in again. “We really need to get on this now.”
She sighed again. Her heels dragged across the wood floors as she moved to the door.
“I hope your day gets better.” Dorian couldn’t help himself. He kissed her temple.
Amazingly, she didn’t dodge him or shy off. Instead, she tilted her head in and down, giving him more access to her soft skin. A sweet, flowery scent from her hair bathed his face, and he lingered there.
When he finally pulled back, a pink blush deepened on her cheeks. He loved seeing that look on a woman. Even more when he caused it. His gut swarmed with urging. “Call me if you need anything. Like sugar…”
The corner of her lip pulled up.
He threw her a wink, and strolled out.