Chapter 11

Grayson

DAY 8

I can’t believe she’s leaving.

I watch her all through the immigration and customs lines and baggage collection for any sign of her changing her mind, but her mouth’s in this tight little knot and her eyes throw daggers. For fuck’s sake. Not only have I blown my chances for my father’s money, I’ve blown my chances with her. Until she got this angry, I didn’t think I’d care. But I want to tell her to stay. To tell her I’m sorry. To tell her to please give it another chance.

But feeling shit has never been my thing and never will be. I learned quick that caring brings nothing but pain and grief and who’s got time for that?

“I’ll buy your ticket for you,” I say as we’re finally free from all the lines and checks. We’re in the wide-open area of arrivals. “Look, departures are on the second floor. I’ll buy your ticket there.”

“With what money?” she says icily. “I’ll buy it myself, thanks. I’ll have to put it on the business account.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” I lead the way to the elevator. She stabs the button before I get a chance to press it. I keep taking covert glances at her. I realize that something she said was totally right. That maybe my life is empty after all. Because I feel like if she gets on that plane, I’m left with nothing. Like life would just be some hollowed-out piece of nothingness.

As we ride up in the elevator, dread churns in my stomach. I try to placate it by thinking of all the cool things I can do when she’s gone. Hit a couple bars. Flirt the night away. Make some new conquests. Yeah, I can do that. I’ll be all right. But my limbs are heavy. My thoughts are heavy. Everything feels so damn heavy.

I look at her. I wish I knew how to fix that pretty face back into a smile. She taps, taps, taps on the top of her luggage, agitated. As soon as the elevator opens, she launches out of it, like she can’t bear being around me for another second. Fuck. You’ve really gone and outdone yourself in the arsehole stakes now, Gray. Well fucking done.

I push the trolley with all our suitcases and follow her to the Virgin Atlantic desk. By the time I get there, she’s already saying, “Tomorrow morning? Are you sure there’s nothing sooner?”

The man taps on the computer and shakes his head. “Sorry, madam. The flight to Seattle left half an hour ago. We only make two flights a day there.”

She sighs deeply, then scrambles in her handbag for her purse. “I’ll book it. I’ll be the first person on that flight, trust me.”

“I’ll pay,” I say. If that would make her happy, at least I could do that. It would be Eddie’s money, but still.

“No, thank you,” she says tightly. “I’ve got this.”

And I’ve lost it. Lost her. Lost the billion. Lost the plot completely. Looks like I’ve lost myself, too. All that imagining of partying and flirting and drinking didn’t make a dent in the way I feel. Feel? What in the hell has happened to me?

“Great.” The transaction goes through. It’s the first time she’s smiled in what seems like forever. She takes the ticket from the guy and turns to me. Her smile evaporates. “I’ll get a hotel room here. Feel free to go.”

My mind whirs. “I’ll stay with you.”

“Like hell you will.”

“Not in the same room. But I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I don’t see you off.”

“When have you ever been a gentleman?” she scoffs, then looks at her phone. “Anyway, I’m getting a budget option. It wouldn’t be your thing.”

“I don’t want you to stay in a budget room,” I say. “You deserve the best. I want you to at least stay at the Hilton. I’m going to book it now.”

“But I need to save—”

“With my money. Yes, I have enough.” Before she can argue, I’m scoping the signs. The hotels are in the airport, but I can’t remember exactly where. I’ve stayed in the Hilton here before. “Oh, yes, there it is.” I spot the sign for the hotels. “Come on.”

She sighs, but thankfully she does as I tell her. “You spend money like water,” she complains. “I’ll bet your father’s billion will be gone within a couple years.”

“Wait, let me load your case onto the trolley.”

She pauses and grips the handle like she’s not sure whether to let me or not. But she does eventually. “Just because you’re being nice to me doesn’t mean the deal’s back on. You’ll have to find yourself another girl. You can’t manipulate me back into it.”

The thought had barely crossed my mind. This isn’t a Grayson Fairfax game. I’m not standing back in my power, manipulating everything to get what I want. I’m actually panicking. But I’m not going to let her see that, of course. I don’t know what to say. I think about it as we walk. “I respect you too much to try to manipulate you,” I say finally.

She blows out a stream of air through her lips in a contemptuous way. “Yeah. That’s probably another of your manipulation tactics. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

Fuck. That’s a sharp dagger. For a split second, I think about coming back with my own weapon, much deadlier than hers. But as I turn to look at her, I can’t. I say something I don’t think I’ve ever said in my life. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to prove you can trust me.”

“I’ll walk on water before I trust you.”

Jesus.

Just about every man on the planet would give up on a woman with that kind of attitude. But I’m Gray Fairfax. When I want something, I do what it takes to get it. And I want her to trust me. “All right.” I’ll prove it to her. I will.

We walk along in silence for a while, the click-clack of her low heels rhythmic on the tiled airport floor. “The Hilton rates are probably extortionate,” she says. “Book one room. A twin room.”

“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable? Don’t worry about the money.”

She snorts. “That’s the kind of attitude that gets you broke. Book a twin room. Just don’t talk to me all night. Let me be. I want some space.”

And I just want to be close to you. I’m already imagining the room. How warm and cozy and clean and nice it’ll be. I want her in my arms, skin to skin. I want her riding my cock, her hair tousled, her breasts bouncing, her face enraptured with pleasure only I can give her. I want her to curl up into me in the night. I want her to be free. Like the time we fucked. I’ve never seen her look so… in her element. Powerful. Liberated. Like she could finally breathe.

This is so fucking weird. I’ve never cared about this kind of shit before. I don’t think I’ve ever really noticed, to be honest. You know, what a woman feels, or what’s going on in her head. It never crossed my mind to consider it. But now I’m trying to find the key to her mind. What’s she thinking? What’s she feeling? How do I make her feel better? How do I make her feel happy?

She’s still pissed as we enter the automatic doors of the Hilton and approach the front desk. I deal with it all and pay, and she can’t keep still. She walks up and down and looks at all the modern art prints on the walls. Then she walks to the elevator ahead of me.

“We’re on the third floor,” I say. I try to think of something that will break through her hard exterior, but nothing’s coming to me.

“Thank you for that enlightening piece of information. Fascinating.”

She has dark circles under her eyes. The look on her face tells me she just wants to shut the whole world out. Me included. I know that feeling. Sometimes after a long party and sex binge, I get it for days. I hole myself up in my room in my mansion and pretend the world doesn’t exist.

When we get to the room, she practically runs to the bathroom, her cases discarded on the floor. The only thing she takes is her Kindle. “I’m going to soak in the tub,” she says. “Don’t expect to talk to me tonight. Don’t expect anything from me, OK? Just pretend I’m not here, and do whatever you’re doing.”

“Tell me if you need anything.”

She sighs, then leans against the doorframe. I think one of her walls has come down, somehow. She looks into my eyes, and her own are weary. But for the first time in a good few hours, she looks like she doesn’t hate my guts. “Just time alone,” she says.

I nod. “All right.” I find a smile somewhere and hope it’ll ignite hers. “I want you to feel better.”

She pauses, and her face changes. Her head cocks to one side. Her eyes look like they’re asking a question I can’t read. “Thanks, Gray.” The unspoken question infuses those words, too. “I’ll be a while.”

I nod. “Take your time.”