Chapter 5

Grayson

DAY 4

Touching herself for me, she said? Yeah, right. If it was any other girl in the world, I’d have believed it. But not Isabella Price. Hell would have to freeze over before she’d do that. And the lowest pit of it, where the devil has his hellfire palace, would have to turn to ice before she’d ever admit that to me. She has way too much pride for that.

She thought she was so smart when she called last night. Playing her little game. Well, she’s come up against the master of games. I check my reflection in the rearview mirror of the rental. I should get one once I get my hands on that billion. I could have any car I wanted, come to think of it. I’ll probably get seven, one for each day of the week. A Hummer. A Maserati. A Bentley Bentayga. Boy, that will be fun, driving up in the showrooms and watching the salespeople’s jaws drop.

I look perfect. Shades on. My hair tousled. Women turn to stare as I drive past.

“I’m popular today.” I’m popular every day, but some days more than others. Sometimes, I just seem to have an electric effect about me. Like my aura strikes through the atmosphere and forces women to turn their heads and smile. I’m not complaining.

“They’re all looking at me,” Eddie says.

“Yeah. Of course they are.”

I pull up at the apartment block Isabella gave me the address for. It’s not all that nice, to be honest. There’s trash escaping the overpiled cans outside. The front could really use a coat of paint. The cars parked outside aren’t junkers yet, but they soon will be.

“Not our kind of place,” Eddie says.

I grin. “See where all that propriety and values lands you? In a dump like this.” I feel something weird in my chest as I say it. Was that… guilt? No. It couldn’t be. But it was definitely something. Something uncomfortable.

I get out, climb the couple of steps, and knock on the door. The wind feels good on my face and on the top of my chest where I left my shirt unbuttoned. The girls’ eyes always track down there. Then I notice the intercom. She said apartment number two. I press the button. It makes a horrible, cheap buzzing sound.

“Hello?” She’s crackling.

“It’s me.”

“Who?”

“You know well who.”

“I can’t hear you. The intercom’s…” A crackle cuts out the rest. “Window.”

I step back away from the steps and look up at all the windows. Some are grimy. I know each individual tenant couldn’t afford a housekeeper, but couldn’t they at least pool together and get one for the building?

Soon, I hear a cracking sound. Isabella wrestles with the downstairs window, then pops her head out. Her face is thunder. “What do you want, Gray? I’m drowning in paperwork.” Then, it’s as if someone flipped a switch. A new look lights up her eyes. She pulls the band that was holding her curls in a messy bun on top of her head and shakes them out. I always teased her for them in school, but they’re beautiful. She flashes me a smile. “Stalking me now?” Even her voice is different.

“I don’t stalk women. Women stalk me. Now come on, we’re going to the travel agent.”

She laughs. “What is this, 1998? Ever heard of the internet?”

Eddie’s paying for the tickets. Only until I can pay him back, of course. I thought he’d book first class, no questions asked, like he does when he travels. But he jumped on the iPad and did a price comparison, then rang all the local travel agents. He’s found some for $100 less than online, and he wants to go down there. Cheap bastard. But I’ve chosen to be the bigger man and overlook it. To be fair, we’ve spent a lot of his money drinking and buying cocktails for eager short-skirted girls, so I can’t knock him too hard. God, we’re going to have so much fun when I inherit. The world won’t know what hit it.

“We’re going now. Bring your passport and ID and hurry up.”

I see a flicker of rage cross her face and expect some heated reply. But she smoothes her face out into a smile and tucks some curls behind her ear. She ducks her head a little, her blue eyes flirtatious. “All right. Give me a couple minutes to get ready.”

“I’m not waiting for you all day.”

She really is hot. I walk back to the car, wishing she wasn’t Isabella Price. She might even then be someone I wanted to hang out with. And to fuck, of course.

“She’s hotter than the pictures,” Eddie says when I get back in the car.

I shrug then look at myself in the mirror again. “She’s all right, I guess.”

Eddie grins. “You two have a deal together. But maybe she and I can have a deal of our own.”

“You?” I look at his leering face. “She wouldn’t look at you in a million years. She’ll marry an accountant or investment banker or someone equally boring. And will keep her chastity belt locked tight until then.”

“So you’re out of luck, too.”

“Out of luck? I don’t want her.”

“She’s hot, though.”

“There are three and a half billion females on the planet, Eddie. Probably a billion of the right age. Half of those bangable, I’d say. Maybe five percent of them really really hot, so that’s… twenty-five million super-hot chicks in the world. What do I need Isabella Price for? Except this whole money game for Finky, of course.”

“I don’t know. She’s just hot.”

“You don’t sound intelligent, Eddie.” My voice comes out sharp. Why am I still studying myself in the mirror? I twist it back into place and find myself tapping over and over on the steering wheel. It sounds too silent. I turn on the radio. Some old pop trash is playing. That’s fine by me. Anything to break through this weirdness.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says eventually. He looks toward the apartment building.

I look, too. Oh, shit. I think the same but keep my mouth shut. Isabella comes down the steps, a blue dress hugging her every curve. Her hair’s out, big and curly and gorgeous. She has aviator shades and a designer purse and low heels. God, she looks incredible. Is that really Isabella Price?

“Let’s go,” she says, stalking to the back door. She means business. “Drive,” she says as soon as she’s in her seat, before the door is even closed.

“Funnily enough, that’s what I was planning on doing.” I start the car.

Eddie turns in his seat and grins like an idiot. “Hello.”

“This is—” I begin.

“You must be Eddie, Gray’s cousin,” she says. “I can tell by the accent.”

“That’s me,” Eddie says happily. He reminds me of an overexcited dog.

They start talking, and I zone out. I steal covert glances at her in the rearview mirror. She looks so at ease. Not a trace of the awkwardness that was there before. It’s weird, like she’s morphed into a totally different person overnight.

But not overnight, really. What about that call yesterday evening? About how she’d touched herself for me? I thought it was a lie, but now, seeing her like this, I’m not sure it was. She oozes sexiness. Who melted Ice Queen? Did I? I mean, I’ve not pursued her type before. Strong women, yes. Ice women, yes. But they’re always cold-hearted bitches with no values. Ruthless career types who would tread on dead bodies to climb the ladder. They’re tough nuts, but I have what it takes to crack them. They take a lot longer than this though. A lot more effort to make them let their guard down.

And yes, I’ve had women call me to say they’ve been touching themselves and thinking of me. Even sometimes the day after we exchanged numbers. But they’re always my other type. The ones who fall at my feet right away and want to give me their pussies and heaps of adoration right along with them.

But she’s neither of those. She’s something I’ve never pursued before. Icy veneer, yes. Cold-hearted? No. Despite her veneer, I know she has a soft heart. She’s into all her values, and won’t be treading on anyone with those high heels. She’s doing this deal for her father’s legacy, not to get ahead and flaunt her wealth. I know that for sure. And she’s definitely not the second type, the type to give it all away instantly. Or is she? Maybe she is and has just been hiding it.

Let’s find out.

“You look nice today,” I say. A standard second-type response is, “Oooh, thank you so much. Do you really think so? Not as gorgeous as you, Gray.”

She gives me a vibrant smile through the rearview mirror. She looks happy. Truly happy. “I know.”

Huh? First-type response could have been the same, but not with that smile. It would have been a shutdown. A wall thrown up. A tense voice.

Just what in the heck is she?

I crank the music up to steamroll over my confusion. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’ll just do our deal and never see each other again. So, why do my eyes keep drifting back up to the rearview mirror? Why does my mind push that question back on me again and again—what kind of woman is this?

When we get to the travel agent’s office, I lean back in my front seat, nonchalant.

“You two go in,” I say. “I’m getting something to eat.”

“OK, Gray,” she says, as she leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

Then she gets out, and I watch her nice shapely ass as she walks into the travel agency, like she owns the world.

I vow to myself I’ll figure her out. I know women. I know how to seduce them all, to make them beg for my dick and my attention. I’ve conquered that world. If Isabella Price doesn’t fit the mold, fine. But I’m going to conquer her, too. Maybe there’s another type of woman I don’t know about. With a jolt of excitement, I realize snagging Isabella could open up a whole new world of women for me. I’d have all the techniques to draw them under my spell and have them begging for a taste of Gray.

This will be fun.