Alexis 2002
I stared at the wooden sign hanging over the old Brownstone, muted gold lettering against a hunter green backdrop, charming, old world in a time when people were into neon and metal.
Nathaniel Breen, the private investigator I had settled on, the man who would share with me what became of my parents. I wanted to know and I feared knowing. Feared they were alive and well, living in their suburban house with three kids and two dogs, but the alternative of them being dead, I’d be happy knowing they were happy once I got over the visceral pain of being left behind.
I wiped my hands on my pants, took a deep breath then took the first step in discovering my parentage.
Inside was charming with muted gray walls and old wooden floors that had long ago lost their patina, but the marks and signs of age added character. Two wingback chairs were tucked under the front window, and a fire was burning in the small stone fireplace. A door leading into a bigger room was open and an elderly gentleman, with white hair and a three-piece suit, sat behind the massive desk. He glanced up.
“Miss Owens.”
“Yes.”
Walking around his desk, he offered me his hand. “Nathaniel Breen. Nice to meet you.” He gestured to one of the two leather chairs before settling back behind his desk.
“You want to find your parents.”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about them?”
I reached into my purse for the picture. I hated to part with it, but it was the only thing I had of them and if it helped him find them…
He reached for his glasses and slipped them on so he could study the picture. Compassion looked back at me when he saw how worn it was. “This is all you have?”
“I’m afraid so. My foster parents wouldn’t tell me anything. I contacted social services in my hometown of Mendocino, but they had no record of me. They said that would happen if I was placed with my foster parents in another state and special circumstances allowed them to move me out of state.”
“And your foster parents wouldn’t share the details?”
“No. They shared nothing with me.”
He thought as I did on that. What the hell? “What are the names of your foster parents?”
“Evelyn and Howard Rafferty.”
“And you’re Alexis Owens. Your father’s name perhaps?”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“How old were you when you were placed with the Raffertys?”
“Two.”
“And you remember living only in Mendocino and here when you moved for school.”
“Yes. Will you be able to find them?”
He pulled off his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “It may not seem like much, but I have more than enough to get the ball rolling. As soon as I have something, I’ll call you. Do you have a mobile phone?”
“No, but I have an answering machine on my home phone and I have an email account.”
“I’ll take both.”
He scribbled them down then stood. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“No, just eager to know what happened to them.”
We walked into his waiting room. “As soon as I have something, I will call. I hesitate to set an expectation and not be able to keep it.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”
“It was nice to meet you, Alexis.”
“And you, Mr. Breen.”
“Nat, please. We’ll talk soon.”
I really hoped that was true.
Glancing at the clock, it was two in the morning. I couldn’t sleep, had been restless since returning from Mr. Breen’s office. Had he started searching? Did he know even now who my parents were? Where they were? What if I was wrong about them? What if they didn’t love me or want me? Could I bear to hear that, to know for certain that it wasn’t them, it was me? Had I once again scripted a story that was more fantasy than reality? I wanted to talk to Greyson but he was in Europe and it was too late to call Paige with the girls sleeping. I wondered if the twins were still awake. It’d be after eleven for them. I reached for my phone.
“Yo.”
I couldn’t help the smile hearing Dylan’s voice. For as identical as they were, their voices were different. Dylan’s was a bit deeper than Dominic’s.
“Hey, you.”
“Alexis! Everyone shut up, I can’t hear.”
“I’m interrupting. I can call back.”
“No!”
“Hey, lady,” Dominic picked up another line.
“Hi, knucklehead.”
“What’s up? It’s two where you are. What’s going on?” Dylan missed nothing.
“I visited the PI today.”
One of them hung up, the background noise disappeared as Dylan moved to another room. He put his phone on speaker so Dominic could hear too. “Your parents,” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“This is a good thing. You’ve wanted to find them since we were kids,” Dominic said.
“I know.”
“You’re worried they don’t want to be found,” Dylan voiced my fear.
“Yes.”
“The people in that picture would not have given you up, not unless something forced their hand.”
I wanted so much to agree with Dylan, but now that I was doing it, looking for them, I wasn’t so sure. It had been almost two decades and they never once reached out.
“Alexis, don’t overthink it and don’t worry until you have cause to worry. If nothing else, you’ll know about your parents one way or the other. You can let it go and move on,” Dominic was often a goof, but he had it in him to be very wise.
I curled up on my sofa. “Thank you. I needed this. So what are you two doing?”
“Celebrating. Sophia made it into the finals of the Rembrandt Awards for excellence in robotics.”
“You didn’t tell me about this. Guys, that’s incredible. You must be on the moon.”
“Understatement,” they said together.
“How is Sophia?”
“It’s better for you to see with your own eyes.”
I was scared. She probably had four breasts and…no I didn’t even want to go there.
“I’ll let you go, back to your celebrating.”
“We’d rather chill with you,” Dylan said then added, “What movies have you seen lately?”
Winter in the city was brutal. It was early February and the temperatures were dipping to below freezing often. I was ready for summer. I thought of the bluff at home and my jetty, which had Greyson drifting into my thoughts. It had been two months since his show, but as promised we stayed in touch through email. I LOVED email.
After class, I stopped for my mail before heading up to my apartment. A neighborhood paper had picked up my weekly column, the one about my adventures in the city. The pay was pennies, but I had my own byline. That was super cool. I dropped everything on the counter; one envelope in particular caught my attention seeing the familiar handwriting.
Greyson.
Like when we were younger, those butterflies took off in my stomach. I ripped open the envelope to find a plane ticket, a ticket for a black-tie affair and a note.
I have a show in Chicago. Please come.
Like he had to ask. Even with my column, class and assignments due, I would make it work.
I hopped onto my computer and sent him an email.
See you in Chicago.
His reply was almost instant.
I’ll be waiting at the airport.
As soon as I stepped off the plane, a fluttering started under my ribs seeing him, damn he was a nice sight dressed in jeans, a tee and leather jacket. I’d never seen him wearing a ball cap, but he was wearing one now, drawn low over his eyes. He looked sexy as hell. Our eyes connected and I was that damn moth being drawn in by him.
He reached for my bag and pressed a kiss on my cheek. “How was your flight?”
“Decadent. I’ve never flown first-class. I hate to admit that not only am I spoiled now, but I turned into a bit of a snob.”
His eyes were laughing. “What do you mean?”
“We got to board before everyone else, served champagne while the peasants herded onto the plane. And that was how I thought of them, peasants. I am one of them, coach rider all the way, but not today, not while sitting in first-class. That makes me a terrible person.”
He chuckled, “It makes you human.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Glancing up at him, I really liked the cap. “I’ve never seen you wear a hat before. It’s a good look.”
He kept his head lowered, but he glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. A little grin curved his mouth. “It’s for function not fashion.”
It took me a second to understand his meaning. A smile split my face. “People recognize you, even here?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Usually it’s not, but I encountered a few overzealous fans when I arrived earlier in the week. They’ve been following me.”
I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or be concerned. I couldn’t say I was surprised he had crazy fans remembering high school and Stephanie’s reaction to him. Hell, even mine. “Overzealous?”
He flashed me a smile. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
But was he?
He led me to the visitor parking lot and a sleek black sports car. After loading my bag into the trunk and holding the passenger door for me, he settled behind the wheel and started the car. Only then did he take off his cap. Those pale eyes met mine. It was like coming home.
“Why did you cut your hair?” Nice smooth transition, Alexis.
“You don’t like it?”
“I do, but I like it better long.”
He didn’t answer and instead said, “I have a suite at the hotel. I thought we could share, unless you want your own room.”
A shiver moved down my body thinking about us in the same room. I wasn’t so sure that was a great idea. The man was too tempting and I couldn’t guard against my feelings twenty-four seven. It was exhausting. On the other hand, there was no way in hell I was staying in any other room than the one he was in.
“It’s nice that some things stay the same.” Shit, I forgot he could read my mind. Confirmed when he said, “Same room.”
Maybe I should make one of those tinfoil helmets to block my brain waves. I wondered if that would work?
“What would you like to see while here?”
Him…naked. Damn it. I glanced over and by the wicked look in his eyes he’d read my thoughts again.
“We’ve been here before.”
I didn’t think we had ever left.
“I guess we need to find some Pop-Tarts,” he teased as he pulled from the parking lot. “That was what you wanted to fill your box with if I recall.” But it was the glance; the one that silently called bullshit that had my cheeks burning even as my nipples went hard. Yep, he could read me so easily.
“How about you surprise me?” I answered his original question, but purposely added the innuendo because I wasn’t opposed to him taking me back to the hotel and us getting naked. In fact, I voted for that.
He caught on immediately when he replied, “As you wish.”
After dropping my stuff at the room, so I could hang my gown, we toured the city. It was February and cold and still we bundled up and acted like tourists. He took me to the Navy Pier and Wrigley Field. We walked the shopping district and were on our way to see the observation deck that had a three sixty degree view of the city when Greyson asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
Trust him? What was he up to? “I do, but you asking makes me wary.”
Grabbing my hand, he pulled me to a street vendor. “Two dogs with everything.”
“You got it,” the man said before he began to build two hot dogs and I did mean build—chili, onions, cheese, jalapenos and sour cream. We were given a plastic knife and fork because there was no way a person could wrap their mouths around the toppings resting precariously on top of the poor hot dog. We settled on a bench, our hot dogs sitting between us. I stood corrected when Greyson brought the dog to his mouth and took a huge bite.
“How the hell did you do that?”
He grinned around his food. “It’s a gift.”
I didn’t try. Not only wouldn’t I get it all in my mouth, most of it would end up on my shirt. Even eating it with a fork and knife was difficult but I managed a forkful with all the toppings. I hesitated, because talk about instant indigestion.
“Chicken?” Greyson taunted. Unbelievably he’d finished his hot dog.
As soon as the flavors exploded on my tongue, I moaned because damn that was good.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“So good. I wasn’t sure all the toppings would work, but they do and that hot dog. There’s garlic in that hot dog.”
“Best fucking hot dog I’ve ever tasted,” he said then twisted the cap from his water and took a long drink. I forgot about my hot dog, watching him, the long stretch of his throat, the muscles, his Adam’s apple. Who would have thought watching someone drinking would be so sexy?
He knew exactly what I was thinking. I wasn’t trying to hide it. Those pales eyes heated. I wanted to touch him, wanted to relearn his body that was different from the one I knew. I wanted him to kiss me. Even with hot dog breath, I wanted to feel those lips on mine again.
He swiped his thumb over my cheek; I smiled at the familiar gesture. There was a promise buried in his expression; he wanted to pick up where we’d left off too. For now we’d eat hot dogs and play tourists.
He dropped our trash in a can then held out his hand to me. “Ready?”
“Lead the way.”
Chicago was a beautiful city. After a day of exploring, we returned to the room to get ready for his show. The door closed behind him as I stepped farther into the room. Greyson didn’t move from the door, leaning against it, his hands shoved into his pockets. Needing something to do with my own hands, I twisted my fingers together. We had never been uncomfortable around each other and it wasn’t discomfort now. It was want that sizzled the air between us. I wanted him so badly I was dizzy with it. He felt it too by the way his jaw clenched and his eyes roamed over me. I had already caused him to miss one show; I didn’t want to be responsible for another.
He was thinking the same when he offered, “Why don’t you take the shower first. I’ll grab my stuff and change out here. You can have the bedroom.”
I wanted him in the shower with me, but once we got naked we wouldn’t be going anywhere. I nodded my agreement and headed for the bedroom, but stopped to look back at him. “Thank you for inviting me this weekend. I had a lot of fun today.”
The look he gave me was one I’d seen Grant giving Paige, the one born from familiarity and history. “Me too.”
We never did prom, I liked what we did so much more, but dressing for his show I felt a bit like I was dressing for prom. I took time twisting my hair into a knot. I didn’t generally wear makeup, but tonight I added mascara and liner, a touch of shadow and blush and tinted my lips pink. My gown was a black sheath that hugged my figure. I loved it, simple and elegant. After I slipped on my black heels, I grabbed my clutch and wrap and joined Greyson. He stood on the balcony, his back to me. His muscled frame looked elegant in the tux. He turned when he heard me. His expression I was sure matched my own. His eyes moved down my body in a slow appreciative perusal. I was guilty of doing the same to him.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered.
“So do you.”
He held out his hand. “Are you ready?”
I linked our fingers and felt the familiar heat burning up my arm. “Yes.”
His show was being held at a private museum. Floor to ceiling windows graced the front of the modern building, showing glimpses of the large brightly colored artisan chandeliers that hung from the high ceilings. His agent had a limo pick us up and when we pulled in front of the museum, I felt like I was at the Oscars. There was a red carpet and pylons with red velvet ropes cordoning off the curious passerbys from the entrance. And there were a lot of them, shoulder to shoulder. It was pretty spectacular. The driver opened the door, Greyson climbed out then reached for my hand, holding it tightly. It was only then that I realized all the fanfare made him uncomfortable.
As soon as we entered, a waiter carrying a tray of champagne walked over; Greyson handed me glass. “I have to do an interview. Will you be okay on your own?”
“Yes, of course.” My focus was on his art that filled the space, a few of which I hadn’t seen at his show in New York. “There are several new pieces.”
“How I found the time to work with the grueling schedule Colin demands is nothing short of amazing.” He tried for irritated, but I only heard affection.
I squeezed his hand. “Have fun. I’ll be fine.”
He seemed hesitant to leave, but he did, his long strides carrying him away from me. Like in our youth, he had that same deliberate way of walking, not hurried and not a stroll. And like then, it was sexy as hell. I took a sip of champagne; the fruity effervesce quenched my suddenly parched throat, before I turned my focus on Greyson’s art. A painting of a lighthouse in turbulent seas felt alive; the beam of golden light shining through the gray, the churning white caps, the rocks. It was magnificent.
One of his new pieces was of the view from the house where Greyson stayed when in Mendocino. One of my dreams, one I’d never put a voice to, was to live in that house with Greyson and our family. I could see it so clearly, dogs running around the yard, children playing, Greyson in front of an easel. I loved New York, but one day I wanted to go home, wanted to start a family with Greyson in that house and not just because it was incredible and the location was without equal, but because it was a piece of our story.
It had been over an hour since we arrived and Greyson had been unable to break free of the crowd. I watched him from my place across the room. The last time I’d seen him in his element, I hadn’t noticed the little things. Under the polish, he was exhausted. That didn’t stop him from posing for pictures or signing the countless programs. Every person who approached him, he took a moment to talk to. He appreciated the attention, was grateful for it, but he was fried and after five years of this I understood.
Most took him to a specific work to discuss, but there were a few women who were there for the man not the artist. A few even bold enough to tuck something in his pocket, likely their phone numbers. I couldn’t help think of that woman who had gone so far as to invade his privacy by sneaking into his hotel room. Groupies even for artists, a chill moved down my spine. Who would have thought? But then when the artist looked like Greyson, I guess I wasn’t really that surprised.
“Good evening.” My gaze shifted to the older man who appeared at my side. “You must be Alexis Owens. I’m Colin Rogers, Greyson’s agent.”
Stately came to mind, refined, elegant. He didn’t have the Irish cadence, but his voice was cultured. This was Callum’s friend. I smiled to myself because I could see them being friends. “Hello. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“And you. Are you enjoying the evening?”
“Very much. His work is beautiful. I thought he was amazing as kids, but his newer work is exceptional.”
“And he hasn’t even come close to hitting his stride.” Colin turned his attention to Greyson. “I’m going to break him free in a minute. Perhaps you should make your way to the door. I’ve called for the limo.”
“Does that happen often?” I asked, gesturing toward the crowd around Greyson.
“Only when the events are open to the public. Collectors are more subtle.” He turned to me. “I feel I know you with the number of times I’ve caught Greyson sketching…” He lowered his eyes and pink spread over his cheekbones. “I suppose I shouldn’t have said that.”
Greyson sketched me? My own cheeks burned but not from embarrassment. “I’m glad you told me.”
“He has worked very hard, sacrificed a lot, you both have, but he can see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Did Greyson discuss me with his agent? I wish I had been a fly on the wall for those conversations. “We both had paths to follow, but I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel too.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” He took my hand and like Callum had done, kissed the back of it. “Maybe I’ll see you before you go. We could do lunch.”
“I’d like that.”
“Wonderful. All right, I’m going in. You best make your way to the door for the getaway.”