“Donovan told me. Bryan mentioned to him that his parents made an unexpected appearance at the fund-raiser last night. Donovan asked me if you’d talked about meeting them.”
“I guess they slipped my mind.”
“What are they like? I never met them, you know.”
Grace walked toward their office with Chloe close at her heels. “They seemed pleasant enough, I suppose.”
“Donovan hasn’t told me much about them, but I can tell he isn’t particularly fond of them. He seems to like Mrs. Falcon better than Mr. Falcon, though.”
“Mr. Falcon did seem a bit more…aloof.” Except when he had danced with another man’s wife, she thought cattily.
“How did Bryan react to them? Did he seem glad to see them?”
“I couldn’t say, really. They seem to have a very polite, almost formal relationship. Very different from our bond with our parents.”
“Donovan lost his parents early, you know. He thinks of Bryan as a brother, but he’s never considered the Falcons surrogate parents. He’s never said so, but I get the impression that they consider him a bit beneath them socially. They seem to treat him more as Bryan’s employee than his best friend—or at least that’s the impression I’ve gotten on the rare occasions when he has spoken of them.”
Remembering the way the Falcons had taken pains to spend time with the wealthiest and most influ
ential guests at the fund-raiser, Grace didn’t doubt that they were snobs. “At least he doesn’t have to worry about that with our folks. Mom and Dad already think the world of him.”
“And he them. He was a bit overwhelmed at first by the way they welcomed him into the family like a long-lost son, but he’s getting used to it. Actually I think he’s getting a bit spoiled to Mother’s fussing and Dad’s attention. I think it’s very sweet the way he responds to them. I don’t believe even Donovan knew how hungry he was for a family.”
Chloe, of course, was charmed by everything her fiancé did. But Grace had also found it rather touching the way tough, reserved, emotionally awkward Donovan was beginning to respond to her family’s demonstrative affection. She couldn’t help feeling rather sorry for Bryan, who had grown up the only child of parents who regularly indulged in “discreet dalliances,” and who equated monetary gifts with parental affection.
She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it. Had she just found herself feeling sorry for Bryan Falcon? A man who had everything—wealth, looks, intelligence, charm, influence? Maybe he hadn’t found a bride who suited him yet, but she had no doubt that was only a matter of time. Bryan could have just about any woman he wanted—with the exception of the Pennington sisters, of course, she added hastily.
He would have little trouble finding someone willing to change herself into anything he wanted in exchange for the privilege of becoming Mrs. Bryan Falcon.
“Is something wrong with your blouse?” Chloe asked. “You keep pulling at the collar.”
“I, um, think it must have shrunk the last time it was cleaned. Feels tight.”
“It doesn’t look too small. Anyway…would you like to join Donovan and me for dinner and a movie tonight? He wants to get away from wedding plans for a few hours. He’s picking me up here.”
Spending an evening as a third wheel on a date with the lovebirds? “Thanks, but I have other plans for the evening.”
“Oh? Are you seeing Bryan tonight?”
“No, he and I have plans for tomorrow—at least, he has plans. I’m just going along as a prop.”
“Should I remind you again that you can call a halt to this anytime you like?”
“No reminders necessary.”
Chloe spent the next few minutes straightening her already-immaculate desk. Grace made a halfhearted, distracted attempt to bring some order to her own. Donovan arrived, and Chloe left with him after Grace offered to lock up and set the security alarms.
Donovan seemed a bit hesitant about leaving her there alone, but she reminded him dryly that she was hardly ever alone these days. She rarely saw Bryan’s security people, but she knew they were usually hovering somewhere in the background. She doubted they hung around twenty-four hours a day, but she would bet someone usually made sure she arrived home safely after work. She was growing accustomed to an itchy, nagging feeling of being watched by unseen eyes—but she hadn’t learned to like it.
Her plans for the evening did not include a bodyguard.
She made two stops on her roundabout trip home—a video store and the drive-through takeout window of a Chinese restaurant. She wanted to give every indication of a woman who planned to spend her Saturday night alone with egg rolls and Antonio Banderas.
Back at her apartment, she ate the egg rolls, washed them down with a diet cola, then changed from her work clothes into a skimpy, scoop-neck T-shirt and low-riding jeans. A round brush and a curling iron changed her sleek bob into a more rumpled, younger-looking hairstyle, and sultry makeup altered her usual, everyday appearance.
Satisfied that she looked different from the responsible, practical businesswoman who reported to work every day, she slipped out of her apartment. She knew this building very well; there were ways to get out that wouldn’t be expected by anyone who’d grown used to her usual routines.
There were times when Grace simply had to escape the imaginary cage she lived in for most of her life.