Chapter 20
Igroan at the splitting ring blaring out in the serene bedroom. Opening my eyes, the black sky is what I see, and it has to be some time in the middle of the night.
It’s Grant’s cell. The lit-up screen casts a white glare in the otherwise dark room. I shelter my eyes, wincing when the shrill sound breaks out again. I’d poke at Grant to silence the call, but he’s already halfway sitting up, rubbing his eyes and grumbling.
He picks up the phone, and it stops mid-ring. I settle on my side, sighing in gratitude that the offending noise is gone. Him getting a call like this is unusual. Grant’s cell goes off at all times during the day, but late hours are mostly peaceful with little disturbance.
“Yeah?”
I tilt my ear in the direction of a very groggy sounding Grant. There’s a pause, but thanks to the quiet in the room, I hear the distinct voice of a man say, “I’m drunk.”
My eyes roll, even being only open a sliver. Really? Our sleep was disturbed because of a random wasted person?
“Okay. Thank you.”
Both eyes fly open now. A prick inside my gut goes off, saying that the person on the other side is far from inebriated, and Grant is involved in something.
My chest constricts.
Grant ends the call, places the phone on his nightstand, and nestles under the covers. The air stifling inside me is driven out when his heavy arm flings over my waist as he spoons me, draping his leg over mine—our normal position that we fall asleep in.
He takes a deep inhale, his muscled, warm chest pressing into my back, and his body loosens. My frame, however, tightens, and right before his breathing changes to something deeper, I say his name.
“Grant?”
Gently, he stirs. “Mmm?”
Staring out the window, my brows furrow. “What was that?”
His body slightly flexes, but only for a second. Just as quickly, his fingers graze over the front of my stomach, and he plants a kiss into my hair. “I’ll share that with you when it’s appropriate, my sweet. Go back to sleep for now.”
“Okay.” Somehow, Grant says what I need to hear. I wilt against him, all my apprehension getting washed away. He trusts me; therefore, I have no doubt that he’ll tell me.
I fall asleep after nestling deeper into his chest and don’t give the phone call a lingering thought.
* * *
Three days later
I’ve depressed and clicked the tiny red top on my pen so many times that I’m shocked it’s still attached. Klein Manufactures sure knows how to send over a contract that’s half broken English.
I rub at my burning eyes while seated at my desk, shoving the paper away since it makes zero sense. I think they used Google translation for most of it.
I need to find a person who will stop acting like they don’t understand me when I speak German. Jürgen, the “gentleman” managing their front desk is proving to be a pain in my ass with the way he thinks of my German accent being a disgrace. I call him a pain, when he’s actually an asshole.
“Stupid Jürgen,” I mutter. He’s made it to where I have nothing to show Grant today. I can hardly understand a quarter of the contract, much less read the whole thing out loud.
I’m contemplating about when I should tell Grant that our contract will be delayed yet again when the door flies open, and the man himself steps in.
Instantly, I see he’s not here for flirting or checking in. The tall posture, the quicker than normal pace, him tugging at the hem of his suit jacket—something serious is simmering in that mind of his.
I sit up higher in my chair, a rough swallow wetting my throat as he kicks the door to a close and stands there, unmoving. I can feel the pumps of blood throbbing everywhere, even under my nail beds the longer he waits. It’s not until I think my body is about to explode from the tension that Grant finally sighs and buttons the middle button of his jacket.
I blink, transfixed on the spot, tracking it while he walks over to my desk and stands across from me. My eyes don’t pull up until he bends down and plants his knuckles on the desktop.
“Mr. Klaus Franz,” Grant says in an ominous way. My fingers curl on the lip of my desk. “He’s the second heir of Kostspielig beer, which is an empire that’s had Germany in a conniption fit to figure out the formula for fifty years.”
“Fifty?” My brows lift. I knew his beer was popular, and I knew Grant wanted to obtain him because he was kind of like a golden calf of alcohol, but I didn’t know all of that.
Grant pulls to his full height and begins to pace, doing nothing to acknowledge me. “Since inheriting the business, he’s been offered millions of dollars for divulging his secrets. Had a few workers who tried to backstab him and learn the total formula. He keeps his workers separated now and they sign NDA contracts that prohibit them from sharing much. The few that have tried, have become unemployable.” He slowly drags his finger on the top of my filing cabinet, his voice a calm purr—but it sounds lethal. “When you talk to Mr. Franz, all he talks about is his beer. He loves it more than almost anything, even his children.”
“Sounds…” I shrug, not certain where he’s going with this or how I should respond. “Sounds like he’s shrewd and determined to hang onto his livelihood.”
“Oh, he is that.” Grant smirks, but it doesn’t look happy. He stops alongside my chair, and I see the dark ring in his eyes. “He’s also a scheming fucking bastard who threatened me weeks ago.”
The blood in my body chills, and my mouth drops open. “What?”
He grinds his teeth together and clenches his fist. “Mr. Franz called me some time back and made some accusations. He said that a friend from the Soviet Union called him and claimed I’d been buying his products at a higher cost, thus cheating Mr. Franz out of more money. Then he said because I tried to undercut him, he’d tell the Feds I’d been trading illegal currency and have my operations halted—possibly bankrupted.”
“He didn’t.”
“He most certainly did.”
“And?” I edge off my chair, gripping the handles until my fingertips throb from the pressure. “Can he do that?”
He sighs, a tired look creeping over his features. “Let’s just say, a whole fuck load of problems would happen if government officials came because someone told them to check. They wouldn’t find anything … that I know of, but the delays an investigation would cause? I don’t want that.”