Chapter 26
“So, you don’t know anything about Mr. Franz’s business collapsing? I’m here at one of the Hall and Brexton stores to buy some of that beer, and the worker told me the whole factory went under.”
Roxie’s question is so pointed I’m thankful she’s on the other side of the phone rather than looking me dead in the eye. She knows me far too well. She’d spot something—always does.
“Sorry,” I say, “but I don’t.”
“Didn’t you work your ass off to get that stuff imported, though? Surely, you would have heard something.”
My stomach flips, mind brainstorming to think of some kind of rational reply.
I examine the long hallway of the penthouse suite of Mr. Hall’s home. With all the white, I settle on the two things that bring a pop of color to the blank area. The black door, and the tall gold vase next to it. The colors seem to do something.
My stomach settles, and I shrug. “Grant sees places go under all the time.”
“Really?” She sounds full of doubt.
The reality of what I’ve just said makes me wince. Roxie has to know that Grant not only sees places go bankrupt but is also the man causing it. I shove away the pinch of panic in my lungs, hoping to flip this so it sounds like I mean nothing by my damning statement.
“Really,” I say calmly, keeping my voice in check. “Just because we worked hard to get their products in our store, or sell their items, doesn’t mean we keep their business afloat, Rox. We’re just another buyer, that’s all. It’s up to the brand to properly manage their finances. Sadly, things like that happen more often than you think.”
That sounded better than I expected. I think.
At last, she sighs—a great sign. “Well, tough luck for me then. Guess I’ll buy this imported Chardonnay instead. What a shame. I heard people raving about that beer.”
“Well, whatever you pick, I hope it’s good.” I send a smile to Grant, who is nodding his head toward the front door. He’s ready to get this tour over with. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay, bye.”
The call ends, and I tuck my cell away in my clutch, moving closer for the door. “Sorry about that. She’s chatty sometimes.”
“A chat worth listening to.” A devilish smile curls up his mouth, and he tilts his head. “You made everything sound so coincidental. If I hadn’t been the one to organize everything, I would have believed you myself.”
Butterflies fly from the bottom of my stomach, hitting the base of my neck. “Why, thank you.”
“No,” he purrs. “Thank you. You didn’t have to lie that earnestly to protect me.”
“Oh, but I do.”
I move close enough into his circle to catch whiff of his delectable scent. With the smell comes a coy thought—one I haven’t asked or approached him about yet since I keep forgetting.
“I think I’d lie for anyone who burned down the building of someone who called me a cunt.”
He double blinks, quickly, at my mention of Mr. Loper, and while his silence isn’t admitting anything or providing any tells, I don’t think I’m wrong.
I pucker my lips, tilting my head. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
A chuckle slips out, and he smiles so warmly his white teeth show. “Well…” His chest rises and falls in a calming way that paints him amused. “Let’s say I tried to bypass what he called you, and months later, I still couldn’t get over it. I’ll handle anyone who mistreats you in a similar fashion.”
I’m breathless, my mouth dropping open in what feels like an endless gasp. “You did that for me?”
He nods, smirking. “You’d be surprised at what I’d do for you.”
Jesus, he’s so perfect. My heart floats up to my head when he presses his thumb to my mouth and brings his lips close.
“Stop looking at me like destroying men fucking turns you on, and let’s get this stupid house tour over with.”
I nod, my mouth parched, wishing he take me right here in this hallway.
Grant chuckles, drops his hand, and uses his key to open the door. “Here we are.”
He flings the door open, and we step inside the penthouse.
Alan Hall’s new digs … the place I should be decorating.
We're here because Mr. Hall has pestered Grant to death the past few days, begging him to see the new penthouse. Praise about Layton's work has been continual, so we're stopping by check to it out, and, in Grant’s words, “Make Alan shut up.”
My eyes blink and adjust to the bright space of glossy white tile with gold specks. My mind is still a little divided. I am turned on. Heat is pooling between my thighs, making me regret my woolen cream dress slacks.
I jostle my head one last time and flick my gaze all around the room. The ultra-posh living quarters is how I imagined it to be when receiving the desired aesthetics for it … bland.
Sleek low lines of furniture that don’t look comfortable, with stainless steel legs. Then, more white pictures to stand out from the gray wall paint.
There's a small break from stainless steel appliances in the modern, open kitchen, but that's about it.
“Huh.” Grant's voice comes off flat. “So, this is what all the fuss was about.”
“I guess.” My eyes scan the view panel of windows to my left, and I rest my clutch against my thighs. “Do you like it?”
“Boring, if you ask me. But anything Alan does is boring.” His hand rests on the small of my back, the heat of it burning through my dress. “He’s so … singular in taste.”
The insult makes me think of a son calling his dad uncool. It pulls a light laugh out of me. “Mr. Hall is different from you. How did you meet him?”
“He's a friend of my dad's, so I grew up knowing about him.” He interweaves our hands, taking the clutch out of my grasp before throwing it on the all-white sofa. He directs us down the one hall, just past the living room. “Shortly before I graduated from college, his wife left him, and his business partner died. He wanted a fresh start with a young face. We met at my dad’s birthday party.”
“Let me guess, that face was you?”