“Positive. Let’s go home.”
“We are home, baby. We’re together.”
My heart swells with his words. “Yes. Yes, we are,” I agree. “But our lives we share—I want to reclaim our space.”
His eyes warm. This pleases him. “Then we’ll go back to the city and claim our lives.”
Relieved and somehow more apprehensive than ever—yes, I’m a mess right now, apparently—I reach for the door. Smith from Walker is immediately there, opening it for me. He offers me his hand but I wave him off with a murmured, “Thank you.”
He’s close, big, tall, and close, with sandy brown hair under a beanie. His fatigue pants and T-shirt are also black. “How very military you look this afternoon.”
“I’ll take that comment as better than looking tired or stupid, but only slightly.”
Considering he’s a quiet, formal guy, this reply surprises me and earns him a smile. “You look manly. How’s that?”
He laughs, another surprise from this man. “Better than girly, unless that’s what you’re shooting for of course, but I assure you I am not.”
Now, I laugh and Grayson appears by my side. “I think I owe you a thank you, Smith,” he says. “You made her laugh. She needs to laugh.”
“I’m sure she does,” Smith replies. “But this will all be over soon.”
Soon, I repeat in my head, stepping free of the car door and allowing Grayson to shut it. Not soon enough, I silently add as another tall man with wavy hair steps to Smith’s side. He’s also wearing all black. Good grief, what do they think is waiting on us in the city? War?
“This is Adrian,” Smith says. “He’s also quite military tonight in all black, and he tells bad jokes, just not as badly as our man Savage. Close, though.”
Grayson and I shake his hand. “How bad are the jokes?” Grayson asks.
“Depends on how bad the situation is,” Adrian replies, and we all laugh. “For now, though,” Adrian adds, “your chopper awaits, which spares you the very bad random tomato joke presently popping around in my head.”
“I think I might need to hear that one,” Grayson replies and then adds, “When we get to the city.”
“Tomato joke on the agenda, sir,” Adrian assures him.
“Grayson,” Grayson tells him. “Call me Grayson.”
Which doesn’t surprise me, and I know considering his exposure to Grayson, it can’t surprise Smith. Grayson is humble. He’s not an egomaniac who believes his money and power make him better than anyone else.
Adrian gives a nod, his eyes warming with surprise. At the same time, Grayson’s hand settles possessively on my lower back, a strong hand. A comforting hand that eases the nerves that seem to be battling some sort of world war in my belly. The four of us enter the small airport, the only guests present, and an attendant greets us, asking us to wait just a few moments before we’ll be invited to the runway to board. “We need to take this time to prep you both,” Smith says, huddling our little group in the center of pale blue cushioned waiting room chairs.
“Prep us for what?” I ask before Grayson can speak, my world war nerves slicing and dicing my insides all over again. What is wrong with me? I’ve been fine all weekend.
“We’ve been informed that the press has turned your street back in the city into a campground this evening,” Smith replies. “Especially your apartment building.”
“Apparently, they anticipated your return,” Adrian replies. “We have men working with security at your building to clear our path.”
Grayson glances down at me, concern etched in his handsome face. “You’re ready for this?”
“I’m ready to have it over with,” I say, my arms instinctively folding in front of me, a protective gesture I can’t seem to avoid. “All of it.”
He studies me with those keen, intelligent eyes before he seems to accept my reply and glances at Smith. “What about the airport? Are they waiting there, too?”
Smith starts talking and I don’t hear a word. I don’t know what happens, but suddenly in my mind’s eye I’m back in the stairwell where Ri attacked me, and I’m running down the stairs, trying to get away from him. My heart begins to race and my palms are clammy. I think I might throw up. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I announce, twisting away from Grayson and I don’t look at him or anyone. I just need to go now.
Hurrying away, I know where I’m going and I dart left and down a hallway, struggling to open the door that should be easily opened. Finally, I’m inside the single-occupancy bathroom, and I grab the counter, forcing myself to suck in air, or trying to. The desire to throw up is muted, but my need to breathe is insistent. I’m hyperventilating, I think. I can’t be sure. I’ve never actually hyperventilated before. My God. Why is this happening? I try to breathe in again and fail.
“Stop,” I order myself and just the act of speaking the word seems to pull air into my lungs. “Stop now.” I inhale harshly and this time, I make it happen: I fully fill my lungs, but I don’t know how I got to this point. I was fine all weekend long. How am I not fine right now? Because I’m not. This is what Grayson feared: me suddenly losing it. I swore I wouldn’t. I almost died but I didn’t. So did he. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I’m back in the stairwell with Ri beside me and Grayson in front of me, willing to take a bullet for me. He could have died. My God, he could have died.
There’s a knock on the door and I hear, “Mia?”
I jolt with Grayson’s voice and straighten, willing myself to calm. Death and that man have a bad history. He doesn’t need me melting down on him. Hurrying forward, I reach for the handle and my hand frustratingly trembles. I open the door and Grayson is standing there—right there, in front of me—so close I can feel the heat of his perfect body.
“Hi,” I say, and just that quickly, his hand is at my waist, and he’s stepping into me.
“Hi,” he says, his head low, intimately near mine. “You okay, baby?”
“I’m good,” I say, and it’s not a lie. Now that he is here, with me, touching me, I really am remarkably, incredibly good. My hand finds his face, fingers curling on his jaw. “Let’s go home.”
“Let’s stay a couple of more nights, just you and me, baby. In our own little world.”
I want what he suggests, I want it badly, just me and this man and no one else, but going back to the city isn’t just about me. It’s about him. He has a company under attack because of my stupid mistakes with Ri. “Let’s go home,” I repeat. “And come back next weekend, knowing that we’ve faced our dragons, and we’re the ones that set the fire.”
For a moment, he hesitates, searching my face again, that worry in his eyes etching his brow, but he doesn’t push. He laces the fingers of one of his hands with mine and kisses my knuckles. “Let’s go home.” We walk down the hallway toward the lobby again and a few minutes later we’re belted into the chopper.
We’re going home. That’s what matters.
We’re together. That’s what matters.
And we’re going to claim our happily ever after. I won’t let it be any other way.
CHAPTER NINE
Grayson
In life, there are defining moments. Moments that create us. Moments that break us. Losing Mia all but broke me. Finding her again healed me. The moment I stood in that stairwell and looked into Ri’s eyes, I’d seen evil. I’d seen the end of Mia and that would have been the end of me. The ultimate moment that would break me again, but forever. She survived. I survived. But I didn’t believe for one moment that she didn’t shatter inside.
We land in the city as the sun sets, the night allowing us the shelter of a moonless night. Storms brew in the distance, somehow off the nearby bay, while others seem to brew right here with us. I don’t know what triggered Mia back in the airport, but I know my future wife, and she’s sliding into a hornet’s nest of emotions. I need to get her home, get her alone, and place everything else on hold.
Once we’re on the ground, and in the back of a Walker-d
riven SUV that’s driving us home, Mia pressed close to my side, I text Blake: Move the meeting to the office tomorrow morning.
He replies with: I know this is a bad time, but it only gets worse if we don’t prepare for what comes next.
My jaw wants to snap. I type a reply: You. Just you. I’ve met Blake’s wife. She’s pleasant, but I don’t want Mia to have to perform socially.
He replies quickly: Understood, but Mia has lived through trauma, and she’s another woman. If you change your mind, she might be a good ear for Mia.
I consider his comment and regroup. I want to be Mia’s security blanket, but more than anything I want her to not need one at all. I reply with: Bring her. And thank you and her.
“Everything okay?” Mia asks, squeezing my hand.
I lean over and brush my lips over hers. “Just coordinating with Blake. He’s bringing his wife,” I add, not certain if I’ve mentioned this to her before now. “Is that okay with you?”
“Of course. Anyone who can help us get this behind us, and get Ri’s influence out of your operation, is exactly what we need.”
A profoundly Mia response. She’s selfless. She’s giving. She’s a warrior. Somehow I need her to see that feeling shaken and scared, human responses to trauma doesn’t change that. “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” she says, which isn’t Mia. She’s always hungry.
“How about our favorite Chinese place?” I ask, trying to offer her what she’s craving. Normalcy. A walk down memory lane, from our past, the part we both missed.
Her lips curve. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“Now, or after Blake and Kara leave?” I query.
“After they leave.” Her delicate little brow furrows. “Well, unless we need to feed them?”
“They know we need time to decompress.”
“Then after they leave.” She smiles again. “Like old times.”
“Like old times.”
A few minutes later, Adrian turns right instead of left, and my cellphone rings. It’s Blake. “Why am I certain I won’t like this call?”
“There’s a news team that just brought in cameras. Someone tipped them off that you’re back. They’re at every door. You’re going to deal with this tomorrow morning. Don’t do it tonight. I reserved the Ritz presidential suite for you. Take it, man. We’ll meet you there.”
A muscle in my jaw begins to tick and I glance at Mia, prepared to explain. “I heard,” she says. “I don’t have any work clothes with me.”
Blake responds to her through me. “Kara and I can go to your place and grab what you need.” I intend to repeat this to Mia, but she holds up a hand.
“I heard again.” She presses her fingers to her temples and nods, before casting me a sideways look. “If it’s what we need to do, it’s what we need to do.”
“We’ll meet you at the hotel,” I say, and then call out to Smith and Adrian. “The Ritz,” before I speak to Blake again. “How long are we going to be stuck there?”
“I’d give it a week. We’ve already made arrangements to get you in and out of your offices tomorrow without challenge.”
I don’t ask how. I trust Blake. The problem is that my staff won’t. They’ll be overwhelmed. They’ll be shaken. “Like I said. We’ll see you at the hotel.” I disconnect, and speak to Mia. “Sorry, baby. Not the homecoming you were hoping for, I know.”
“But it’s still the right decision. You have to be at the office tomorrow. We have to be at the office tomorrow. Everyone needs to see that we’re good. That we’re okay.”
I cup her face and tilt her gaze to mine. “You, woman, are my superhero.”
“Funny,” she says, covering my hand with hers. “I was going to say the same about you. Room service in bed with you is my new goal for the night. I mean, how many girls get to sleep in the presidential suite with her future husband and it’s not even her honeymoon yet?”
“At this moment, I believe my father would say, ‘You chose well, my son. You chose well.’”
“And then he’d order us one of everything on the dessert menu,” Mia says. “Because that’s how he dealt with things. He always found the good stuff everywhere.”
“Are you suggesting we order everything on the dessert menu?” I tease.
“Well, sir, if you want to curl a girl’s toes, that’s certainly an option.”
“Or?”
“I’ll let you figure that one out.” She kisses me and laughs, and that laugh is a symphony in a firestorm. It’s a promise that at least for now, she’s in a better place. And it’s up to me to keep her there, which I’m getting the feeling from Blake might be a larger than hoped for task. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be bringing his wife as a back-up.
Which leads to the question: Is Ri so damn devious that he’s still coming at me from the grave?
CHAPTER TEN
Mia
We arrive at the hotel and Walker is cautious, arranging our entry through a side door, where we won’t be spotted. That they feel the need to do this does nothing to calm my nerves. What does calm my nerves is Grayson. We exit the backseat of the SUV and his hand is at my waist: protective, possessive, and amazingly, I feel the sizzle of his touch. That’s how reactive I am to this man. I’m wearing a coat, I’m a nervous wreck, and I’m aware of him on every level.
Once we’re inside the hotel, we are herded to a staff elevator and it’s a quick ride before we’re inside a room that is larger than many apartments. There’s a living area, dining room, bedroom, and sitting area. There’s even a kitchen. I know this because it’s not my first time in a Ritz presidential suite with Grayson.
For now, we’re in the entryway, and Grayson helps me off with my coat while Smith and Adrian crowd the hall next to us. Grayson hangs up my coat and I turn to watch him shrug out of his own, all that perfect muscle and manliness a welcome distraction. He watches me watch him, his stare burning as it meets mine, his hands catching my arms. I’m hauled forward against Grayson as Smith and Adrian are smart enough to head on into the living room.
“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re going to the bedroom and shutting the door.”
My teeth scrape my bottom lip and slip away, my intent is to be playful, but that’s not what happens. “I love you,” I whisper.
His eyes soften, worry I didn’t intend to stir bleeding into them. “I love you, too. Baby,—”
There’s a knock on the door. I push to my toes and kiss him. “I’m good. Remember?”
“No. No, you’re not, but we’ll walk the fire together.” He kisses me hard and fast. “Let’s get this over with.” He sets me away from him and Smith is now back in our small space.
“I’ll get that,” he says.
The degree at which we’re being protected feels excessive, as if there’s something we don’t know. I need out of this tiny space and I quickly hurry down the hallway to the living room, where Adrian is standing in front of the desk off the right wall, arms folded in front of him. I pass him by and sit down on the cream-colored couch, setting my purse on the simple but expensive walnut coffee table.
Hushed voices sound in the hallway in what is obviously a discreet conversation. A conversation they want to have without me. Adrian seems to react. He sits down in the chair next to me. “There was a mama tomato, a papa tomato, and six baby tomatoes. One of the babies falls behind and the mother rushes to her child and yells, ‘Catch Up!’”
I laugh despite myself. “That is the stupidest joke ever.”
“Then I’ll assume that you haven’t heard many stupid jokes.”
It’s in that moment that Grayson and Smith appear with Blake—a tall, good-looking man, with long dark hair tied at his nape. Also present is Kara, Blake’s wife, a pretty, petite brunette who like Blake is in jeans and a Walker Security T-shirt. She was there the night Ri attacked me. She’s someone I trust.
“Hi, Mia,” Kara greets. “Please tell me he didn’t tell you the tomato joke.”
I laugh. “He
did.” I eye Grayson, whose green-eyed stare is fixed on my face. “You missed the world’s stupidest joke.”
He rounds the coffee table and sits down next to me. “You can tell me later.”
“Or not,” I say, giving Adrian a tease. “I don’t think I can tell it as perfectly as he did.”
Kara claims the chair opposite Adrian, and Blake perches on the arm. Smith leans on the desk behind Adrian. Everyone falls into an awkward silence. My teeth are back on my lip and I decide this has become a nervous thing for me. My fingers are back in my palms and I glance around the room. “What’s going on?”
Grayson folds one of my hands in his bigger one. “Nothing unexpected,” he assures me. “The press are nuts.”
“We’ve been working with Eric this weekend,” Blake interjects. Eric being Grayson’s right-hand man, best friend, and a literal savant. Eric’s involvement is good but not a surprise. They’ve made a fortune together. They’ve built trust. And Grayson has talked to him over the weekend, as he did all the key players in the company. But it’s Eric who is always welcome and in the middle of all things Grayson. “That bastard’s brilliant,” Blake says. “Between his genius and my hacking, we’ll do what we need to do to end this.”
“End this?” I ask. “I thought Ri was this? And Ri is gone. Are we talking about the bad players he placed inside Grayson’s operation?”
“Exactly,” Blake says.
“Ri contacted the Dungeon,” Blake explains, “a powerful underground operation. Fool that he is, they literally inherit part of his fortune if Grayson goes down.”
I gasp and look at Grayson. “I don’t even want to know what ‘goes down’ means.”
“It’s vaguely defined,” Blake says. “Too vaguely for my comfort. I assume there is a broader definition we haven’t managed to discover.”
Bile rises in my throat. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I’m not going down,” Grayson assures me. “Not by any method of defining those words.”
“They had a three-month window to reach this goal,” Blake explains, “which I know from hacking Ri’s computer and finding the agreement which he signed. It’s on file with his attorney, who’s being pulled in for questioning on Monday.”
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