They weren’t enemies at all, but they certainly weren’t good friends either. And I often wished they could be. Sometimes I grew tired of being their go-between.
“What’s that face? Did it not go well? You know how picky he is with where his money goes.”
“Um, he’s going to invest.”
My mom could be an airhead sometimes, but she was as perceptive as I was. She read through my bullshit immediately.
“Under what conditions?”
With a heavy sigh, I told her about my babysitting job for the next three months. Her brows hitched up higher with every sentence, until finally, she doubled over laughing.
“It’s not that funny.”
She straightened, wiping her eyes with her index finger. “It’s hilarious, Gray. And so typically your dad. I could have told you he would do this.”
I gritted my teeth, wanting desperately to change the subject. Mom sobered, and before I could ask her about the weather in her homeland, she followed up. “He offered you that human resources job at HRQ again, didn’t he?”
I bit my lip. No one—no one—on this planet knew Dad better than my mother. It made sense. They’d been married for almost twenty years before divorcing. Mom, originally born in the UK, had grown up in the US and met Dad while they’d worked on a joint project together—and shortly before he’d purchased the company she worked for. Their romance had been a whirlwind—so out of character for my dad.
But they’d been too different, and for too damn long, they’d tried to make it work for my sake. Their world ended up revolving around me even more so than normally happened when a couple had children. When your kid is undergoing health crisis after health crisis, it tends to shape your entire world. I blinked, returning my focus to what my mom was saying.
“Let me tell you. And I tell you this all the time, but I’m going to keep repeating myself in case you don’t listen. You have to get out from under your dad’s thumb. I know he makes you feel safe and secure, but…”
“…‘It comes at a price.’ Yeah, I know, Mom.”
“Don’t settle because it’s what he wants. You have the right to strike out and find out what you love to do.”
I smiled. Sometimes these talks with Mom were all I needed to firm my own resolve.
“Dad likes to take care of people.”
She nodded. “Your father is an excellent man. But...” I blinked, realizing maybe that was why Mom had fled back to Wales after the divorce. She begged me regularly to go visit her, but because I’d been in school continuously since I was barely seventeen—including during the summers—I had seldom taken her up on it.
“Just remember your cousin, John,” Mom said. She brought him up often. “He lives and dies by your dad’s approval—his house, his whole lifestyle, even who he married. He seems happy, but it’s a gilded cage he inhabits.”
“Not to worry, Mom. I told you that I want to prove I can succeed on my own despite being Conrad Barrett’s daughter.”
Her smile faded a little. “Did the company need the money so badly that you had to go ask him for it? It would have been better if you’d kept him out of it.”
I sighed. “Tolan asked him.”
Mom’s brows drew together in a slight frown. “Tolan’s a good kid. How’s he doing?”
I almost laughed. That “good kid” was nearing forty. But Mom obviously remembered him as one of Dad’s most loyal fresh-out-of-college mentees.
“Good. Better if Dad had agreed to hand over the money.”
“Which you and Tolan both know Conrad Barrett would never do.”
I fell back against my pillow and stared at the screen with a wistful smile. “I guess you got me there.”
Mom’s smile grew, and she waved her hand as if to clear the air in front of her. “Enough of that…how are you doing? Have you been up to our spot lately?”
I stifled a yawn and replied. “Whenever I go over to Dad’s, I try to squeeze in a walk around Griffith Park.”
“I bet all the white jasmine is blooming there right now. It smells so good. I miss how Southern California smells in May.”
I laughed, and we chatted for another half hour before Mom declared she needed some tea and had to go. Of course, I never got back to sleep, so I texted Tolan with my plan for the day and asked him for help.
I had a full-grown astronaut to wrangle. It was about time I got to wrangling.
Chapter 6
Gray
Tolan texted me hours later to tell me that Commander Tyler had been notified of my visit. And thus, I prepared as best I could for “friend mode.” I dressed nonthreateningly in a T-shirt and jeans. Okay, so maybe they were my preferred clothing choice, but they said “girl next door” and “nonthreatening friendly person” easily enough.
Tyler was smart, though, and I couldn’t be obvious about this approach. Likely the minute he detected me trying to manipulate him, he’d dig in his heels, and it would make an awkward situation worse.
When I pulled into his hilltop driveway in the exclusive, hilly Cowan Heights neighborhood in North Tustin, it was a little after four p.m. Tolan had made the arrangements, and as it happened, I caught Tyler’s assistant, and biographer, Lee, on his way out the door. He grinned and extended a hand.
“Hey there, Gray. Good to meet you. Ty’s in the middle of his workout, but I let him know at lunch when you’d be here. You can wait for him in the front room. He should be down shortly.”
The house itself was huge, hanging off one side of Peter’s Canyon, overlooking the dry scrub habitat of California coastal chaparral and sandy reddish cliffs. It was a lovely setting and a remarkably huge house that was probably grander and more impressive than any place he’d ever lived before.
Ryan Tyler had major endorsements and appearances—motivational speeches at six figures a pop—in the wake of his notoriety. In addition, he had recently inked an eight-figure book deal—with movie rights to the as-yet-unpublished memoir optioned for an undisclosed amount. So he could easily afford a place like this now. I couldn’t help but marvel over the cost that wealth and fame had come at, though. And I wondered how he truly felt about it, deep down.
I checked my smartwatch to make sure I wasn’t late—nope, right on time. The front room was empty, but I assumed it would be as Lee had said. Ty would be down shortly after finishing up his workout. Maybe he’d opt for a quick shower.
I burned a few minutes walking around the room to take in the furnishings and décor—none of which were personal enough to reveal anything about him at all. The place had been professionally decorated in black, cream, and a muted aqua color. And it was beautiful, but definitely not him. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d expected—bachelor pad-style decorations. Leather couches, big overstuffed recliners, massive TV and game console with super expensive sound system, maybe. None of that was present here.
Maybe he’d saved it all for the master bedroom.
I immediately blushed when thinking about his bedroom, then reminded myself what an idiot I was. Jeez. I was a grown woman thinking about a very hot man watching TV or playing console games in his bedroom, and even that got me flushed.
I’d spent all day yesterday studying up on him, reading articles about his life pre-accident and the event itself, taking notes and making cross-references. Now, I wandered around his front rooms, checking my watch far more often than I needed to, and looking for clues about who he was.
Thirty minutes in, I decided one thing he definitely wasn’t was punctual. Strange, for an astronaut. But maybe he was purposely blowing me off? I wouldn’t put it past him. He’d been pretty annoyed yesterday, accusing me of setting the whole situation up.
I wandered down a hallway toward the kitchen, having caught sight of a row of large framed and glass-covered expertly mounted photographs.
They were gorgeous—professional quality, to be sure—and each one of them displayed a location on the planet’s surface as shot from low earth orbit. I paused next to one, a st
ring of islands, straits, and isthmuses—interlaced with about twenty different shades of blue and green. Stunning. I was moving in for a closer look when a bang thumped the wall.
Like someone or something had fallen in a nearby room. Oh, jeez. Had Ty dropped the weights he’d been lifting? Was he in trouble? Had he fallen?
I took a step toward the sound when another bang followed the first one—and then another. And another hit against the wall.
There was a certain…rhythm to those bangs, as a matter of fact. And as I approached the sound, someone cried out with a loud moan.
Are you freaking serious right now?
I shrank back in the direction I’d come.
Either people were having sex a few rooms away, or that was one over-the-top realistic sound system accompanying a porn video. I stepped backward again—and bumped into the wall loudly.
Shit. I froze, holding my breath. I never thought I’d catch myself thinking this, but I hoped they were too wrapped up in messing around to be bothered by my intrusion.
Fortunately, they were. Either that or she was deeply wrapped up in calling upon a higher power during some very intense-sounding prayer.
The picture behind me tilted on its hook, and I turned to catch it before it fell off the wall. Crap. I’d come this-close to knocking it to the ground and breaking it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The rhythm was speeding up now, and I fled down the hall, leaving the picture horribly askew on its hook.
By now, even back in the front room, I could hear the woman’s shrieks of ecstasy.
I checked my watch. Almost an hour past our appointment time.
My blood boiled. This was intentional. He was deliberately blowing off an important meeting so he could bang someone. Okay, so it was probably what most men would do, but this felt like definite pushback in my direction as revenge for yesterday.
Jackass.
American hero, my ass. More like American manwhore.
How obnoxious! I almost wished I had bumped that wall louder so that they’d know I was here. That they’d know they were so loud it was obvious what they were doing.
Maybe I should knock this very expensive-looking vase off the coffee table to create an extra-loud crash. Fury and embarrassment burned in my face and stiffened the muscles in my jaw, my shoulders, even my arms as I paced circles around that couch and coffee table, arms folded tightly against my chest.
I was so wrapped up in my private daydream of a vendetta that I hadn’t even noticed when it stopped—or finished or whatever. I didn’t want to know. Too. Much. Information.
Way too much.
I fanned my heated face and ordered myself to calm down. They were talking now, but I couldn’t pick out the words. Grabbing my phone, I battled over the next question. Should I text him? Call him? I didn’t even have his number. Should I turn around and storm out of here while I mentally flipped him the bird?
No. I couldn’t do that last one. Jackass or no, I needed him. XVenture needed him. Commander Ryan Tyler, All-American Hero, was vital to getting the XPAC launched.
And Dad had tasked me with this as his version of a test. And I wasn’t about to prove that I needed to come running back to him for a job. Maybe he secretly hoped XPAC was a losing bet. Well…
Challenge accepted, Dad.
I reached into my messenger bag and began pulling out things. A legal pad, a bundle of sharpened pencils. My tablet, which had been fully charged. An assortment of gel ink pens that glided when you used them and didn’t smear all over my hand when I wrote because I was a lefty.
He wanted to get rid of me? Well, screw that. I was establishing myself, whether he liked it or not. I wouldn’t leave until I was ready.
I lined everything up on the glass coffee table, careful to keep my legal pad of notes tucked away where he wouldn’t accidentally see them. Then I plunked myself down on the gigantic couch and tapped my foot, waiting.
Would he come out? Or would he roll over and go to sleep? It was the middle of the afternoon, after all. But who knew? Maybe he was a napper?
God, I hoped I wasn’t going to have to sit through another round. Nope, just nope. If that started, then I’d have to come crashing through the bedroom door to interrupt—with my hands over my eyes, of course.
Before that thought resolved or led to another string of thoughts that would chase each other down the rabbit hole that was my brain, I realized the voices were louder than before—and accompanied by footsteps. Approaching.
I stiffened—crossed and then uncrossed my legs on the couch before resolving to lace my fingers together and hold them primly in my lap.
Regardless, I shot out of my seat the moment the two people rounded the corner. When they caught sight of me, they froze. The woman, a pretty, petite but very fit, platinum blonde in a designer velour tracksuit with an expensive gym bag over her shoulder, raised her brows and glanced at Ty.
The American Hero himself was wearing sweat pants slung low on his torso and not a stitch of clothing above his waist. Well, at least they were maintaining the ruse of a workout semiconvincingly.
I might have believed it, even. But sex did not sound even remotely like working out.
I couldn’t help but notice his perfect body. He was sculpted in all the right places. His arms bulging with veins, defined biceps, powerful shoulders. His thin, solid torso, every rock-hard muscle delineated under his skin. Abs, abs, and more abs. So many abs.
Like, more than a six-pack. I caught myself counting them. I stopped at ten when he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Oh, you’re here.”
I blinked, tearing my eyes away from the ridge along his hip that dipped into those sweat pants. Ugh. He was a rude pig, so clearly, the pretty packaging shouldn’t matter.
Damn it, Gray! I set my jaw and narrowed my eyes at him and reminded myself he was just a man. A jerkwad douchebag of a man. Who happened to be incredibly hot, but I could and would ignore that part.
“I arrived on time. At the exact time I believe Tolan told you.” I said, with particular emphasis on the name.
He rolled his eyes.
Yes. He did that. He rolled his eyes. Right where I could see him. He didn’t even bother to turn his back or look away or anything.
Without another word—and no introduction to his lady love—he turned and escorted her to the door. As he reached to open it, she gave me another long glance before smiling and falling against him, throwing her arms dramatically around his neck and kissing him like they were long-lost lovers who were bidding each other farewell forever. And there were a dozen movie cameras focused on them. And the sound score had reached a massive, dramatic crescendo as the tormented pair realized their fate was never to be together again. She even moved her head against his, bending backward so that her long hair swung toward the ground.
For his part, he stiffened and put his hands on her shoulders and quickly separated himself from her. “See ya next week, Suz,” he said quietly.
“Call me before that, ’kay? We can hang out even when you’re not training.”
“Sure—yeah.” His hand was already on the door, ready to shut it on her as she stood in the doorway. It was like he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough, and I wondered if that’s how he treated all of his lovers or if this was a show for my benefit.
My innards sank, and I could almost see Dad’s victory smile already. How the hell was I supposed to wrangle this without constant surveillance?
As soon as the door clicked in the frame, he turned toward me, while glancing pointedly at his watch. “So, when exactly was our meeting?”
“Over an hour ago. Four o’clock.” I folded my arms and tapped a finger. “But you were busy or getting busy, I should say. Good thing it didn’t take long.” I mirrored his action with my own cheeky glance at my smartwatch.
He didn’t even bother to disguise his annoyance as he walked toward me. Then he stopped, grabbing a T-shirt that I hadn’t noticed was lying in a pi
le on the floor—likely hastily discarded in passionate frenzied foreplay. He scooped it up and pulled it on all in one fluid motion. The NASA logo was emblazoned across his broad chest. All that stunning male beauty was now covered. Of course, the shirt fit him like a glove, clinging to his prominent pecs and solid torso. If only that T-shirt could cover his stupid, cocky grin.
“Haven’t had any complaints yet. Feel free to let me know if you’d like to go for a test ride.”
My face flamed hot. Hot. So hot, I was positive he could see the color. My complexion was fair, and when I blushed, it was very noticeable. I fumbled, covering by coughing into a fist and telling him, “We’re supposed to discuss the plan to change the narrative, not how deftly you can flip through the pages of the Kama Sutra. And if you want to convince people you’re perfectly fine, blowing off an important meeting for compulsive sex is not a good start.”
“Convince people. What people am I convincing?”
I raised my brows at him as if to say, Take a wild guess.
He put a hand over his heart. “Well, Ms. Barrett, if—”
“It’s Gray. Don’t be late again,” I interrupted, lest he fire another sexual invitation at me.
His brow twitched up, and that smile widened. “So is that a thing? Dropping your last name on purpose so people don’t immediately figure out who Daddy is?”
So that was how it was going to be? Huh. This showing up late—and loudly screwing his trainer—was grandstanding rather than absent-mindedness. I wouldn’t have expected a proactive military man, an astronaut, to be passive-aggressive.
“This isn’t about me. But so you know, I’m not the type of person to take advantage of a famous name.” Unlike other people in this room, I added mentally. Though it was a weak comeback anyway. After having gotten a good look at him, I was sure he didn’t have to rely on his famous name—or face—to get women into his bed. Even as a nobody, he was hot AF—as Pari had attested the day before.
High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1) Page 7