Grandmother glances around the room. “I believe so. We’ll see when we sit down to dinner.”
“I’ve got your table all set up for you in the dining room,” Hannah says. “Including Michael and his family.”
“Thank you kindly,” says Michael, taking a chicken skewer from Hannah’s tray. “Unfortunately, my family is only myself and my grandson this weekend, but Margaret was kind to include us.”
“Do you have other family nearby?” I ask.
Michael shakes his head. “They’re scattered to the four corners of the globe. Greyson’s mother, my daughter, lives in Rome. My other daughter is in Thailand and my son is a surgeon in Boston.”
“I see.” So Greyson is here on a weekend off and a) not partying or b) not visiting his mum. Not that I’d expect a grown man to use a weekend’s leave to visit his mother, but Rome is just as easy to get to from London as the Lake District. Maybe even easier. If my mum were still alive, I’d be visiting her over my grandmother every time. And then there’s the question of why he’s not out enjoying London with his famous friends. Or even his not-famous friends. Surely he has some?
I’m turning the question over in my head when I feel Grandmother’s elbow jostle me in the side and I tune in to hear Michael ask, “Margaret tells me you work summers here?”
“Yep. I’ve been working here since I was fifteen and the St Julien’s keep letting me come back.” I smile and it’s one hundred percent genuine. “It’s great. I really love it.”
Grandmother laughs at something Hannah says and Michael uses it as an opportunity to lean in and say, “Would you do me a favor and talk to my grandson? I know he’s not made a great first impression, but he feels like he’s here under duress, and if your enthusiasm for Castle Calder rubs off on him…”
On the contrary, Greyson’s first impression was great. It was his second that could use some work. I don’t say this, of course. I don’t get to say anything because Caleb joins us, my cousin Keira in tow, dragging one of her kids over to kiss “Grammy.” Caleb hands me a glass of wine, which I’m grateful for, and I’m too distracted by the clamoring kids to remind Michael that his grandson doesn’t actually want to talk to me.
It doesn’t stop me from eyeing up Greyson from across the room, though. He may be an asshole, but he’s a hot asshole and I’m going to enjoy the view. The first time he turns my way, I’m sure he’s going to catch me gawking and my heart pounds in my chest like he might slay me with his hidden laser gun, a la Captain Flynn in Star Fleet. Another glass of wine chases that ridiculousness away and by the time Hannah rings the bell signaling a move to the dining room, I almost believe I’m not star struck anymore. Greyson’s gorgeous—the best looking guy I’ve ever seen in real life—but he’s just that. A guy.
Scarlett sidles up to me as I scan the table for my place card. “I put you by Mr. Vaughn.”
“Why?” My pulse spikes and my hands go instantly clammy. So much for not being star struck.
“Consider it my little gift to you.” Scarlett winks and continues walking before I can tell her that he hates me. Or he at least has a moderate to severe dislike.
I scan the table extra hard now. Maybe I can find my place card and switch it. Caleb. Keira, James, and Nigel. Claire. Oh, thank God. I let out a small yip, which is swallowed up in the noise of the room, and reach for my place card. Just as I grasp it between my thumb and forefinger, a voice purrs in my ear. “Giving up the ghost already, are you?”
Bloody hell. It’s a good thing I’m semi-fit and don’t smoke because my heart rate shoots to the red zone. Is an overly accelerated pulse one of the symptoms of a heart attack? I’ve never wondered this before and suddenly it seems like a big gap in my essential life knowledge.
I swallow and square my shoulders before I face Greyson, who doesn’t straighten as I turn around and is so close I can smell his aftershave, a crisp scent with undertones of citrus. “I didn’t know anything about this whole plan until a couple of hours ago. You don’t have to believe me, but I have no reason to lie to you.”
“It’s not the lying I object to. In certain circumstances, I might even appreciate it.” He leans in closer and his chin grazes my cheek.
I turn my face so my lips brush his earlobe. “Like a woman telling you you’re good in bed?”
“They don’t have to lie about that, sweetheart.” Greyson’s voice is a low growl.
“I’ll never know.” Shine a light, am I really mouthing off to Greyson Vaughn about not being good in bed?
I turn towards the table and Greyson grabs my elbow. “I spoke to Scarlett and she assured me I was wrong in my earlier assumption that you were involved in planning this little scheme of my grandfather’s.”
“You were.”
“I apologize. I’m truly sorry.” He looks so sincere I wonder if he’s acting. Ironic much?
I give a yes-of-course-I-talk-to-movie-stars-every-day shrug. “Great. But that still doesn’t solve the problem.”
“The problem being?”
“Your grandfather and my grandmother seem determined to save your reputation,” I start.
“And use you to do it.” Greyson nods and holds up a finger. “My initial reaction may have been a little hasty.”
Nigel, Keira’s husband, jostles into me on my left as he pulls the chair out. “Sorry, Claire Bear. Just need to squeeze in here, if I may.”
“Of course.” I move away from the table so Nigel can get his belly into the chair without bumping it into me. As I take a step, Greyson steers me toward the sideboard where the buffet is laid. His fingers are hot on my skin and I try to shut down the part of my brain screaming, Greyson Vaughn is touching me! Oh my God, he’s touching me! I turn to him and ask, “Um, what are you doing? Everyone’s sitting down.”
“I have a suggestion and I was wondering if I might talk you into a more intimate meal?” He nods towards my grandmother, whose eyes dart away as I glance at her. “Unless you’d object? I don’t think anyone else would, and of course I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
I narrow my eyes. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”
Greyson looks like he’s trying not to smile. “I’m positive you just assured me you had zero interest in my ungentlemanly behavior.”
“I said no such thing. I said I doubted I’d discover if you were good in bed, which is still true.” I look up at him, making my eyes wide. “Unless by intimate, you mean…”
Greyson laughs loudly enough for several people at the table to turn their heads and look at us. “I’m hungry, so it’s just a dinner invitation. For now. Unless your family would object to me stealing you away?”
Well, no. In fact, I’m surprised Grandmother isn’t over here ushering us out the door herself. As for me... On the one hand is my family, whom I only see once or twice a year. On the other, I could have dinner with Greyson Vaughn and join the part of my family I actually like for drinks and pudding afterwards. No. Contest.
I nod once. “What do you have in mind?”
“When everyone gets up to fill their plates, we get ours and take them to the library?” Again with the sincerity? Maybe he’s not acting.
I, on the other hand, deserve an Oscar for the vaguely disinterested tone I’ve managed. “Why again, exactly?”
“I have a proposition for you, but I’d prefer to keep our conversation private.” Greyson raises his eyebrows at me. God, his eyes are green. They’re nothing like Hugh’s watery blue eyes that look bloodshot all the time.
I mentally slap myself. We’re in a Hugh-free zone here. Not that flirting with Greyson Vaughn is doing me any good, but still. He did just invite me to a dinner à deux.
“And gentlemanly, of course.” I turn back towards the table because the scraping of chairs has stopped and if we continue standing here, everyone will start paying more attention to us than they already are. I’m not even sure that, aside from Caleb, most of my cousins even know who Greyson is, but it’s that the “baby cousin” is with a guy at
all.
I take a small step and Greyson’s hand grazes the small of my back. The fangirl in me squees because, bloody hell, Greyson Vaughn is touching me.
Greyson Vaughn.
Is touching me.
AGAIN.
He even waits until I’m seated and helps to push my chair into the table, flashing a half-smile as he sits down. I manage a small smile in response and reach for the glass of fizz in front of me. I’ve already had some wine and the fizz feels like a bad idea, but I need something to calm my jangling nerves.
Caleb leans across Nigel and says, “Claire Bear, did Nigel tell you about the sheep that have taken over his back garden?”
No! No, no, no, no, no. Dammit. I give Caleb my best panic face, but he grins and turns away as Nigel starts talking. “Very remiss of me not to tell you because it’s really quite funny. Well, perhaps not conventionally funny, but amusing enough for a slight chuckle at least. Of course, I had a proper belly laugh about it at first, although now it’s decidedly less laughable.”
Bugger me with a fish fork.
I feel my eyes glaze over like they always do when Nigel starts in on one of his stories. It will last the entire meal and at the end I’ll have no idea what he said, nor will I be able to interrupt because he’ll look away every time I try. I don’t want to be impolite and ignore him, so I’m effectively trapped. The only saving grace is I’m about to disappear to the library with Greyson, meaning Caleb will get his own back.
I’m not sure which of those things make me smile more.
Chapter Four
“So you want to do this, after all?” My fork remains poised over my plate, where it’s been for the last three minutes as Greyson has outlined his proposition.
“I might not like it, but drastic times call for drastic measures. If you’re game to play my girlfriend, mystery woman, sex slave, whatever you want to call it, I’ll tell Mike we’re on.” Greyson gives me a hopeful grin. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he’s got a dimple in one cheek. It makes me realize all of his previous smiles, although stunning, were nothing compared to the real thing. I’d feel honored, maybe even a little smug, if I wasn’t so confused.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” This is the easiest question to ask. By far.
Greyson takes a forkful of sautéed green beans, chews, and swallows before he answers. “I don’t suppose you’re a lesbian, are you?”
“Well, do threesomes count?”
“Uh…” For the first time Greyson falters, but he recovers quickly. “Why don’t you tell me about it and we’ll see?”
It’s my turn to grin. “Are you a closet voyeur?”
“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” He takes another bite of beans.
“Because you’re twelve? Or because you want to compare notes?” I’m not going to answer him either way, but hopefully it’s not the latter. I’d have to try to concoct my so-called notes from those erotica novels I used to read, and I have a feeling Greyson would be able to tell.
“Mostly because I’m twelve.” Greyson’s trademark smolder disappears for a second as he laughs and Oh. My. Sainted. Aunt. It’s a good thing he doesn’t bring that laugh out often because I’d be a goner.
“Noted.” I try to bite back a smile, but I can’t. “It’s good to know what I’m dealing with. Which, speaking of, I don’t in the broader sense of things. Like, at all.”
“Right, back to the business at hand. Well, I was thinking this would be acceptable if I could pay you?” Greyson takes a bite of salmon, but I don’t miss the slight hesitation as he speaks, a sure sign he’s uncomfortable talking cash. I bet Michael does all of his negotiating for him and I wonder why he’s not offloaded this one, considering it was Michael’s idea in the first place.
“Pay me?” I push my food around on my plate. I’ve scarcely eaten a thing. No shock there.
“I’m asking you to play a part. At the end of the day this is a job.”
“Which, by definition, means I should expect payment.” I squirm a little and force a grin as I continue. Greyson’s not the only one uncomfortable talking about money. The difference is he has probably doesn’t have to even think about it, let alone talk about it. “But what does me not being a lesbian have to do with anything?”
“As with any job, it’s important to set expectations. You being a lesbian would make this easier because the boundaries would already be drawn, but if we establish parameters, we can still avoid complications.” Greyson’s tone is flat like he’s talking about the best way to get to London Bridge during rush hour.
But I’m reeling. Just a little bit. “Complications as in?”
“The usual. You know, personal feelings and, um, emotions.” Greyson has the grace to stammer. It makes him human, which is almost as appealing as that laugh. Almost being the key word because it’s clear he assumes it’s my emotions that will be the complication. Jerk. “At the end of the day, we only need to present a believable photo-ready relationship.”
Right. Those photo ops Grandmother mentioned. “And then make sure there are actual photos?”
“That’s the easy part. Anyone with a smart phone can take a photo these days, and they’re usually the ones that end up online because they look more authentic.” Greyson grimaces. “Most of those coffee-run photos you see are from people just passing by. I think they’re pointless, but you’d be surprised how important it is to be seen out doing so-called normal things. A good coffee date photo can make you.”
“I work in a coffee shop and I can safely say good coffee date photos are important to regular people, too. However, usually the only photos being taken are selfies.” I push my food around on my plate. “So were you and Alexa Gayle a photo op relationship?”
Greyson lets out a sigh. “No, that one was real. More the fool, I.”
He sounds so full of genuine regret that for maybe the first time since we’ve been talking I think what a strange situation it must be for him, too. And not least of all to be thrown together with me—a complete stranger—for the weekend. I think about asking how exactly you have a fake relationship–and what these parameters are, exactly–but what comes out instead is, “Do you miss her? I mean, you guys were a thing.”
“Are you digging, Claire Bear?” Greyson’s smile turns plastic and his tone hardens. “You want the dirty details?”
“It was just a question. Forget I asked.” I let my fork clatter to the plate. “So. Stalking. Are you or aren’t you?
Greyson takes another bite of salmon. He doesn’t look at me as he pushes his food with his fork, but when he does look up, his expression matches his tone. “Do I look like I need to stalk my ex?”
“No, but you don’t look like you’d need a fake girlfriend either. And yet…” I make myself hold his gaze until he looks away. It’s a good thing because my bravado is all for show. My palms are so damp, even sitting on them doesn’t help.
Greyson lets out a long breath. “Why would I stalk someone I broke up with?”
“A million reasons. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Control.”
“All valid motives for someone who’s stalking their ex, which I am not.” Greyson holds my eyes. “I realize you haven’t agreed to this, but if you do, it would help if you at least believed me.”
“I didn’t say I don’t believe you. I just don’t understand why she’s saying this stuff now? You broke up a while ago.” According to my very sketchy memory, at least. I can’t remember the last time I saw something about Greyson and Alexa together, but it’s been at least six months? A year?
Greyson smiles for the first time since we started talking about Alexa. It’s not even in the same universe as his earlier grin, but I’ll take it. “Have you ever had a hashtag named after you?”
I smile too, but reluctantly. “Um, no.”
“‘VaughnGayle’ was a fucking goldmine. I’m sure I’m not supposed to say that, but it’s true. Alexa and I were the real deal, but it sure as hell didn’t hurt either one of u
s to have all of those people out there in the Twitterverse shipping us.” Greyson smiles even as he rolls his eyes.
“I have to say, I shipped you a bit myself.” What the hell, I can give a little, even if I’m understating it a bit. I mean, VaughnGayle Wedding Watch? I was all over that.
“See? Case in point.” He shrugs. “Alexa loved that we had such a huge following, and now that she’s about to drop a new album, she starts saying how I’m lonely, missing her, whatever, and it starts it all back up again.”
“And people start speculating about VaughnGayle, which means increased exposure for each of you separately, too.” As a marketing major, I understand Alexa’s motives. Organic exposure online is pure gold.
“I don’t want to fuck her over, but I sure as hell don’t want to be used by her at the expense of my career. Stalking isn’t attractive unless you’re looking to be cast as the next psycho killer. If I have a girlfriend, Alexa resurrecting VaughnGayle just comes across as sad.”
“And desperate,” I add. “But what if people find out this relationship with me is all for show? I mean, the potential for you to come off looking equally desperate in this scenario seems huge.”
Never mind me. I’ll come off looking like a gold digger and a tramp. But I’ll have more success appealing to Greyson’s ego versus his conscience, I think.
“Then people don’t find out.” Greyson’s tone turns businesslike. “Part of our agreement needs to include a confidentiality clause. We should also hammer out a few of the specifics. First, physical contact. Some is going to be necessary, of course, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Are you okay with holding hands, my arm around your waist, that kind of thing?”
I nod. “Um, sure. Yes.”
A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2) Page 3