A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Why?” My heels click on the wooden floor. Have they gotten louder or is it my imagination?

  Caleb shrugs. “She didn’t say, but I think she wanted to talk to you about the G-Man.”

  For fuck’s sake. “About what, specifically?” Yep. My heels are definitely louder.

  “The money shot.” Caleb’s tone is even. One thing I love about my cousin is that he tells it like it is without worrying about niceties and little things like feelings. It’s also the thing I hate about him.

  “Great. Do you think I should ask her how much tongue I should use? I know it’s a fine line between too little and not enough.”

  “I really think you should. You can never have too much input when it comes to your staged kiss.” Caleb laughs. “Speaking of, I kind of lingered when she and Mike were talking, and he wants to beat the time zone difference to get something online sooner than later.”

  “I guess I’d better be ready to pucker up then.” I roll my eyes, but my pulse spikes. It’s 4:30 here, which means it’s nearly midday on the East Coast. Plenty of time for Greyson to be trending on Twitter by night fall. Would we be worthy of a hashtag? #VaughnDyer, maybe?

  Or not. No one knows me, and in order for #VaughnDyer to happen, someone would have to actually find out who I am. Definitely not part of the deal. My self-proclaimed brief and beautiful fling with Greyson is brief for a reason. I spin away from Caleb before he can stop me. “You know, I think I’m supposed to be in an Uno championship, so I’m going to find the kids before I get distracted and forget.”

  “Claire Bear,” Caleb starts.

  I just shake my head. I don’t even turn around because I know if I see Caleb’s expression—whether it’s sympathy, understanding, or confusion—it will be worse. I agreed to this, knowing full well what the stipulations were, so I don’t get to whine about it just because Greyson’s made me uncomfortable.

  I head to the games room where it looks like the littles have all become one with their devices. I nudge Patrick with my toe, but he just grunts, which is all the invitation I need to pour myself a drink and sink down on one of the leather couches.

  When Grandmother comes in and perches beside me, I’m mellow enough that I barely even blink. “Claire. There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Grandmother says. She’s perfectly put together in a black and white plaid knee-length skirt and a wine-colored velvet jacket, looking every bit the dowager matron.

  “I came in to check on the kids. Is everything okay?”

  “Michael said we need to make sure to get a shot of a private moment between you and Greyson. Now might be a good time with everyone scattered before supper.” Grandmother says this without a trace of irony.

  “A private moment meaning what?” I know perfectly well what it means. I just wonder if Grandmother and Michael have had this conversation with Greyson. Or maybe they don’t need to because it’s just another day’s work for him? And bloody hell, I don’t want to think too closely about why I’m getting pissy about this again.

  “If you and Greyson are going to be convincing enough to truly help his situation, an intimate moment or two will be necessary,” Grandmother says. Her lips purse a little and I feel her frustration more than if she’d shouted at me.

  “I realize that. It won’t be a problem.” Especially if the inappropriate bubble of anticipation keeps growing in my chest.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Grandmother’s voice evens out a bit.

  “Although, you know what I think is interesting about this?” I speak as if I’m talking to myself. “No one asked Greyson or me if we wanted to be a part of this little scheme. Not really. Michael decided before we even got here that it was a bloody brilliant way to solve Greyson’s problem, you volunteered me, and that was that. But what if he doesn’t want to solve his problem with me? Did anyone ask him that?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Grandmother rolls her eyes.

  Which fuels my underlying frustration and gives it an outlet. “I mean, sure, I’m being paid and it’s not like I couldn’t use the money, but how great would it be if he’d been fully onboard before being thrown into this?”

  “What difference would it make?” Grandmother asks.

  Because then he would have picked me instead of having me thrust upon him.

  Aloud, I say, “It would have made a difference to me, that’s all.”

  Grandmother pulls herself up to her full height. She’s not that tall, but she carries herself like someone twice her size. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way, but you are in it now. You’ve agreed and we’re counting on you. I’ll tell Michael that you’re available and we’ll find Greyson to set something up. I’ll be back.”

  She turns and strides from the room without a backwards glance. I sigh and sink into the leather cushion. Annoying Grandmother is never a good idea. She’s a master at holding a grudge and this involves Greyson and Michael, too. Besides, I said I’d follow through with the plan, even if it’s inspiring my hostility towards everyone involved.

  I sigh again and close my eyes, but open them a second later when I feel the couch cushion jostle. Scarlett sits cross-legged next to me, her face etched with concern. “What’s going on? I just passed your grandmother shooting daggers at everyone in the hallway, and you haven’t been yourself all day. As evidenced by the fact you’re in here with the kidlets. Willingly.”

  I give Scarlett a weak smile. “Don’t knock a good game of Uno until you’ve tried it.”

  “I prefer strip poker myself.” Scarlett flashes a grin, then turns serious. “I’ll ignore the fact not one of these kids is playing Uno if you tell me what’s up.”

  I settle back into the cushion. “This whole Greyson Vaughn thing is making me feel like a muppet. I don’t know him, so it’s awkward, and then I act stupid because I’m uncomfortable, which in turn makes me look stupid.”

  “So get to know him. No brainer.” Scarlett shrugs. “He seems like a decent guy.”

  “Sure, if you don’t intentionally wind him up, I’m sure he’s great.” I shake my head. “We saw each other up in the village earlier and it didn’t go well.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to talk about it. I kind of still don’t.” I sigh. “Suffice it to say, I felt cornered, so I was mean.”

  “Classic Claire.” Scarlett laughs. “Remember that one time Jaz started teasing you about that pimple on your chin and you said at least it was temporary and you didn’t look like a knobhead all the time? And there was that little kid standing there and he walked around chanting, ‘Knobhead, knobhead,’ every time he saw Jaz?”

  “I thought his parents were going to kill me.” I smile, but it fades. “That was different. And it was Jasper. He’s like a brother to me. No one’s ever going to suggest we snog, fake or otherwise.”

  “Besides the fact Bea would kill you, no. But that’s not my point. My point is you hate feeling dumb and when you do, you lash out. You always have. As I remember, Jaz forgave you and Greyson will too. It’s a simple matter of apologizing.” Scarlett enunciates every syllable of the last word.

  I scowl. “Sure. I’ll just walk up to him and say, ‘Sorry for being gobby earlier. I’m ready to play nice now.’”

  Scarlett glances over my shoulder and nods as she scrambles to her feet. “No time like the present.”

  Dammit. Judging by the way Scarlett scurries off, I know Greyson is behind me. I steel myself, unsure of how much he heard, though he erases all question when he sits down and says, “Gobby?”

  He looks like he’s trying not to smile and I feel my lips tilt up a little. “Difficult. Offensive. Generally bad-tempered. Bitchy. Any or all of the above.”

  “I’d ask you if you want to talk about it, but I assume you don’t.”

  “I don’t, thank you.” If Greyson hadn’t sought me out, I’d assume he’s trying to wind me up. But he doesn’t look smug. He looks…resigned. Which is why the next
words come out before I can stop them. “What’s wrong?”

  He looks down at his hands in his lap and shakes his head, letting out a long breath. When he looks up at me, his green eyes are lasers searing my skin. “I need your help. I mean, more so.”

  I shift so I’m facing him. “Why? What is it?”

  “Scarlett and Caleb uploaded those photos last night and they went live, which was great. Except Alexa called bullshit, and I know I shouldn’t care, but dammit. This is what she’s been doing all along, and now, of course, she has something to actually respond to.” For the first time since I’ve met Greyson, he sounds angry about this whole thing.

  Greyson fishes his phone out of his pocket and holds it between us. He scrolls to something and presses play and I have to inch closer to actually see it. This close, I not only smell Greyson’s cologne again, but I feel the heat coming from him and it makes me want to lean way in. But I forget both as the video starts.

  “Hi there. On your way to the gym this evening?” Julie Jenkins of Entertainment Now is dressed all in white on the screen, a red scarf wound around her neck.

  The camera zooms in on Alexa Gayle, who flashes her bright perfect smile at the camera. Her blonde hair is pulled up in the classic workout high ponytail and she’s wearing a pink lycra crop top that shows off ridiculous abs above tiny yellow shorts. “Have to fit it in sometime.”

  The camera pans out now to show both Alexa and Julie in the frame. Julie takes on an air of inquisitiveness as she says, “Maybe burning off some frustration, as well?”

  Alexa’s smile fades. “You mean the photos of Greyson, I assume?” When Julie nods, Alexa continues, shaking her head and rolling her eyes a little the way you would at an exasperating toddler. “You know, Julie, I don’t know what that’s about. He’s been phoning, texting, and sending me emails for weeks and now suddenly he’s got a girlfriend he’s spending the weekend with in England? It’s a big surprise, isn’t it?”

  Julie nods and a line forms between her brows. “Are you saying it doesn’t quite add up?”

  “I’m saying if he’s found happiness, I’m thrilled for him. But a handful of photos don’t make a relationship, you know?” Alexa looks almost sheepish as she continues, “I mean, he’s an actor and a damn good one. It’s his job to make fiction look real.”

  “So are you saying you don’t think these photos of Greyson Vaughn and his mystery woman are genuine?” Julie isn’t an actor, but she manages to look passably shocked.

  Alexa shrugs and says, “I’m not saying anything of the sort. But I’m not not saying that either. I think the proof will be in what happens next.”

  Julie nods and says, “Thank you, Alexa. Enjoy your gym time and do a few crunches for me.” She turns back to the camera and continues. “So now the question is: will there be more news from across the pond coming our way from Greyson Vaughn and his mystery Brit, or were today’s photos another bit of acting from a man trying—and, dare I say, failing—to make his ex jealous?”

  Greyson presses pause on the video and I stare at Julie Jenkins frozen on the screen, her mouth half open, before turning to glance at Greyson. His mouth is a thin line and his eyes have a hard glint to them. I wonder if it’s inspired by Julie, Alexa, or both, but I’m afraid to ask. The only thing I do say is, “Wow. That –”

  “Is a debacle?” Greyson snaps. He pushes his fingers through his hair and lets out a long sigh. “Sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m not handling this very well.”

  “Is there a script for handling emotional blackmail from your ex? Because if there is, I bet there’s a huge market for it.” My voice is flat.

  Greyson barks out a low laugh. “You’d think there would be, right?”

  I laugh a little too, and a beat of silence falls between us. We both stare at the black screen of Greyson’s phone until I start, “I’m sorry about –”

  He talks over me. “It’s her birthday in a few days and maybe if I call her and wish her a happy birthday that will get her to cool it.”

  “How?” I whip my head up. “Won’t that just give her an actual call from you on her phone she could use as proof that she’s been right all along? Plus, what are you going to say when she asks about me? Are you going to lie?”

  “Maybe. Probably.” He shoots me a sidelong glance. “Or we could always FaceTime her together?”

  I jump to my feet faster than if he’d stabbed me. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Greyson extends his hand to mine, but stops short of touching me. “You wouldn’t have to say much, just be there.”

  I straighten, throwing my shoulders back. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “As a heart attack.” Greyson’s voice is hard and flat. “I need this to end. I had an email from a director this morning that was basically a ‘sorry, can’t touch you with a ten-foot pole right now.’ Mike’s scouting roles for my next film and so far I have about two bad options.”

  “That sucks.” I let myself perch on the edge of the couch cushion. “If you call Alexa, what would you say?”

  “Something along the lines of, ‘I saw you on EN. Can you back the hell off?’” Greyson’s expression is so defeated I can’t help sliding back down beside him on the couch.

  I offer Greyson a weak smile and ask, “Do you think that will work?”

  He shrugs. “No, but if it’s my attention she wants, then maybe it will help.”

  “You said last night she wanted the publicity,” I remind him.

  “Hashtag VaughnGayle for the win.” Greyson raises a fist in the air and then lets it flop back on the couch. “You know, a less jaded man might ask how the hell this became his life.”

  I want to point out that he’s got a pretty great life, even with the Alexa annoyance, but I don’t. Instead I surprise us both by saying, “So my whole dissertation at uni is about branding, as you know. As part of my research, I looked at how the Adobo restaurant chain recovered from all their bad press after the whole E. coli thing. I don’t know if you remember, but a lot of people got sick after eating their food and it turned out their supplier was buying spinach that hadn’t been properly washed. People started boycotting their restaurants and they took a real hit on social media because it came out that it started as a cost-cutting measure.”

  Greyson furrows his brow and nods. “I remember that. There was even talk of them closing down completely at one point.”

  “Right. But then they issued an apology and outlined a plan for how they were going to fix the problem, including not only changing suppliers, but buying all organic, even though it costs more. The CEO went to visit an organic farm in Texas and took press with him, and there was actual news footage of the CEO walking through a corn field with the farmer and his family, talking about the importance of sustainable farming. I mean there was coverage on CNN of the CEO of Adobo comparing the heat levels of various kinds of chili peppers. Suddenly, Adobo went from the purveyor of puke to the poster child for responsible sourcing of ingredients.” I shake my head. “You couldn’t buy that kind of exposure, even if you wanted to.”

  “Agreed, but I’m sorry, I’m missing the connection.” Greyson actually does sound sorry, which makes me smile.

  “Actions speak louder than words. Let’s go out tonight and we’ll let everyone and their sister photograph us.” My smile is genuine because, for the first time since I met Greyson, I feel like I have the upper hand. “By the end of the night, there won’t be a doubt in Alexa’s mind that this is real.”

  Greyson opens his mouth and the kids, who’ve been quiet the whole time, choose this minute to run by shrieking. It drowns out whatever Greyson is trying to say, but it doesn’t matter. He squeezes my knee for a brief second and pulls me close until we’re arm-to-arm, hip-to-hip, thigh-to-thigh. I try to keep the thought at bay, but it slips through.

  This is nice. Better than nice. And definitely better than words.

  Chapter Ten

  “We’re going
to Revolution. Why are you being picky? You like it there.” I’m perched on a stool in the corner of the kitchen, stirring the gravy on the hob while Scarlett drizzles honey over the parsnips before putting them back in the oven for five more minutes. The kitchen is steamy, even with the windows open and I hope I don’t stink of roast chicken when we’re done.

  “Don’t forget the nut loaf in that oven,” Lou calls to Scarlett. “If it gets overdone, it’s like eating cardboard.”

  “No worse than your chickens then,” Scarlett says, grinning.

  “Cheeky sod.” Lou laughs. “You wait and see if that piece of chocolate torte you hid in the back of the refrigerator is still there later.”

  “Are you going to bin it just for spite?”

  “Might do.” Lou turns her attention to me. “No lumps in that gravy, please.”

  I splay my hand on my chest. “As if.”

  Lou grins and turns back to the row of chickens on the countertop. The skin is all crispy and brown and they look amazing. My stomach churns in anticipation. At least that’s part of the reason.

  The other part is Scarlett’s reaction to the plan Greyson and I hatched in the games room before I came to help out in the kitchen. To be fair, it wasn’t much of a plan—go out to a local bar and let people indiscriminately take our picture—but I don’t know why Scarlett is acting strange about it.

  I turn to her. “So? Are you going to come out later or not?”

  Scarlett nods slowly. “Yes. But…”

  I wait a full minute for her to continue. When she doesn’t I stop stirring, put my hands on my hips, and face her. I don’t have to speak. She points to the pot and says, “Don’t stop stirring. It’s almost done. And yes, I’ll come tonight, but I’m not sure what you both are hoping is going to happen.”

  Now it’s my turn to be confused. “We’re going out. People will take photos and then those photos will find their way to the internet.”

  “No offense, but how exactly do you expect that to happen? Most people have no idea how to send their info into Elias Craig and his ilk, so the end result will be a bunch of photos on people’s personal Facebook and Instagram feeds and that will be it.” Scarlett gives me one of her pointed looks. “I doubt there are any paparazzi hanging around anywhere up here, but even if there are, do you want to deal with that?”