Swallowing a bitter taste that formed in the back of her throat, she focused on the board meeting. If she was lucky, maybe Grant wouldn’t be interested in either woman. If he hit it off with one of them, Emily’s work would be done. She’d have no more excuses to hang out with him, though why she wanted to, she wasn’t sure.
6
A shadow moved off to Grant’s left, the breath of a movement so slight he was tempted to ignore it—which he would have done, except that probably meant it was important. He swung his right leg out to turn his body toward the potential threat, arms outstretched with his laser gun poised to take action. Even though his gun was only modeled after a CIA-issued Glock 19, he couldn’t shoot first and ask questions later, not if he was serious about training.
He probably could watch a couple of movies, listen to a few podcasts, and call it good as far as research went, but Grant was serious about his craft. He was proud to call himself a hands-on author. He had the means to experience many things, and while his morals and ethics would revolt at taking a life with the ease his characters did, he’d come close enough when he’d shot his own virtual “undercover” partner to express the remorse in words for his readers.
The shadow turned out to be a rat running up the side of the warehouse wall, thick and hairy and revolting enough to feel like the dregs of a huge city. In reality, he was in the FBI-style virtual simulation rooms in his new mansion.
“Brilliant!” Callum’s voice startled him as much as the overheads light flickering on. Although not loud in volume, Callum’s voice was the one Grant had become attuned to. Callum’s advice influenced many of Grant’s decisions when he wrote, reflections of their training sessions together. “Have you had enough for today, mate, or do you want to go again?”
Grant holstered his piece and wiped a forearm across his perspiring forehead. “As fun as this is, I do need to get some actual writing done.” He strode quickly to a small desk by the door where he’d left a scratch pad and pen, and scribbled a couple of phrases and scraps of sentences for when he sat down at his computer later.
Callum chuckled. “I take it you got the inspiration you needed, then?”
When Grant had called Callum for an unscheduled session, he’d been stuck in a scene, and while his trainer had been no help on fine-tuning details to fill the plot hole, he had been able to tailor their training to that particular scene. “Physically, yes. This will be great.” At least he hadn’t killed a fellow agent again. “Thank you.”
Grant and Callum had trained together for about a year now. Annalise had found him who knew where, but he’d been an almost perfect choice. A former police officer, Callum knew everything there was to do with fighting in all its forms—wrestling, hand-to-hand combat, every sort of weapon from tasers to more traditional firearms, and police procedures.
Grant had even consulted him when designing the house, making sure he was willing to move, and planning the training rooms, a shooting range, and the dummies he’d need for punching bags. If Grant hadn’t been so pleased with Callum, he would have insisted that Annalise find him a former federal agent instead. He was great for that part of book research and a good workout to boot, but what he needed now was a brainstorming partner. Someone fluent in real CIA procedures he could bounce ideas off of. The thought resurrected a flicker of a memory. Didn’t he know someone . . . or someone he knew someone here in town who had? He couldn’t quite remember, the information just out of reach, but he’d get it. Eventually.
A quick shower and change found Grant back in his Frank Lloyd Wright house, clacking away at his keyboard until he’d written every idea that had occurred to him during the workout. He stood from his chair, floating on his writer’s high, and walked to the small refrigerator for ice water and an apple. It had been a productive day.
At a natural break between scenes, he could start on the next section, but fresh air called. He’d barely stepped out when his watch buzzed with a message from Annalise: Ready to catch up?
The two of them had an agreement. If he was in the writing cabin, she wasn’t to disturb him unless absolutely necessary, but as soon as he stepped out, a camera notified her, and she took that as a signal to pass on messages.
He pushed a button on the watch to call her. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Your timing is impeccable. Most everything I have for you can wait until our scheduled meeting before dinner, but as it happens, Emily Wood is here.” The extra politeness in her voice indicated that Annalise was not amused by this, but Emily was standing next to her, listening in. Annalise would never let on that she was bugged by the inconvenience of Emily not having an appointment, but Grant knew his cousin well.
A tingle of excitement ran through him. Surprised by this reaction, he decided to play it down. “I was going to take a walk to clear my head anyway.” Grant was far from annoyed. Running into Emily would be a nice perk to the day. “I’ll be there momentarily.”
When the main house came into sight, three women stood on the patio by the infinity pool, rather than the two Grant expected. His excitement deflated. Was Emily there to introduce him to someone already? He suppressed the urge to pat down his hair, though he had the dreadful habit of running his hand through it when struggling to find the right words. If he had messy hair, so be it. He jogged up the steep steps to reach the patio level.
“Welcome.” He flashed them a big, fake smile, and stopped in front of the trio. Why was it that minutes ago, he’d been thrilled, and now he was reluctant? “Thanks, Annalise.”
Her answering smile was full of relief. He’d given her some huge assignments that morning, and there was no way she’d had time to complete them yet. Dismissed, she disappeared through the back door and into the house.
He turned his attention back to the other two. “Hi, Emily.” She looked lovely today in a dark denim shirt and a casual skirt. When his eyes locked with hers, he felt the kind of connection he’d longed for in high school.
After a moment, he tore his eyes from Emily to greet her friend. She was young and fidgety and completely not his type, but he wanted her to feel comfortable. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself.
“H-Hattie Smith.” In an instant, her pale skin matched the shade of her shoulder-length, Medusa-style locks. And to think he’d been concerned about the state of his hair. But there was something refreshing about her innocence and meekness. “Mr. Robbins, your house is amazing! I’ve never seen anything half so huge—well, except for that show on TV, Grand Homes by Design—you know, you ought to see if they’ll come film your home and put it on the show, wouldn’t that be amazing? Or I bet there’s a MyHeartChannel . . .”
Thank goodness she got distracted, probably trying to recall a certain MyHeartChannel series, because this kind of talk about his house made him uncomfortable, and she hadn’t even seen the best parts.
“A pleasure to meet you, Hattie.” He turned to Emily, dying to ask why she’d come, but chances were he already knew: the introduction. “I was about to go for a walk since I sit so much of my day. Time to get my blood flowing and recharge my brain synapses.”
Not that he’d been sitting all day. His thighs had screamed with very step he’d climbed on the way up here, sore from the dead lift he’d done with Callum a couple days before. Complaining muscles were never a disappointment, especially when they reminded him that he’d finally broken the plateau he’d been stuck at for weeks. A new personal best always brought with it a shiny new goal to achieve.
“Will you join me?” Did a walk fit into Emily’s so-far not-communicated agenda?
“We have a few minutes.” Emily chose a direction toward the neighborhood entrance—the opposite of his original destination, but that didn’t matter. “We can’t stay long, but since we parked at the security station, this will work out perfectly.”
Strange. Why did they park rather than drive to his house? Eyebrows pulled together, he gave her a questioning, sideways glance. That would have been quite the hike, e
specially if they were to go both ways. “Did you walk all this way? Maybe we should go inside and sit down for a while.” They had to be exhausted.
Emily shook her head. “No need. Mr. Phillips drove us here on his ATV, so a walk would be great.” She led the way around the side of the house, as comfortable with the home and garden paths as if she lived there. “We’d better get going, because we need to get back to the office for a meeting.”
Grant matched her quick pace, and they were halfway around the house before he noticed that Hattie wasn’t keeping up. He reached out to stop Emily, his hand brushing hers, and for a crazy moment, he imagined intertwining their fingers. Pulling himself together, he took a breath and turned. “Hattie, are you all right? Is there something I can do to help?”
Out of breath, Hattie stopped when the other two did, though she was still several yards from catching up with them. “I just—” She took a step, wobbly on her feet in a way he hadn’t noticed before. “I hurt my ankle a couple of days ago, and . . .”
He took Hattie’s hint and ran with it. “I’ll grab my UTV.” Even without the exercise, the fresh air would do him the good he needed, and it would get Hattie off her feet. “But don’t take this wrong. I’m not trying to get rid of you.”
“No worries. We just came by to invite you to a biking activity tomorrow,” Emily said.
“Biking activity? That sounds fun. I want to hear all about it, but let me grab the side-by-side. I’ll be right back.”
He jogged off and returned shortly. Emily climbed in next to him, with Hattie in the back seat. If this was a setup, it wasn’t going well, which was fine with him. Emily filled their short ride with details about the next day’s outing, observations about spring’s progress on the plants, her excitement about kayaking on the lake, and greetings to neighbors as they jogged or drove past.
The canopy of trees stretched over the narrow road, which wound like a deer trail through the woods. With its beauty and seclusion, this neighborhood really was different from any he’d ever lived in. A refuge from the busyness his world had become, it applied peace like a salve over the stresses of his life. Even more healing, however, was the easy conversation with Emily. As they chatted, he felt a real connection that allowed the tenderness of her former rejection, the previous hurt that had been so excruciating and searing at the time, to finally fade into a faint scar.
Emily talked to him as they had once talked, bubbling on about the things that were important to her—her work and her family, including her sister Isabella and her two nieces. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she recounted the way she’d taken the girls heart-attacking for Valentine’s Day, plastering doors at the independent living center with pink and red paper hearts.
“Have you met Ever Bryant? She runs a vintage clothing shop on Main Street. She’s the sweetest person ever.” Emily drummed her fingers over her lips, taut with concentration. “I wonder . . .” She eyed him, appraising him, and he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t aware she was comparing him to this other woman. “Oh, no, she’s got a boyfriend.”
His relief at the candidate being found unavailable made Grant pause. Still, the real potential of it had landed on his chest like a cannonball. If he was going to start dating, he should be doing the work himself. He should be meeting people, talking to them, choosing his own dates—but he’d consented to this horrible, ill-conceived plan, and now he was stuck. He blew out a breath and forced a smile. He did not want to talk about this with Emily. The whole ride, he’d thought they were rekindling a friendship that could maybe even turn into something more, until she dumped ice water down his back by trying to set him up. With the comment about Ever, he was put back in his place.
Emily wasn’t trying to date him; she was trying to find a date for him. That was what Annalise had hired her to do, but he hated being reminded of it. He set his jaw and his resolve. He’d go to the mountain bike tour tomorrow, be kind to anyone set before him, and see if any sparks flew.
They pulled up to the security booth with Emily’s car parked in the adjoining lot. Grant allowed the side-by-side to idle and stop, the soft purr abruptly overtaken by silence and then the sound of a lone passing car outside the neighborhood. It was a quiet he hoped he never again took for granted.
“We’re here,” he said simply, as if his passengers hadn’t noticed.
Elton Phillips emerged from the security booth. “Mr. Robbins?” The question insinuated that Grant had done something wrong, that driving these women to the neighborhood entrance was a faux pas of some sort.
“Elton.” Grant gave him a terse nod. “Thank you for delivering these ladies to my doorstep, but you left them without return transportation.” Though his tone was light, the censure was clear.
Emily stepped between the men, pulling their attention away from each other. “Thank you both for the ATV rides. More fun than driving in, that’s for sure.” Emily softened the slight tension with her easy manner. “Wouldn’t you agree, Hattie?” She nudged her friend.
Emily gave her friend a pointed look, moving her eyes to the security guard and then back again. So Grant hadn’t been Emily’s target for Hattie. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, working out the kinks in one pass. Feeling much more at ease, he settled into the conversation.
“Before today, had you ever been escorted by the police, Hattie?” Emily winked at her.
Elton cleared his throat, offended. “I am not the police.”
Emily laughed. “Sorry, Mr. Phillips. I was only kidding.” She cocked her head at him with a pout. “Don’t steal our fun.” She grabbed onto Hattie’s elbow. “It’s always been one of my friend’s secret fantasies, hasn’t it?” She squeezed her friend’s shoulder, huddling against her in a quick hug.
A sudden flush swallowed Hattie whole. “Come on, Em—” She strained against Emily to move toward the car. “You have an appointment back at the chamber, remember?”
“Thanks for stopping by.” Caught by the spring green of Emily’s eyes, Grant faltered. Suddenly, he smelled spearmint gum and newly sharpened pencils. His head swam with months’ worth of memories he’d packed away in his youth. He shook himself back to the present. “See you both tomorrow.” Though he included Hattie in the statement, he never looked away from Emily, and his chest grew warm from her gaze. “Text the address to Annalise, and she’ll make sure it’s in my calendar.”
Grant watched Emily’s car disappear, and then noticed Elton had done the same. He hazarded a guess that it wasn’t a professional obligation.
“Could I—” Elton started and then stopped again.
Grant tipped his head forward, silently encouraging him to ask away.
Elton took the hint. “Do you—” He swallowed and seemed to be gathering his courage. “What’s Emily’s story?”
“Her . . . story?” Grant took a long look at the Mountain Cove’s head of security. Elton’s interest was definitely not professional.
This conversation was wrong. Wrong and unprofessional. They weren’t friends, Grant didn’t know Elton enough to have an opinion about who he should date, and he wasn’t going to talk about Emily’s personal life.
If someone had asked him this question when he was a freshman in high school, he would have been upset, because Grant was interested in dating her himself. If someone had asked him senior year, he would have wished them luck and her good riddance. But now? To say he was conflicted oversimplified things. Either way, he had no right to an opinion.
Grant carefully formed his answer, purposely misunderstanding Elton. “She’s been coming in and out of the neighborhood because she’s doing some contract work for me. Why? Is there a problem?”
“A problem?” Elton barked out a laugh. “Not exactly. She’s just been awfully . . . nice to me.” His words were slow and deliberate. “Not too many people stop to chat on their way in and out every day. Yesterday, she came by—not on the list—with a box of turtle fudge from that shop on Main Street. She said she was in the n
eighborhood and wanted to say hi, but it’s kind of my job to be a little wary. I have to make sure she’s not scheming to get around security for some reason. She may look sweet and act nice, but sometimes those are the people you have to watch out for the most.”
It was all Grant could do not to laugh. He took a deep breath before he could trust himself with a simple “Oh, I hear ya.” Sweet, happy little Emily, casing the joint. Nope.
But he was just as sure something was up. Emily was paying extra-special attention to Elton, a match with Hattie up her sleeve. Grant almost pitied the man, but the situation hit a little too close to home.
7
Emily jumped her bike over a large tree root in the path, and absorbed the bounce in her arms when she landed again. The bike tour hadn’t turned out half bad. Finn Weston hadn’t turned out half bad either. Considering this was basically a pity hangout set up by his father and new stepmother to give him something to do while he was in town—a playdate for adults—it could have been much worse. He was funny and easygoing, without so much as a drop of awkwardness, and was the perfect addition to the bike tour. If she’d had to, she could probably have endured a blind date with him.
Thirty minutes in, the small group of six cyclists had stretched out into pairs, Finn and Emily setting the pace up front. “Race you to the picnic area.” Finn issued the challenge with a head nod toward the clearing in the distance. He waited half a second for her response.
Seeing this hesitation as her only advantage, she doubled down on pedaling. She only gained a couple of seconds on him before the gears on Finn’s bike engaged. The minuscule space between the clank and the whir told her she was in trouble. It had been a while since she’d ridden a bike, but in the last half hour, she’d gotten the hang of shifting. Her breathing caught as she maxed her body out, the endorphins from pushing herself the best feeling next to seeing Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston’s wedding.
The Matchmaker's Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 2) Page 6