Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  Aubrey sighed again and walked into her bathroom. She could use a good shower. She felt as if she'd slept not at all, and a headache was still threatening. She could maybe use the headache to get out of going shopping. But if she got out of going shopping, she would continue to sit all day in front of her half-finished painting of Gray, totally disliking it. Maybe it would be better if she got out.

  When she finished showering, Sophie was still watching television, and Aubrey, briskly towel-drying her hair as she walked out, said, “I'm ready."

  "Okay.” Sophie turned off the television. “You've got a delivery."

  "A what?"

  Sophie nodded in the general direction of the kitchen area of the suite, so that Aubrey turned and wondered how she had missed the enormous bouquet of red roses. There had to be three dozen red roses, crowded with baby's breath and greenery. “Wow,” she breathed, and walked over to them. “Who are they from?"

  "I don't know,” answered Sophie.

  "You didn't look?” Somehow Aubrey couldn't believe that. Sophie didn't look like the kind of girl who respected privacy.

  "There's no card."

  Sophie was right. Aubrey couldn't find a card either.

  "They're probably from Gray,” Sophie decided.

  "No, they're not,” Aubrey countered quickly. The flowers couldn't be from Gray. Gray wasn't even supposed to be talking to her, never mind seducing her with marvelous roses. She was going to have to have a talk with Gray if he had sent the flowers. But he probably hadn't sent the flowers. Probably ... “Doug,” Aubrey announced. “Doug probably sent the flowers."

  "Huh,” said Sophie. “So you're playing both of my brothers. That's pretty impressive."

  "I'm not playing either of your brothers,” Aubrey answered in exasperation. In fact, she wished she spent much less time with both of them. At any rate, she was sure the roses weren't from Gray. Roses from Gray didn't make much sense. “Let's go shopping,” she said ... because she really didn't want to think about the possibility any longer of roses from Gray.

  * * * *

  Gray's day had started out unpleasantly. Getting Sophie up and out of bed was an ordeal on the best of days. It was especially an ordeal when he was getting her up and out so she could tell their mother she was pregnant.

  The conversation had actually gone a bit better than Gray had expected—largely, he supposed, due to the fact that his mother was too shocked to do anything other than stare at her daughter and then manage a smile when Gray suggested that they turn the whole day into an excuse for a celebration.

  So maybe his day was looking up.

  His mother walked into his office and closed his door.

  Maybe not.

  "Mom, I haven't done any work at all so far today,” he said, attempting to head her off at the pass. “Can we possibly talk about this later?"

  "Talk about this later?” She practically screeched it at him. Gray winced. Great. His mother was in fine form. “You want to talk about the fact that your twenty-year-old sister went and got herself pregnant later?"

  Gray took a deep breath. “Why don't you sit down and calm down and also bring your voice down a couple of notches so we don't disturb the guests."

  "Could you maybe get me a drink?” she asked.

  "No,” he responded calmly. “It's eleven a.m. We're not breaking out the alcohol."

  His mother fastened him into place with those coolly knowledgeable eyes. “Oh, like you didn't pour yourself some scotch when she told you."

  "That was late afternoon,” he retorted. “Practically evening."

  "It was one o'clock, Gray. Right before you showed up at my suite to pour your heart out to Aubrey."

  Oh, God, thought Gray. Here we go.

  "I sent Sophie to ask Aubrey to go shopping with us. Sophie said Aubrey was very helpful."

  His mother was still roaming around his office, apparently too keyed-up to sit. “That's what Sophie said, yes. I'm glad."

  "I didn't know you were friends with Aubrey."

  "I'm not friends with Aubrey."

  "And yet you told her Sophie was pregnant before you told me."

  "That was easier. I needed to tell somebody who didn't love Sophie. Who wasn't being torn to bits over the fact that she would do something this thoughtless and stupid."

  "I still don't understand how she could do something this thoughtless and stupid. After I told her and told her and told her and told her not to make the same mistakes I made. The same incredibly stupid mistakes. Not that you're not absolutely wonderful, Gray. Not that I don't thank God every day that we have you. But really, Gray, how many times have I told her how dreadfully difficult it was to be so young and pregnant? How many times?"

  "I know,” said Gray, because he felt some comment was called for. At least they were off the subject of Aubrey. He never thought the day would come when he would be relieved to turn the conversation back to his pregnant baby sister.

  "I could kill her and I—” His mother cut herself off and finally collapsed into the chair in front of his desk.

  "She's terrified, Mom."

  "I know."

  "She was terrified of telling you. Of how disappointed you would be. Hell, she was terrified of telling me. I'm kind of proud of her for handling this the way she has so far."

  "That doesn't mean we have to be happy with the way this has turned out. When you have a baby, Gray...” His mother sighed. “You don't know. Sometimes I think you'll never know. But all you want for that baby is a life better than the one that you had. That's all you want. The most painful thing for a parent is to watch a child make the same exact mistakes all over again."

  "She has a better life."

  "You mean because she has money now?"

  "Because she has us. More support than you had."

  "And no one making her marry Dirk."

  "I don't even think we should tell Dirk. What do you think about that idea?"

  "Hmm,” mused his mother. “That is an idea, isn't it?"

  "Aubrey thinks we have to tell him.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to bite his tongue. Why bring up Aubrey again?

  "Why? As if telling your father did me any good..."

  "Maybe Dirk will be different."

  "Maybe I'll sprout wings and fly. When did you talk to Aubrey about telling Dirk?"

  Damn. She didn't miss a trick. “I don't know.” Gray shrugged negligently. “Last night, I guess."

  His mother raised her eyebrows. “Last night or this morning?"

  Gray glared at her. “Last night,” he said firmly.

  Good. Because I'd hate to think Sophie was wasting her time looking for Aubrey in Aubrey's suite while Aubrey was in your suite."

  "Aubrey's not in my suite."

  "And Aubrey thinks we should tell Dirk?"

  "I think Aubrey lives in a fairy-tale world. I don't think telling Dirk will accomplish anything. She thinks he has some sort of right."

  "He does have a right, I suppose. What if some woman didn't tell you?"

  "That's different. I'm responsible. I'd contribute to the situation. Dirk is just going to complicate everything."

  "Well,” his mother decided. “Let's see if Sophie brings the Dirk question up. We'll give it a week or so before we broach the subject. Suggesting making this into a celebration was a good idea."

  "It should be a celebration. Maybe it's not how we would have timed it, but it's another baby. Certainly a blessing. Especially if he takes after me."

  His mother did him the favor of smiling a bit. “You know, you would think I would know you inside and out by now—but you never fail to intrigue me, thirty-six years after you were born."

  Great. “And why is that?” he asked with dread, because he knew he was going to hear about it anyway.

  "The thing with Aubrey is surprising me."

  "There's no thing with Aubrey, Mom."

  "How long have you known her?"

  "What do you mean how long have I known her?” He kept t
he question light.

  "You didn't first meet her that night we had dinner."

  "No. I told you, I'd met her when Doug took her out—"

  "You didn't meet her then, either. You needn't tell me. It's fine. Keep your secrets. But I am entitled to say that this whole thing does surprise me. Probably I am as surprised as you were to discover that my portrait painter is Aubrey.” His mother, smiling so damn smugly, stood up. “You've done a good job with Sophie. Thank you."

  "Have a good time shopping,” Gray told her, watching her open his office door. “Don't spend too much."

  "I'll watch the family finances for you, darling,” she assured him breezily and swung his door closed behind her.

  Gray heaved a sigh, thinking that, comparatively, he'd gotten off easy there.

  Then she poked her head back in. “Just in case you were wondering but didn't want to ask my opinion outright, I like Aubrey. A lot. I think she might be better than Hannah Dunbar, if you're weighing your options here."

  "Thanks,” Gray said, sending her a tight smile of displeasure.

  Moira Scott Lowenby winked cavalierly before closing the door again.

  * * * *

  "I think it would be nice if the baby is a girl,” Sophie commented as she waited for her credit card to clear at Louis Vuitton.

  "Why do you think that?” asked Moira.

  Sophie shrugged. “I don't know. Don't you think it would be nice?"

  "When I was pregnant with Gray, I prayed for a girl. And then I got Gray. And he turned out to be—"

  "The angel baby,” Sophie finished dryly, accepting her credit card.

  "He was an angel. And you'd better thank God for that, because if he'd been difficult, I might never have had you and Doug."

  Sophie rolled her eyes, and Aubrey followed Sophie and Moira out of Louis Vuitton. They were each clutching so many bags they were having a difficult time walking. Aubrey's purchases were far more modest, but even so they were still splurges. But, hell, she had quite the paycheck coming from Moira for completing the portrait. Why not swing for the Burberry umbrella?

  "You know, I'm sure Gray's children would turn out to be angels, too. I mean, I'm sure it's in the genes or something. You know.” Moira made a point of not looking at Aubrey.

  Sophie glanced over her shoulder at Aubrey and grinned.

  Aubrey blinked in surprise. Was that comment meant for her? Yeah, right. Like she was planning on having Gray's children. Sleeping with him again ... Sure, that sounded like a good idea. Raising children with the man, not so much. She nearly snorted aloud at the ridiculousness of that notion. “We'll have to be sure to tell Hannah that,” Aubrey replied innocently.

  "We've moved on from Hannah,” said Moira.

  Marvelous. “Oh, really?"

  "Yes. I've decided that Gray and Hannah don't suit after all.” Aubrey didn't want to ask what had made Moira decide that, but Moira forged on. “I think Gray's attention has shifted."

  "Well, that's not uncommon, is it?” contributed Sophie.

  Moira glared at her and went on. “Surprisingly, though, Gray's attention has shifted to better pastures."

  "Unlike the cheap—"

  Moira cut her off quickly. “Why don't you go see what the wait for a table at Spago looks like?"

  Sophie flashed her a grin. “Sure,” she said as she walked off.

  Moira frowned after her, then bestowed a glowing smile on Aubrey. “Thank you so much for helping Sophie. You seem to have given her good, solid advice."

  "Oh, I just stumbled my way through. I've never been pregnant, so I'm afraid I have very little advice to give Sophie. You must have much more."

  "Yes, unfortunately,” said Moira, frowning after Sophie again.

  "She wasn't trying to ... I mean, she was trying to ... It was an accident. And it makes me think how lucky I am that nothing has come of my..."

  "Indiscretions?” Moira suggested.

  Oh, yes. All one of them.

  "Gray thinks very highly of you,” Moira continued.

  Aubrey looked at her in surprise. “He told you that?"

  "And he trusts you,” she said.

  Aubrey had no idea what to say to that. She would not really have thought either of those things to be true.

  "They say there's a table ready now,” Sophie announced, coming back up to them. “Which is good, because I'm starving."

  "No more morning sickness?” asked Aubrey, following her to the restaurant.

  "Must have been nerves,” answered Sophie as she sank down into a chair at the restaurant and promptly set about people-watching. “I keep begging Gray to build a mall like this for the Bienvenue. Not that our shops aren't nice, but they're nothing like the Forum Shops."

  "Gray doesn't want to build one?” asked Aubrey.

  "Gray says he has other hotels to worry about without using money to make an already-profitable one even more profitable."

  "I suppose that makes sense."

  "You're from New York, aren't you, Aubrey?” asked Moira. “Are you a Yankees fan then?"

  Aubrey could guess where Moira was going with this—but she couldn't lie about something so important. She couldn't allow Moira to think she was a Yankees fan, for goodness sake. She was appalled that she may have thought it for even a millisecond. “No. I grew up in Maine."

  "Maine. Oh.” Moira smiled. “Why, that puts you in Red Sox territory."

  "Yes,” Aubrey agreed reluctantly.

  "Gray is also a Red Sox fan. He got it from my second husband. None of the rest of us follow baseball. He'll be so delighted to have someone to talk to. Does he know?"

  "Know?” Aubrey echoed.

  "That you're a Red Sox fan?” Moira clarified.

  "I ... don't know.” Darn, now Moira had pushed her into a little teeny-tiny lie...

  "Well, have you talked about it with him?"

  "No.” Another little teeny-tiny lie. But Aubrey decided that was the safest answer. Better that Moira not think she was spending all sorts of time talking to Gray. Moira's overactive imagination was already too much to handle.

  "We'll have to tell him.” Moira smiled, looking thrilled to death.

  "You know, I think it would be nice to have a girl,” mused Sophie. “The clothes are cuter."

  * * * *

  The last time she tried to get in touch with Gray, she had stood around in the lobby until he made an appearance. So she decided to try it again.

  Because his cap had arrived. His special cap was waiting in her suite when she got back from shopping, along with a nice note from Kaye that made her a little homesick. But first things first. Give Gray the cap. And then maybe they could cease tripping over each other as much as they currently were. Maybe finally have nothing in common, no more ties.

  If only she could make herself believe that she had a shot at that.

  She had been standing in the lobby about twenty minutes, studying the crowd for a sign of Gray, when someone said, “Miss Thomas?"

  In surprise, she looked up at the man who had spoken. He was about Gray's height and build, with dark brown hair—although not as dark as Gray's—and without the touch of gray that peppered through Gray's temple. Kind brown eyes. But that didn't mean he wasn't a serial killer. Too many years of living in New York City put Aubrey on her guard.

  "Excuse me?” she said suspiciously, stiffening and taking a step away from the man. Surely nothing would happen to her in the crowded lobby ... but one never knew.

  "I'm sorry. I've startled you. I'm Mark Dailey. Gray's friend. Remember?"

  "We've met?"

  "Yes. The other day. Valentine's Day, it was. The last time you staked out the lobby looking for him."

  "Oh. Right.” She did remember him then, vaguely. She had been so livid at Gray that she had barely registered the man who had been standing with him.

  "He's in his office. I'll show you how to get there."

  "What?"

  The man paused. “You are looking for Gray, right?"<
br />
  "Yeah."

  "Then I'll take you to his office."

  "Oh.” She wasn't sure she wanted to start paying visits to Gray's office. “Okay,” she decided warily.

  "It's this way."

  She followed Mark through the lobby to a door marked Employees Only, where Mark slid a card through an electronic device. It beeped in response and the door opened, and he held it for her as she walked through.

  "In the future,” he said, “when you need to see Gray, wait around outside that door, and someone will let you in."

  That confused her. “But how will they—"

  "Surveillance cameras.” He called for an elevator and stepped onto it, saying, “Thirteenth floor is where the executive offices are. No one will stay on the thirteenth floor in Vegas. It's considered bad luck."

  "How will they know they can let me in?"

  "They'll recognize you from the surveillance tapes,” he said, as if this was obvious.

  The doors swooshed open and she followed Mark into a reception area, then through the reception area, down a hallway, and into an enormous outer office area where a secretary was sitting. Mark sent her a half-wave and walked confidently through into another office.

  Gray's office. Unmistakably. Enormous and impressive. Sleek and modern. Gray himself was sitting behind a sleek, modern desk with his head buried in a sheaf of papers.

  "Hey,” Mark said to him while Aubrey just stood there and drank it all in: the view overlooking the Bienvenue's generous sleek and modern pool area; the sleek, modern leather couch arranged in front of a wall crowded with sleek, modern built-in electronics; the sleek, modern art haphazardly thrown up on another wall. Everything about the office was sleek and modern.

  And yet he had a Gainsborough in his living room. It was an intriguing juxtaposition.

  "Hmm,” responded Gray. “What's—” He looked up then, and said her name.

  She had wandered to the art, and stopped in front of a stark square slash of graduated shades of gray that she recognized as belonging to one of the major artists of the past generation. “It's Study in Gray,” she said, finally looking at him.

  "What?” he said.

  "Miss Thomas was looking for you,” Mark told him.

  Gray stared at Aubrey, who looked calm, cool, and collected, head tipped back to admire the painting. Then he looked at Mark. “So you brought her up here?” he hissed.