by Naima Simone
Leaning back in his office chair, Grayson closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sadly, he wasn’t shocked at this visit. Well, correction. He was surprised his father stood on the other side of his office door instead of his mother. After the performance Grayson and Nadia had put on at the cocktail party three nights ago, he’d expected this “intervention.”
“You can send him in, Mrs. Ross,” he said, setting the phone down.
He rose and rounded the desk, standing in front of it. Preparing himself. That he braced himself as if readying for battle spoke volumes about his relationship with his father.
Seconds later, his office door opened and Daryl Chandler strode through as if his name was engraved on the gold plate instead of Grayson’s.
To Grayson, his father had always been bigger than life. He’d inherited his height and big, wide-shouldered frame from Daryl Chandler—a throwback to the ancestors who had worked the railroads instead of owning them—and though his father probably wouldn’t easily admit it, Grayson had inherited his business acumen, too. But ever since he’d been born with a defect—his different-colored eyes—Grayson had been flawed and second best with his father.
There’d been a time when Grayson had lived up to his father’s opinion. Like when, as a teen, he’d decided to have an impromptu party on his father’s yacht. Or when he’d been caught smoking weed on the private school grounds. But those stunts were in the distant past. Over the years, he’d proven he could control not only himself, but his life, and run a successful company.
None of that seemed to matter to his father, though.
When would it cease mattering to Grayson?
“Good morning, Dad. This is a surprise.”
His father arched a still-dark eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt that, Grayson.” He lifted an arm and waved it toward Grayson’s desk. And for the first time, he noticed the manila folder in his father’s hand. “I won’t make this long.”
“Of course.” Curiosity and a weighty sense of foreboding expanded inside Grayson’s chest. This was the first time since he and Gideon founded KayCee Corp that his father had visited the offices. This one didn’t bode well.
He led Daryl to the two armchairs in front of his desk. He lowered into one and waited for his father to settle. A steely pair of green eyes studied him, but Grayson wasn’t that rebellious teen anymore. He was a thirty-year-old man who’d matured, carved out his own future and lived on his own terms. If his father waited for him to squirm, he might need to cancel his meetings. Wasn’t going to happen.
“I believe you can guess why I’m here,” Daryl began, resting the folder on his thigh. Grayson tried not to stare at it, but at this moment, the innocuous light brown file loomed like the real threat in the room. “After that...undignified display the other night, your mother and I thought it best if I paid you a visit.”
Undignified display? To what did he refer? His engagement? Or the kiss? “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific, Dad. I attended as Mother requested with my fiancée. Which part offended you?”
Daryl scoffed, irritation flashing in his eyes. “Take your pick, Grayson. Showing up with that woman. Springing this joke of an engagement on both of us and making us accessories to it because you knew we wouldn’t cause a scene in front of all our friends.”
Though anger tightened his gut, Grayson propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and templed his fingers beneath his chin. “An accessory?” He snorted. “You make my relationship sound like a crime. Which, I suppose you see it as one. Still, the time when I had to bring the woman I’m seeing by for approval has long since passed—if it ever existed.” He shook his head. “I will apologize for not letting you and Mother know about the engagement in a more private setting, though. It hadn’t been my intention to embarrass you.”
Just waylay any more matchmaking attempts by his mother.
His father waved aside the apology with a flick of his hand, dismissing it. “Considering the number of women you run through, all captured by those unseemly gossip sites, we’re thankful you haven’t brought them to our home.” The barb struck true, no doubt as Daryl had intended. But Grayson refused to let him see the effect. “But when you contemplate giving a woman our last name and bringing her into our family, she certainly requires our approval. And this Nadia Jordan does not meet the standards of anyone who will be a Chandler. Not even remotely.” His father picked up the envelope and extended it toward him. “Take it, Grayson. Read it.”
Though he wanted to tell his father to forget it, Grayson reluctantly accepted it. Knowledge meant power. And though his and Nadia’s relationship was fake, he would protect her, shield her from his parents, if need be.
He opened the folder and removed the thin sheaf of papers, scanning the top sheet. An investigative report on one Nadia A. Jordan. Surprise reverberated through him, discordant and ugly. Well, hadn’t his parents been busy?
Several minutes later, he lifted his head and met his father’s gaze, hardening his expression into a mask that he hoped revealed none of the thoughts whirling through his head. Father unknown. Neglectful mother with a reputation that must’ve made being her daughter a nightmare. Arrested for shoplifting. No college education. Wrecked credit.
His parents would read this report and see a poor, uneducated woman from nowhere trying to get her greedy hooks into their son.
Grayson saw a woman, who in spite of the kicks and punches life had thrown, had risen every time to not just continue, but to thrive. A life that might have bent her, but from the passion and defiance she’d shown him, hadn’t broken her.
He saw a survivor.
“Is this supposed to change my mind?” he asked, tossing the report onto his desk. “So, she wasn’t born with a building named after her family? That doesn’t make her unworthy to wear the illustrious Chandler name,” he drawled.
Red surged into his father’s face, the only sign of his rising temper. “You’re damn right that makes her unworthy. If you want to screw her, fine. But marry her? A thief? And from that GED, a high school dropout? The daughter of a whore? And God only knows if she falls far from the tree. No, Grayson. Marriage to her is out of the question.”
“You want to stop right there, Dad,” Grayson said, voice flat. A tone he’d never used with his father before. He had no intention of marrying Nadia, which made this whole discussion moot. But no way in hell would he allow his father to denigrate her. As if she were something on the bottom of his shoe. “You have your opinion of Nadia, but you don’t get to talk about her like that to me. Ever.” He struggled to remain respectful, but if it’d been anyone else but Daryl Chandler uttering these insults, they would’ve been picking themselves up off the floor.
Again. His anger made no sense.
But it didn’t have to.
“This is what I’m talking about, Grayson,” Daryl snapped, shooting to his feet. He paced away from Grayson, who also stood. “I can see why some of her... charms would grab your attention. But stop thinking with your dick,” he growled, striding back toward Grayson and halting in front of him. “This is about more than you, it’s about family, about loyalty, about living up to the Chandler name and all that it entails instead of dragging it down as you seem intent on doing.”
How? By living when Jason didn’t?
The question clanged in his head like the rattling of a ghost. A ghost that refused to be exorcised.
“So forget my own happiness, my own future?” he asked quietly, now referring to more than Nadia. To his company, to making his own choices, to living an existence out from under the smothering burden of a legacy he hadn’t asked for. “How much do you expect me to sacrifice?”
“Whatever it takes,” his father shot back. Inhaling a deep breath, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his gray suit, visibly calming himself. “We all sacrifice, Grayson. Particularly now that Jason...” He
cleared his throat, his gaze briefly shooting to the floor-to-ceiling window behind Grayson. When he returned his regard to Grayson, his eyes reflected none of the emotion that had wrapped around Jason’s name. “I can’t helm Chandler International forever, nor do I want to. It’s a birthright passed down from father to son, and it is now your turn, your privilege, your destiny to lead and build it into even more than I have.
“And you need the right woman at your side. The right woman, Grayson. And as high-handed as your mother might be, she’s right. Adalyn is a perfect choice. She’s from an exceptional family, has been educated at the finest schools, is beautiful and knows our world. Also, her father and I are in the middle of discussing a very lucrative business deal. It would mean expanding both Chandler International and The Hayes Group into a power to be reckoned with in the national and global financial markets. I’d prefer not to anger Thad Hayes by having my son rebuff his daughter, which would result in the failure of this venture.”
“Now who’s the whore, Dad? You want me to pimp myself out for a company expansion,” Grayson growled.
“I want you to do what’s right,” Daryl snapped. “It’s not like you and Adalyn aren’t compatible. You were engaged before, so there’s no need for the theatrics.”
“Were,” Grayson ground out. “And there’s a very good reason why I didn’t go through with it.”
His father shook his head. Pulling his hand free of his pants pocket, he glanced down at his watch. “I have to go. But get rid of the girl, Grayson. And start courting Adalyn. If you must be photographed like a common reality TV star, then it should be with her, not a plaything. And,” he narrowed his eyes on him, “I expect you to attend the next Chandler board meeting. The directors need to understand that you will be stepping in as CEO and become familiar with you.”
With that order, his father turned and strode out of the office, leaving Grayson alone. And angry. Saddened. And so goddamn powerless.
And he resented his father for that.
Hated himself even more.
Family duty and loyalty strangled him, crushing him under its burdensome weight. As the “spare,” he hadn’t been his parents’ first choice.
But now, he was the only one left.
Ten
“Ezra, can you get the door?” Nadia called from her bedroom. She’d just emerged from the shower and answering the doorbell in a short, threadbare towel didn’t seem like a great idea. On Saturdays, she tended to go casual, but not that casual.
“Yeah, I got it,” her brother yelled back. As was their custom, on Saturday mornings she cooked a big breakfast, and he cleaned up afterward. Since her bedroom was off the same hallway that led to the kitchen, she heard him tramp down the hall toward the foyer.
She shimmied into a bra and panties, then tugged on a black, V-neck sweater and her favorite pair of boyfriend jeans that were faded from multiple wears and washings. As she searched for a pair of socks among the endless singles, a knock echoed on her door.
“Come in,” she said, triumphantly retrieving a matching pair.
A second later, Ezra opened the door and poked his head through, his dark locs swinging against his handsome face. His handsome, frowning face. “There’s a guy here to see you.”
Her heart thumped against her rib cage. She hadn’t made many friends in the short time she’d been in Chicago and hadn’t dated once. So the “guy” could be only one person.
“Okay, I’ll be right out,” she said, infusing a calm into her voice that belied the tumble of nerves in her belly.
Still frowning, Ezra backed out of the door. Moments later, she emerged and padded down the hallway toward the front of the house. Though the thin carpet masked her footsteps, Grayson still looked up as she approached, his blue-and-green gaze steady on her. She almost faltered, the power of those eyes like a physical blow.
Though days had passed since the cocktail party, and their contact had been minimal, she still felt his mouth pressed to hers and tasted the hunger in that kiss. She dreamed about that kiss. Even now, she forced her hands to remain by her side so she didn’t lift one and press fingers to her lips. As if she could somehow capture it.
In the middle of his parents’ living room, she’d yearned to wrap her arms around his neck and demand a deeper touch that would fill her empty places. She’d longed to be burned by the pleasure that had haunted her body, her mind. The desire that had flared so hot between them during the blackout hadn’t abated, hadn’t dimmed. Before that kiss at the cocktail party she could convince herself that the out-of-the-ordinary circumstances had stirred the combustible heat between them.
The kiss had razed that opinion to ashes.
But it’d also reinforced her emotional walls with steel. If one kiss could level her... As much as she’d believed she’d loved Jared, he hadn’t ignited the out-of-control need to surrender herself that Grayson did.
It was...terrifying.
Because Grayson, with his innate sensuality, dark emotions that seemed to seethe just under the surface, had a dominance that could strip away the control she’d fought so hard for. He could render her vow to never lay her heart and soul out for a man to use again to cinders.
She couldn’t permit that.
She didn’t know if she would survive intact.
No way in hell would she risk finding out.
She repeated that warning in her head as she took in his tall, lean frame in black slacks and a cream-colored sweater that probably cost more than her living room furniture.
“Grayson,” she greeted, drawing nearer. His sandalwood and mint scent reached out to her, and she cursed herself for inhaling deeply, savoring it. “This is a surprise.” She halted next to her brother. “I don’t know if he introduced himself, but this is my brother, Ezra. Ezra,” she nudged him with her elbow, “this is Grayson Chandler, my...uh, friend.”
“Friend, huh?” Ezra snorted, rolling his eyes, appearing all of his seventeen years. “Okay, we’ll go with that.” He stuck out a hand toward Grayson. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Chandler.”
“You, too, Ezra. And it’s Grayson.” Grayson shook her brother’s hand.
“So what are you two crazy kids up to today?” Ezra questioned, crossing his arms and glancing back and forth between her and Grayson.
“Please,” she scoffed, shoving his shoulder. “Get out of here and finish the dishes.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, then pivoted and headed toward the rear of the house.
Once he’d disappeared, she returned her attention to her “fiancé.”
“Grayson, what are you doing here? Did we have something scheduled?”
He shook his head. “No, I stopped by to see if you were free today.”
“For?” she pressed. “What’s the occasion? A dinner party? A charity event?”
“Neither. I—” His lips snapped shut, and a muscle leaped along his jaw. Several seconds later, he said, “Do you trust me, Nadia?”
“Not even a little bit.” Truth, but not all of it.
When it came to him, she trusted herself even less.
A ghost of a smile flirted with his mouth. “I deserve that. And respect it. But will you give me a pass today? Take a chance on me.”
Take a chance on me.
The simple words shouldn’t have been a temptation. But for her, they were. In the past, when she’d trusted people, they’d either disappointed or devastated her. She didn’t go in blind anywhere; she required a map, seven different exits and an escape hatch. Yet...
Yet, as she met his mesmerizing eyes, she wanted to place herself into his hands, let him alleviate the exhaustion of always being in control. Even if just for a little while.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded, his expression revealing nothing. But she caught the flash of something in his eye
s. Something she believed could be relief. That was probably her imagination, though. Her trying to convince herself she wasn’t in this confusing place of emotional quicksand alone.
Sighing, she returned to her room and then quickly applied a minimal amount of makeup, tugged on her ankle boots and grabbed her jacket. At the last second, she picked up the ostentatious engagement ring and slid it on her finger. Moments later, she slipped back out of her bedroom into the hallway.
“...says you’re a friend, but I can guess what kind of friend you are.” Ezra’s voice drifted to her as she treaded closer. Ahead, her brother stood in front of Grayson, his back to her. Though Grayson had him by several inches, Ezra straightened his shoulders and tipped his head back. “I don’t know what kind of thing y’all have going on,” he continued in his drawl. “But she’s my big sister. And she’s been through enough for a lifetime. I don’t want you adding to it.”
Silently, Nadia groaned. Love for her brother and his overprotective streak poured through her, but she also longed to yank him up and shove him back toward the kitchen. She could take care of herself without him threatening would-be boyfriends. Still... Damn, she adored the kid.
“I don’t plan on hurting your sister,” Grayson promised, his voice solemn, no hint of amusement. He could’ve easily patronized the teen, but sincerity rang from his words. And part of her believed him. The only problem was, most people usually didn’t plan on harming other people. They just did.
“Good.” Ezra nodded. “She’s all I have and she has been taken advantage of and hurt too many times in the past. She needs someone who’ll take care of her for once instead of the other way around. Especially after Jared—”
Oh God.
“I’m ready,” she called out, moving down the hall at a desperate clip. Jesus, why would Ezra bring up her ex-boyfriend? Both Grayson and Ezra turned to face her, and guilt flashed across her brother’s face. But it quickly morphed into a stubbornness she was well acquainted with. “You.” She jabbed a finger in his chest. “Dishes. And if you go out tonight, make sure you call and let me know.”