Chapter 23
Despite the words replaying in my head, Grant’s mind hit the business side of life after we got in the limo.
Our ride was spent with me pop quizzing him about the men we’ll be trying to obtain some imported furniture from. We’ve gone over the names so many times I wonder how he’s not tired of repeating them yet.
Hoffstein, Lutz, and Wietberg. Those are our men. It will be a busy black-tie affair with little time for pleasure, but hopefully, it will prove productive, and we'll add three new businesses to our main import store.
Stepping out of our ride, it turns out to be yet another opulent extravaganza. My mind reels in excitement as we arrive at an art gallery house.
This isn’t the gala, filled with low lighting, posh surroundings, and harmonious soothing colors. This gathering is eclectic, with its exposed brick, pipes, and local artwork hanging in abundance. I know this place is far above my reach. A simple 4x6 painting is probably my yearly salary.
I interpret most of the night. It occurs in a sea of people, all donning black tuxes and high-priced gowns. And the thought of being out in public doesn’t even cross my mind—not until Grant touches me on the arm several hours later to excuse himself for the men’s room.
Oddly, my heart batters against the tender veins in my neck. I don’t want him to go, but how foolish is it asking your man to not pee because there’s a sudden unease pinching at your skin.
My eyes must tighten, because Grant lowers his head to my ear and murmurs, “Only for a moment.”
It’s a new twist on what’s become a familiar statement, but it plants some reassurance into my blood. He’ll be back soon; I simply need to stop freaking out and breathe—perhaps have a drink too for extra measure. A drink can do a lot to tame my anxiety when it crosses to the side of irrational.
Now alone, I swim upstream through a throng of people, my shoulders relaxing when I make it to the bar. The bartender is busy, so I stand and wait, the satin clutch in my hands glued to my thighs.
My back stiffens when I sense eyes banking me on the left. Maybe it's because of Lonnie and my tense nerves, but just like I can identify when a place is secure and I’m not being watched, I can also detect the opposite.
Someone is watching me, and an icy spear of unease is dropping from my neck to my feet. Slowly, my head turns, and I lock eyes with a man who fits the textbook description of decent looking.
He’s mid-thirties, not overly tall, with thinning sandy brown hair, and opaque brown puppy eyes. What I don’t care for is how his eyes, which look like they’re normally large, are slightly squinted and focused on me.
I let him get the message that he’s been seen by waving hello.
The squint in his gaze is erased completely. Two large, round eyes blink, and it’s almost like I’ve brought him back to life.
“I'm-I'm so sorry.” He has a smooth flowing voice, and a bashful smile tugs up the corners of his mouth, revealing hints of straight white teeth. “I didn’t mean to stare. You’re simply striking. Are you here with anyone? I could buy you a drink.”
“Actually, I am.” Quickly, I scan the room, touching my pendant, but don’t see a sign of Grant.
“Hey. I don't want to cause problems. I’m just a friendly guy.” White teeth are fully on display now. “How ‘bout we buy our own drinks and chat?”
That I can do, especially with his image a little transformed. The ice in my back is gone, and my body isn’t as tense. Perhaps I just caught him in an awkward moment. It happens to all of us sometimes.
Our bartender is free, and we order—a Daiquiri for me, a Sidecar for him. We're watching our drinks being shaken within an inch of their life when he starts up a conversation.
“So, what do you do?” He props his elbow on the shining wood, and those light eyes gleam with the question.
“I’m an interpreter and PA.”
“Nice. Smart and pretty.”
I’m flattered, but nothing flares in me to flirt back. Blame it on the living, breathing, sex god I’ve been spending my nights with. Charming appeal is no longer enough. Not when you’ve been playing with an erotic bomb. I accept my drink and turn my attention back to my new companion. “And what do you do?”
“Stockbroker. I'm Seth, by the way.”
“Well, it's nice to meet you, Seth. I'm Olivia.” My lips pull up with a smile that reaches my eyes.
He seems to go blank. There's no response as he stares again, but it doesn't last long as he realizes what he's doing this time. “Gosh, I'm so sorry. You're just … Ahh…” he breathes out. “Have you ever tried modeling?”
Goodness, is that even still an attractive, flirty statement these days? To me, it’s an overused, flat approach. I stifle the eyeroll I’d love to make and politely shake my head. “It’s never even crossed my mind.”
“Shame,” he says, smirking. “You’d make—”
“Olivia?”
My spine lurches upright when strong fingers wrap around the inside of my arm, but I don't turn around. It’s a touch I’m familiar with—it’s Grant. What’s making me stiffen is that said hand is grasping me harder than normal.
“What's the meaning of this?” The hard pressure in his voice tells me he’s pissed. He tugs on my arm, urging me away. “Come, Olivia.”
Grant’s “come” is a word I’ll never fight, and I’ll find out why he’s upset later. I’m twisting on my heel, spinning away from Seth in an instant. Grant and I take two steps together, but then we freeze.
“Wow, Grant.” Seth’s flat voice stops Grant in his place. “Found another one, huh?”
The nerves that loosened seconds ago twist wickedly throughout my body, gluing every part of me into place. I can’t even blink.
Another one. Whoever this is, he's not unfamiliar to Grant, and given the thick animosity now crackling in the air, that can’t be good.
“Fuck off, Seth.” Grant’s voice never changes, never raises or grows louder.
“Actually, no,” Seth says. He dares a casual sip of his drink, and one straight brow stretches to a cynical arch as he swallows. “Now that I'm acquainted, I'd like to know how Olivia feels about this?”
I'm so lost. My vision bounces back and forth to both men as my brows meld together. “Feels about what? What are we talking about?”
Grant remains silent as his eyes darken and he glares at Seth.
Seth scoffs. His mouth hangs open, wide, as he glances at me. Silence lingers for a heated moment, and when he looks at Grant again, his round eyes narrow into slits. “You haven't told her?”
I look up at Grant to see his jaw clenching, yet he says nothing.
My pulse hits a new strength, pumping so furiously the vibrations are working into my toes. Something’s about to hit the fan.
“Oh, this will be rich.” Seth sneers, takes two commanding swaggers for us, and points in my general direction. “Go ahead, Grant. Tell her. Tell her how you were under suspicion for the disappearance of your ex-fiancée, April.”