Chapter 33
“You must be quite the lady to tame this one, my dear.”
The gentle voice of my dinner partner catches my ear, and I turn toward it. My shoulders relax at its sound.
Grant and I have stepped out for our first public appearance since Seth’s attack.
Anxiety made a quick appearance, swaying my knees from side to side at the mere thought of attending another event, but Grant gave me his personal word that not only would everything be safe and secure, but that he would also never leave my side if I continued to feel uneasy.
I am feeling more at rest tonight. These last two weeks, there's been no news of any new attacks, and today marks the first day that I haven't heard any news regarding The Wide Awake Attacks or disappearances. Seems like they’ve evaporated overnight. I’m wondering if Seth suddenly left the area.
Perhaps he harvested from these surroundings well enough and decided to search for fresher pastures.
A wave of disgust rolls up my spine. I try to push the thought away, focusing on tonight. Grant and I are actually mixing business and pleasure at this event. We’re seated with some new clients but also some more familiar ones that Grant has dealt with before and is on friendly terms with. It's the perfect arrangement, and I assume the gentleman beside me to be the latter—an older acquaintance.
Studying him, I already love his appearance.
He's short and slender, with classic silver fox hair tastefully spiked—a sign he's not ready to let go of his withering youth. Elegant fingers adjust his square frame glasses, and smile lines deepen as his mouth pulls up.
He points to Brexton. “I've known him a while. Never seen him so attentive or smitten before. What's your secret?”
Just a shit ton of trauma and little bit of twistedness.
I smile, gently dabbing my mouth with a linen napkin. “Oh, sir. Us women never carry a secret.”
The air around me chimes as he laughs. “Now I know you have one.” He extends his hand. “Frank Holloway. A pleasure.”
“Olivia.” I return the shake. “And may I ask how you know Grant?”
“Ahh, I'm an attorney. Well, was. I've since retired. Before, however, I represented Hall and Brexton for many years.”
The corners of my mouth pull up. “Then, I think it's safe to say you're the one with the secrets, Mr. Holloway.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, a little too deeply, our silent knowing look disclosing all that's needed to be said—anyone close to Grant will carry many secrets.
Mr. Holloway gets away from further staring by smiling and adjusting his tie. “Don’t give me too much credit. I’m afraid I’m a man of little brain.”
“I doubt that,” I retort.
“I don't.” Grant’s sly voice cuts in on our discussion, good humor rumbling in his tone. His scent clings around me as he ducks his head past my shoulder. “What are you saying to my lady, Frank?”
Holloway lowers his wine glass after a sip. “I was merely inquiring after her secrets. I was asking how she's managed to hold your attention. Honestly, Brexton, I've never seen you so enthralled.”
A low chuckle reverberates in my ear with Grant expressing his amusement. “It’s not hard to understand why. Have you spoken to and taken a good look at her?”
I'm blooming all shades of red but can think of nothing to say to stop this attention.
“Oh-oh, yes,” replies Frank. “It is very apparent. However. You?” He shakes his head. “You never fail to surprise.”
“A compliment.” Grant reaches for his water glass.
Heat changes to goosebumps as Grant places his hand on my leg, hiding the deed under our tablecloth. His fingers graze just inside the hemline of my cocktail dress, connecting with my skin.
I grip my thighs together, keeping his hand stuck in place, making his touch my prisoner. I don't know what the hell he had in mind when he thought it be a good idea to touch me here, but there's no chance I'm going to let him break our contact.
He double blinks, a little surprised, I’m sure, but then looks at me and smiles, and I feel like the smirk in his eyes is conveying that I’m in so much trouble for toying with him.
The thought rips away when the discussion takes a new turn, thanks to Mr. Holloway.
“By the way, Brexton, did you hear about the private plane that crashed the other day?”
“You mean, the one from here to Las Vegas?” He places a hand on his black silk tie and nods. “I read about it.”
How I've missed this announcement, I'm not sure. Maybe it's my secluded ways, and I make a note to read the paper more often. I press my spine into the seatback, removing myself from the discussion so the two can talk without having to look past me.
“Yes,” Holloway says, his wide mouth pulling downward. “I was supposed to be on it but left at the last moment, right before we boarded.”
His angular features soften. “How fortunate then.” He frowns. “I heard three people died.”
I tilt my head, seriously wondering how I could have missed such an announcement, especially if it was a plane leaving from Seattle. That's a local event, and surely, that would've been reported.
“Unfortunate, indeed,” replies Frank. “I believe you knew one of the passengers that perished.”
A groomed brow cocks up. “Did I?”
“Mmmhmm.” He nods, reaching for his wine once more. “I was conversing with him before I was called away for a pressing matter concerning my daughter. Your name happened to come up.” His forehead creases as he ponders. “I believe his name was, uhh, Seth?”
“Seth Alec?” Brexton finishes.
“Yes. That was it.”
His name catapults straight through my stomach, and I feel my heart beating in my feet.
SNAP.
A blinding flash whites out my field of vision. When the fog finally clears, I spot the photographer in her red dress, with a press badge and oversized camera, right before she dashes away to the next table.
I have a quick crash landing to reality when the voice of Mr. Holloway sounds again.
“So, you did know him?”
“Hardly an acquaintance.” Looking at Mr. Holloway once more, Grant’s blue eyes are empty and passive—not one crack or ounce of emotion stirring in his listless gaze.
“Someone of no conscience, then?” Frank asks.
Two broad shoulders pull up. “Maybe he was important to someone, but not to me.” A thickness seeps into the air as a long pause and knowing look streams from Grant to Mr. Holloway. “We weren't friends, Frank.”
Holloway finally nods, slowly, taking a small hand to the earpiece of his translucent glasses. “I understand.”
So do I. More than ever as Grant flicks me a side-eyed glance.