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“I’ll come there.”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, don’t come here. If you do that right now, it could complicate things in ways that aren’t in any of our best interests. Close your deal.”
“Our deal.”
“Okay. Our deal. I love you. Good luck and wish me luck.”
“Yes,” he says. “All the luck in the world, daughter. I do love you.” He disconnects and I stick my phone back in my purse. “Never promise more than you can deliver, and always deliver more than you promise,” I say, going back to my prior conversation with Reid, but the comment isn’t about that conversation, but rather the one with my father. “I get it,” I add, looking at Reid, his blue eyes already fixed on me, “My father said the same. My father was good at his job, Reid.” I cover his hand on my leg. “I need you to tell me what you haven’t told me. I need to know what you know and I don’t know.”
He lowers his voice. “This isn’t a conversation for here and now, or before our meeting.”
“But it is a conversation we have to have,” I reply, softer now myself. “We have to have it.”
The car halts in front of a sprawling white mansion illuminated in the dark. “We’ll talk later,” he replies, opening the door, and then he’s stepping outside, offering me his hand.
I fight frustration over him putting me off for logic. Of course, he put me off. We’re at Grayson’s mansion. I slide my hand into his palm and he pulls me to my feet, and out of the way to shut the door. A moment later, his hands are on my waist. “Your father doesn’t know me. He knows of me. You know me and I’m not taunting you.”
“You heard.”
“The entire conversation. You can trust me, Carrie.”
“I know that,” I say without hesitation.
“I don’t think you do, and I don’t expect that you can yet, but I’m going to change that. Consider that a promise.” He turns us toward the mansion, his hands settling at my back, and in contrast to the word “trust,” the word “secret” plays in my mind. I’m not sure how he thinks his vow of trust works when we both know he knows my father’s secret, just as we both know that he’s not going to tell me.
Chapter thirty-seven
Carrie
Grayson Bennett’s beachfront property is a complex, sprawling property that somehow manages to be understated with a wood finish and numerous steeple tops. Reid and I start up the front steps, and I’m aware of his hand resting on my back, hyper-aware of his touch, as well as that secret and promise between us. I’m also aware of the confidence that he has in my ability to impress Grayson. That’s pressure, not from him alone, but from myself as well. I want to impress Grayson and I mentally shove aside that call with my father, and all the questions and emotions it clearly has stirred.
“Just do you,” Reid says, reaching out to ring the bell, only to have the door open before he even presses the button.
A slender woman in a navy-blue pantsuit, with raven hair and blue eyes, appears in the doorway. “Welcome, Reid and Carrie,” she says. “I’m Leslie, the household manager, which is a fancy way of saying that I’m Grayson’s godmother. I look out for the house while he’s gone, and him while he’s here. As I will the two of you tonight.” She smiles and steps back, waving her hand in our direction. “Come in.”
This warm greeting has an unexpectedly intimate feeling and I find Leslie quite charming. Reid’s fingers flex on my back, urging me forward first, and I step ahead of him to enter the open-concept foyer distinguished by a table to the right and a chandelier above. The entrance opens wide into a beautiful room with dark gray floors, high ceilings, and dangling elegant lights. And of course, as would be expected, there’s a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and a fireplace, that together frame a living area that’s a mix of gray and cream furnishings.
Reid steps to my side, and while he doesn’t touch me this time, I have this sense of possessiveness in him, like he’s ready to stake a claim, a contrast to anything he’s made me feel about this meeting up until this moment. I don’t understand why he would feel this, and perhaps it’s simply protectiveness, but whatever the case, it’s fierce, radiating off him and crashing into me. I want to ask him, to understand, but Leslie is quickly in front of us. “Grayson is on the back patio,” she says, motioning us forward as she leads the way.
Reid leans in close and whispers his prior words. “Just do you.”
“Does that mean you’re going to just do you? Are you going to be an asshole?”
His lips curve and he winks. “You know it, baby.”
I laugh, and somehow that exchange eases my tension, and his too, I think. We both settle into the challenge before us and start walking, following a path along the edge of the sleekly decorated kitchen of gray marble and the living area, to an exit with a glass door. Beyond it, a cozy, enclosed patio complete with a fireplace and a view of the ocean greets us. Immediately to our left is a square table for four where Grayson sits, his dark hair wavy and thick, his goatee neatly trimmed.
He stands upon our approach, towering a good bit over six feet tall by my estimates, his attire of black jeans and a simple black T-shirt, as unassuming as everything about this encounter thus far. “Reid,” he greets, and the two men exchange a firm handshake before Grayson’s intense, deep green eyes land heavily on me, an assessment in their depths. “Nice to meet you, Carrie.”
“Nice to meet you as well,” I say, “and thank you for the invitation to your lovely home.”
“I’m pleased to have you here,” he says. “And what better way to get to know each other than in private, and outside a formal setting.” He motions to the chair beside him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Reid holds out my chair and I sit down before the men join me, Reid to my left, and Grayson to my right. “We have lasagna for dinner,” Leslie announces, joining us. “But I can accommodate any special needs or requests.”
“Lasagna sounds wonderful,” I say quickly.
“My first home-cooked meal in years,” Reid adds.
