Edgar exited the corridor through a different door, which Grayson pointed him to, so that he’d reappear at the reception from a different direction than I would.
I didn’t doubt for a moment that Grayson had this place totally wired for every side door entrance and exit. And honestly, I wasn’t surprised that he’d come to find Edgar and me.
But Stick had gotten to me first.
“What are you doing here?” I said softly to his back, my hand still on him.
He started to turn to face me, but Grayson stepped toward us, causing Stick to stand at attention in front of me again.
Stick didn’t know Grayson Spaulding. To him, Grayson could just be another political horndog come to take his turn with me.
It was kind of sweet, really. In a most fucked-up way.
“Stick. Grayson Spaulding,” he said, holding his hand out for Stick to shake, which he did. Stick didn’t step away from me, though, and I found I liked that. My hand, like it had a mind of its own, absently smoothed up and down his long back. I watched, almost hypnotized, as my pale hand brushed along the black tux.
“It’s good to finally meet you in person,” Grayson was saying to Stick after they shook hands. Stick only nodded in return.
And that broke the spell that had been woven over me. My hand dropped from Stick’s back, and the loss of contact had him turning to me, but also facing Grayson, forming an odd little triangle.
“Jane, you’re okay?” Grayson asked. Well, not exactly asked. There was a question mark at the end of it, but his tone was one of…confirmation. Like he was congratulating himself for being right about me. That I could handle myself. As if letting me dance with that old letch had been okay.
Although it had been my father that had gleefully handed me over to Edgar Prescott. Grayson had taken a step toward us…to stop it?
“You knew he’d try something, didn’t you?” There was some accusation in my voice, but like him, it was mostly about confirmation.
“Edgar has been known to…”
“Prey on the weak?”
Stick snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re hardly what I’d call weak.”
“To you. To Edgar I’m the daughter of a whore whose father would gladly pimp her out for the backing of a dirty old man.”
“Now, Jane—” Grayson started, but I cut him off.
“You know that’s true. Or mostly true. He handed me over to him without a moment’s thought, and I’m willing to bet that good old Edgar’s reputation for accosting girls is well-known in your circles.”
Grayson didn’t say anything. Stick was studying me, his brow furrowed.
“Anything could have happened to me if he hadn’t shown up,” I said, jabbing a thumb at Stick.
“Hardly,” Stick said, obviously not liking the label of hero I was kind of throwing at him. Yeah, it didn’t sit too well with me, either. “Another second and you would’ve had that perv on his knees, grabbing his gonads.”
That was probably true. But then—
“But then Edgar would have had it out for Jane. This way, you’re the one who interfered, Stick. And in Edgar’s eyes, Jane was interrupted from something she wanted.”
A chill went through me, an actual, physical chill.
“Christ, that’s fucked up,” Stick said, and Grayson nodded his agreement.
“Wait,” I said. “You said ‘meet in person,’ like you’d already met in some other way?”
“Yes. Stick and I have been…conversing on the phone for a few weeks now. He’s here tonight at my invitation.”
The way Stick raised a brow at Grayson’s explanation made me realize there was way more going on here than new phone buddies extending a wedding invite. Not that that, in and of itself, wouldn’t be the most bizarre thing imaginable.
Then it hit me. “He’s spying on Lily and Lucas for you.” A weird look passed between them. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Again with the looks, and I knew I’d nailed it. “Dude, that’s messed up,” I said to Stick. “He’s your best friend. He went to jail for you.”
