She sniffles. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Vegas? Or the airport?” Hell, I hope she doesn’t mean in my arms. “I thought you wanted to see the town?”
“I do. Well, I did. It’s kind of lost its shine.”
I decide to sit patiently, and let her share whatever she’s willing with limited interruption.
She explains through a steady stream of tears that she’s been struggling to take care of her mother since she lost her job. Her mother doesn’t receive enough in social security to cover her medical expenses, much less her living expenses. That her mother’s home is all that she has. In the midst of her sobs, Grace describes what sounds like a preposterous sixties and seventies Elvis-inspired motif. “But it’s hers. It’s the one thing that gives her joy.”
“No,” I blurt.
“What do you mean? No?”
“She has you.”
Well, that only got her crying again, dumbass.“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted. Please, go on.”
“All of the bills were piling up, and the car was broken down. I had no job prospects lined up that wouldn’t fire me if I kept calling out to take care of her. Then I saw a post in my social media mailbox for a modeling assignment. I’ve never modeled a day in my life. But I needed a miracle in the worst way. So, I called the number and spoke with the guy. It seemed too good to be true. That should’ve been the first red flag.”
Grace digs around in her hoodie for a tissue. “The money was too tempting to pass up. It wouldn’t solve everything, but at least it would give us time.” She shakes her head, and I can’t hold back any longer.
Scooping her up, I pull her into my lap, airport baggage claim terminal or not. Holding her against me, I stroke her hair and her back, hoping to calm her a bit.
“Once I got there, I had a suspicion something wasn’t right,” she splutters. “But I was committed at that point. All I could think about was helping my mother and me stay out of hot water. So I did as he said.” She straightens. “But I never agreed to… to taking pictures in a compromising position. Before I was aware of what was happening, someone had grabbed my arms and lowered the sheet and…”
Grace collapses into hysteria, burying her face in my chest andsobbing as if she’s held it in for far too long. “It’s as if the universe itself was conspiring with him. I was at my lowest point when he approached me about this. I’m normally so clear-headed. Would never follow some get rich quick scheme. I’ve worked hard my whole life. But I was desperate,” she chokes out.
It’s taking everything in me not to finish this asshole. “Is that what you were doing here the last time?”
“Yes.”
My hands curl into fists as she speaks. “So why in hell did you come back here?”
She sits up. “I’m pretty sure I’m being blackmailed.”
“Pretty sure? Wouldn’t someone threatening you with blackmail make that pretty clear?”
Her gaze drops to her lap, where she’s wringing her hands. “He was saying a bunch of stuff that didn’t make sense. At one point, I wasn’t sure he was even talking to the right person.” I tilt my head in confusion and wait for her to continue. “He was really pissed off that my boyfriend threatened him.”
I shift in my seat so suddenly I nearly tumble her onto the floor. “Boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?”
Grace blinks back at me silently, and for a second my world stops spinning on its axis. “No. That’s what I’m saying.” She’s recovered enough that she’s able to slowly and succinctly pronounce each word as if there is silent punctuation between each of them.
Then it hits me.
You. You’re the boyfriend, numb-nuts.
How has this woman made me so unhinged that I’ve lost touch with reality? How? Have I somehow forgotten my visit to him? That after I left, Max’s entourage threatened Victor within an inch of his life if he ever attempted to print more photos of Grace? Max told me to cool my jets and stay out of it. That Gianni’s men could take care of it, allowing us to stay under the radar. But clearly, this moron has a death wish.
I swear, I was a reasonable, intelligent man until this beauty came along. Sure, I made questionable choices with women, dating somewell-disguised (okay, not all of them were all that well-disguised) harpies, only interested in my money and social status. Where this girl seemingly wantsnothingfrom me. And it’s tearing me up.
I’ve been stalking her like a madman, continuing to hang on, praying she’ll get me out of this apparent friend zone we’ve settled into. Not to mention I spent ungodly amounts of money, as well as my time,and Max’s, to get every goddamn one of those magazines destroyed.
But I’d do it all again.
Again, and again.
Anything for her.
