After knocking on the open door frame, I was greeted by the expected parties. Wayland, Ainsley, and Kit. The youngest Grayson, too, was settled on the desk, his feet swinging back and forth.
“Will, come on in!” Kit ordered jovially. He was ruddy-cheeked and, for the first time in recent memory, neither sarcastic nor sullen. Drunk then.
He clambered up from his chair, pressing his half-empty glass of scotch in my hand before wandering over to the shelf filled with different bottles and glasses. He selected something clear and lifted the stopper for a sniff before pouring—sloshing—it into a glass.
Wayland was behind the desk, seated properly and seemingly less drunk than the rest by far. And he was glaring at his brother. Mr. Grayson cradled his drink in both hands before taking a sip, his feet still swishing.
Wayland rolled his eyes before turning to me. “Hart! Cee drag you here?”
“How did you…”
“Oh, she mentioned it when she called. I did dig through a few of my ledgers, and I’ve got a couple of possibilities.”
I didn’t know which was worse, the instinctive panicked nausea at the thought of her calling on a potential murderer alone, or the jealousy prickling along my skin at the thought of her calling on a former lover.
“She called?” My lips felt numb, but it had been my voice, hollow and cracking. She could have been killed. That maddening woman with no sense of self-preservation—chasing after potential murderers all the livelong day. First me, now Wayland.
“She didn’t say? I’ve made a right muck of this haven’t I?” Wayland had the decency to look chagrined.
“When did she call?”
“Yesterday,” he said, sheepish.
Yesterday. She visited Michael and then came home and dragged me to her bed. Was it just because he was unavailable? I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being a substitute for Gabriel. But I could live with it—had done it before. But a surrogate for a dead man was very different from serving as stand-in for someone down the street.
“Right.” It was the only word I could muster, and I downed Kit’s half-finished scotch in one swallow. It burned and I only just held back an instinctive cough, unwilling to humiliate myself further in this man’s presence.
“I’m sure it just slipped her mind. We talked about her… project. And you.”
“Of course.” Silently, Mr. Grayson handed me his drink too, three quarters gone. I tossed that one back as well.
“Truly, she did me a favor. I was just returning it.”
“All right, wonderful.”
Ainsley leaned over and feigned whispering to Wayland. “This, what you’re doing, is the exact opposite of what Celine did for you when you met Jules.”
“Thank you, as always, Augie. I was unaware.”
“No, because you must remember, she ended your arrangementandencouraged you to pursue Juliet. But you’re ruining whatever those two have started.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell.”
“That’s why you pay me. Full of insights.” Ainsley stood and turned to me. “Do you want another drink, Will?” The temptation was strong, but the first two were doing nothing to settle my stomach. I shook my head and took the abandoned seat he offered.
“Where are you going?” Wayland called as the man stepped into the hall.
Ainsley turned, curving around the door to answer. “Find my wife. Dance with her. Tell her that her hair burns like the last vestiges of the sunlight in autumn. Profess my undying love. Literally anything to convince her I had nothing to do with whatever is happening here.”
“So, making it up as you go?”
“Of course. I’ll tell Jules and Lady Rycliffe that it’s all your fault.”
“Augie, no!” Wayland whined.
“Augie, yes. Good luck.”
Wayland turned back to me after one last longing look at Ainsley. Whatever he saw on my face had him evicting Kit and the youngest Grayson from the room with a chorus of grumbles.
