I’m here.
A little thrill went through her. There was no going back now.
Her phone buzzed immediately with Audrey’s response:
Good to go.
The car doors opened and several middle-aged men carrying enormous cameras started toward her. Even though this was all part of the plan, she couldn’t help feeling a little freaked out. She rolled down her window and leaned her torso out of the car, pushing her hair behind her ear to give the cameras a clear view of her face as she slowly tapped Ethan’s security code into the keypad.
Click-click-click-click.The high-speed shutters snapped in sharp flurries, the flashes sending dark spots dancing in front of her eyes. Once they had their money shots, the photographers politely thanked her and scattered back to their cars before the gate had opened fully. Grey stared apprehensively down the long expanse of driveway, engulfed in shadow.
Honey, I’m home.
—
SHE WAS HERE.In his house.
For the first time, Grey existed outside the walls of Greenfield& Aoki or the screen of his computer (and, okay, the screen of his phone, too). She was fidgeting in his hallway, leather overnight bag slung over her shoulder, having trouble meeting his eyes. Not that he was trying, either.
He led her through the house.
“Kitchen—help yourself to anything in the fridge; if you want something else, you can text Lucas and he’ll postmates it for you.” He turned to face the living room and gestured at theenormous, plush, U-shaped sectional parked in front of a projector screen. “He can also probably help you figure out the remotes if you want to watch something. I think you can stream…whatever you want. I pretty much only use it when the girls are here, they’re better at that stuff. I can’t really make heads or tails of it.”
She was silent, taking it all in. He brought her down the hallway and opened the door to one of the spare bedrooms.
“Normally I would put you in the guesthouse, but there’s some kind of pipe thing going on. Lucas says the guy keeps giving him the runaround. The pipe guy, I mean. Sorry about that.”
“Um, no, it’s fine. I’ll just knock a star off your rating.”
He jerked his head back to look at her. She looked back at him innocently. He ran his hand through his hair, a little unnerved. There she went again, making jokes, making herself impossible to write off. He wished she wouldn’t.
“Right. Well. Make yourself at home.” He tried to keep his pace casual as he walked away.
For the next hour, Ethan holed up in his office, doing whatever he could to ignore the new bumps and shuffles and sighs permeating the house, let alone what—make thatwho—was causing them. He felt a little guilty about abandoning her so unceremoniously, but surely she understood that this was how it had to work. Tonight was about the photo op when she entered and when she left. It had to be. He’d watched her lose any illusions about the kind of guy he was at their first meeting, and he wasn’t about to show her firsthand all the fun and unique ways he could disappoint her.
He had a glass of bourbon next to him, but he hadn’t touched it much. Something about tonight made him want to stay alert. A book lay open on his lap, but he couldn’t concentrate, staring out at the pool instead. His house was ranch-style, wrapping around the pool and enclosing it on three sides, with all the back walls replaced by floor-to-ceiling glass.
He sighed and put the book down, casting his eyes around the room for something else to do. He wouldnotgo see what she was doing. He picked up his guitar from the corner and gave it a perfunctory tuning before settling back in his chair, strumming absently, lost in thought.
Ethan was so zoned out that he didn’t hear the office door, already open a crack, creak open farther.
“Know any Hole?”
Grey was standing in the doorway, hand on her hip like she owned the place. Her confident expression wavered when he met her eyes, but only for a split second.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s Nirvana, right?” Her brow furrowed melodramatically. “You’re not one of those ‘Courtney killed Kurt’ guys, are you? Because if that’s the case, I’m writing Audrey that million-dollar check right now.”
Ethan chuckled. “Oh yeah? That’s your dealbreaker? ‘Must love Courtney Love’?”
“Is that so much to ask?”
“Not at all. Unfortunately, I can only play about three and a half songs and Courtney didn’t make the short list.”
“Was that one of the three, or the half?”
He offered the neck of the guitar to her, in mock offense.
