Chapter 7 #2
Blue eyes glitter back at me as he angles his body to the side, resting his back against the armrest. “Good,” he tells me in that deep rumble.
My mouth twitches. I’m not sure if it’s a frown, a smile, or a panic attack, so I just blink at him, unable to tear my gaze away. “We need to talk about your husband.”
Ice races through my veins. My heart slows to a sluggish pace, almost feeling like it’s not beating at all. I’m not sure what I expected, coming here with him, but Grafton announcing that we “need to talk” about my husband definitely didn’t feature in the top ten.
I inch away from him, trying to create as much space as possible. It’s obvious that he has some kind of agenda, and in my experience, anyone with an agenda isn’t going to be looking out for me or my children.
I level him with a cool look, hiding my suspicion behind a shaky mask of civility.
“What about him?” My tone betrays none of my inner turmoil, but his attention drops to the way my hands are clenched together, the bones aching from how tightly I’m holding them.
He strokes long fingers over his rough jaw, his expression thoughtful, and as the silence stretches between us, I arch an imperious eyebrow, silently demanding an answer.
“It was a serious question,” he says instead, his thumb running over his lower lip. It’s a little fuller than the top, and before I can stop myself, my eyes drop, watching as he drags it down slightly. My breath hitches in my chest, but I shake it off.
“What question?” Impatience seeps through the words, but I don’t try to pull it back. I don’t know what’s happening, but the longer we sit here, staring at each other, the more it feels like I’m doing something wrong.
“If you are happy,” Grafton clarifies, his tone gentling in a way that makes my stomach clench.
I fix a glare on my face—the kind that might have singed the hair right off his eyebrows if he were even an inch closer. “And, if you remember,” I say, overly sweet and with only a tiny bite. “I answered you.”
He gives me a knowing smile, not thrown by my attitude. “You did,” he agrees. “Now I want the truth.” The deep timbre of his voice settles in my bones, mingling with the bitter taste of guilt.
I shouldn’t be reacting to him like this.
I don’t know him, and he certainly doesn’t know me.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt like someone sees me as something other than Christopher Delcourt’s wife or Mase and Ginny’s mother. My head spins at the idea that this man sees through all of it, to the woman underneath…but I still don’t know what he wants.
I lift my lashes, unable to remember closing my eyes, and find him watching me with a lazy grin curling his lips.
My mouth pinches with irritation. “I think we’re done here,” I say frostily, gathering my purse and hooking it over my shoulder.
As I stand, Grafton reaches out and grabs my arm, the heat of his large hand searing me through my clothes.
“Sit down.” It’s nothing short of an order, but I don’t move, staring down my nose at him. The corners of his mouth twitch as he repeats, “Sit down, Lynley,” softening it with a, “Please.”
I roll my eyes, making him huff in amusement, but retake my seat. “Get on with it,” I demand. “I need to pick my children up.”
“Two children, correct?” he clarifies. His hand is still on my arm. I flick a too-casual glance at it, debating whether I should pull away or not. There’s nothing untoward happening except him being a little too forward with someone he just met and knows is married. To his employee.
I pause. “Christopher told you?”
He shakes his head, finally pulling his hand away, leaving my arm tingling. “No.”
I swallow my hurt. I knew Christopher wouldn’t spend time talking about his kids, but it feels like more evidence against him.
“Yes.” I look away from Grafton. “Mase is nine, and Ginny is seven.” The next question falls out of my mouth without my permission. “And you? Do you have children?”
He lifts one brawny shoulder. “No children,” he admits. “No wife or significant other, either. I always thought the right woman would come along eventually, but…” He trails off. I look up, his blue eyes catching mine like magnets, pulling my stare in and refusing to let go.
“But?” The word is yanked out.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Christopher has cameras in his office.”
My brows dip at the subject change. “I didn’t know that. Why would he? This building is secure—” I clamp my lips shut as bile suddenly surges into my throat, my subconscious catching up before anything else.
No.
No way.
He wouldn’t.
Would he?
Grafton’s stare hardens to steel as he takes in my reaction.
“My security firm is very good at what they do, Lynley. It’s why I pay them so much money,” he adds wryly.
“They have systems in place that mean any technology connected into our servers— anything that uses the internet here—is accessible to the security team.”
“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.” There’s a dark feeling of foreboding creeping through me.
“Every person in my employ is aware of this,” he continues as if I didn’t say a word. “It’s clearly printed in their employment contracts. The cameras your husband—”
“Please don’t call him that.”
Grafton’s brows lift. “Stop calling him your husband? Isn’t that what he is?”
It’s a leading question, but I don’t take the bait. After a moment, his smile grows, as if I’ve just let him in on a secret only the two of us know. That uneasiness is still here, but it feels distant, hazy, as I stare back at him, feeling like this man is about to turn everything on its head.
“As I was saying,” he says smoothly, “when Christopher decided to install cameras, he chose ones that required an internet connection.”
“I’m getting the sense that was a dumb move on his part.”
“Dumb is one word for it,” he agrees, that smile never slipping. “What it means is that it was extraordinarily easy for my security team to get access to any footage he recorded on the premises.”