7. Clementine
CHAPTER 7
Clementine
W hen Grayson brushed by me on the way inside, I wanted to literally throttle him.
But of course, I couldn’t even have reached the big asshole’s neck.
He turned around in the hallway, his big body filling the narrow space.
Grayson still looked pretty much the same, there was just more salt and pepper in his dark crew cut now. But his jaw could still cut glass, his eyes were still cold and expressionless, and he was still the size of a barn door.
At one time the sight of him in front of me would have been the most comforting thing in the world. That feeling of security and peace in knowing he was there, making sure I was safe. Because who the fuck would mess with me as long as Grayson was around?
That was a long-ass time ago, though. Now the very sight of him made me sick.
He seemed infuriatingly calm and blasé, like he had any fucking right to walk in here after what he had done to me.
Protect me? Fuck him!
“Get out of here, Grayson!” I said again. “I don’t need or want your help. I know my dad is getting out of jail already. Can’t wait to see him.”
His dark brows drew together.
“Don’t be childish, Clementine. Your dad was involved with some dangerous people. I am here to do a security check and stay with you for a few days to make sure you’re safe.”
His huge arms were folded over his chest, and he was giving me that look that he always had. Like he was the big-ass boss, and what he said went. He was wearing a dark navy-blue suit and pants, his white shirt crisp and pristine, his tie perfectly knotted.
What a fucking perfect little Boy Scout.
“You’ll be staying here over my dead body!”
Then I jumped him, closing my fingers on his tie and trying to tighten it around his neck.
But my ex-torturer was so big that he was only knocked off balance a little bit, and he grabbed me around the waist to keep me from swinging so hard that I knocked into the wall.
“Clementine, be reasonable! I’m just here to keep you safe.”
His growly rumble irritated the fuck out of me and I lashed out as hard as I could, trying to jab my fingers in Grayson’s eyes.
“Get your hands off me!” I yelped.
He flipped me around and held me tight against his chest so all I could do was drum my heels on his legs.
“Fuck!” I said. “I wish I had the grip strength to throttle you.”
Grayson held me with a big hand under my breastbone, tightening his grip so I couldn’t twist and punch him in the nose.
I could smell his cologne, too, the same one he had always used.
What a fucking asshole!
His life had been just perfect since his disgusting betrayal, hadn’t it?
“Let’s just sit down and talk,” he said. “Have a cup of tea.”
“I don’t make tea for cheating bastards,” I replied, but Grayson hauled me into the kitchen anyway and deposited me at my chair.
Then he moved to the counter, grabbing the tea kettle and setting it on the stove.
I eyed the distance between his broad back and the doorway, but he spoke before I even had a chance to move.
“Don’t bother trying. I can move way faster than you in those 5-inch heels.”
Fuming, I sat silently at the table until he came back with two steaming cups of tea.
I glared at him as he sat down, refusing to drink the steaming mug he pushed gently over to me.
This big asshole folded his hands together on the table and just looked at me, like he was waiting for me to talk.
“Is this some stupid FBI trick, Agent Bentley? Don’t bother. I can ignore you all day long.”
“I am sorry,” he said. “For any hurt you experienced during the course of the investigation.”
My jaw dropped open. “Is that what you consider an apology? You’re shit, Grayson.”
His harsh face flushed slightly.
“My apology is sincere,” he said stiffly. “I’m sorry you don’t accept it.”
“Of course I don’t fucking accept it!” I shot at him. “And I’ll never accept it.”
He stared unblinkingly at me, a muscle flexing in his jaw. His shifted his position slightly, refolded his hands over the table.
And that was all the emotion I had ever gotten out of Grayson Bentley.
It made me furious that not only had he used and betrayed me, but he thought he was a fucking saint for doing so!
“I wonder how many violent criminals got away while you were staking out my father for two years?” I asked.
“Clementine, I am sorry, but your father is a con man.”
“You think that’s news, asshole? Some of my earliest memories are of us packing a suitcase and fleeing in the middle of the night, with a bunch of guys Dad played poker with chasing after us. When my mom left, her parting words were bitching him out for pinching twenties from her purse. I know he’s a con man. But you’re so much worse, Grayson. He never pretended to be anything he wasn’t. And I don’t care whatever way you try to justify it. You pretended to be a good and honorable man, but you’re literally the worst fucking liar and cheat.”
For a moment, there was silence and I pushed away the cup of tea.
I didn’t want shit that he gave me.
“I’m sorry,” Grayson said again, and I saw a tiny muscle flex in the back of his hand. “I’m sorry it went down like that.”
“ No ,” I replied. “Just tell me what bullshit your department has set up for me now.”
He hesitated, then reached into his pocket for his phone and pulled up a document. Glancing up, he began to list the FBI’s plan. Monitor me, make sure none of Harvey’s associates contacted or threatened me. Apparently there was some $50 million still missing that had not been recovered after arresting my dad, and they were hopeful Harvey or his associates might lead them to it.
I couldn’t give less of a shit about it. I just wanted Grayson out of my home as soon as possible.
“How’s the accounting business?” I asked. “Still keeping you busy at all hours of the day and night? Those tricksy tax returns keeping you balls-deep in random pussy?”
Grayson shifted in his seat, but his face was still expressionless.
“Can’t we talk about this like adults?” he asked.
“OK, boss man,” I said.
An interesting deep flush of color appeared on his face.
“I am sorry you had to hear that,” he said stiffly.
“I’d love to see those FBI orders that specified you had to be fucking Vivi,” I snapped, stretching back in my chair. “Before you come here like an asshole thinking I’m ever going to forgive you, what part of your job was that?”
There was silence again.
“ What part of your job was that, Grayson ?” I asked again.
“No part of it,” he finally said. “That was not part of my job.”
I smiled grimly. “Now you know why I have no interest in your little apologies or forgiving you.”
I didn’t want to sit across from him anymore, so I pushed away and went to look out of the window.
By the creaking of his chair, I could tell he had gotten up, too.
“Just go the fuck away from me,” I snarled, clenching my hands into fists and turning to glare at him.
Grayson stopped where he was. He didn’t move any closer, but his eyes still watched me.
“No,” he said. “I am here to protect you and that is what I’m going to do.”
I could feel my face flushing with rage.
“What do you think is going to happen, precisely?” I shot at him.
“It’s possible some of Harvey Adler’s associates will try to contact you,” he said. “He was in business with some very dangerous people with mob connections, and I want to make sure you are safe.”
The very idea of him keeping me safe was repulsive, and I crossed my arms over my chest. If I pissed him off enough, surely he’d leave me alone.
“I think instead of that, I’ll find all of Dad’s associates and go ask for a job in the mob,” I said.
A frown appeared on his stupidly rugged FBI face.
“You won’t be doing that, Clementine.”
“Oh, and who’s going to stop me?” I taunted.
“I will,” he said, looking at me with an unblinking ice-blue stare.
“How?” I shot at him without thinking.
He didn’t respond, just looked at me.
Blurgh. Of course he could stop me if he wanted to. He was well over a foot and a half taller and he looked like he ate linebackers for dinner.
“How about I go right now and rob a bank,” I said hotly, headed for the door.
Grayson moved way faster than such a big man had any right to move, blocking my path.
“Stop it,” he said. “I’m not going to let you do anything you might regret.”
“The only thing I regret,” I retorted, “is meeting you.”