8. Grayson
CHAPTER 8
Grayson
“ L et me make dinner,” I said, trying for some way to get a hold of the situation. I felt off balance, knocked off my game, and I never felt that way. “You always liked my spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Make whatever you like,” she said. “I guess I don’t have a choice, since the FBI is foisting you on me again.”
It wasn’t like I thought Clementine was really going to rob a bank.
But the spike of anxiety I felt as she looked at the door, like she was deliberately taunting me, felt like a muscle I hadn’t used in a while was getting unfurled.
This was how I had been when we were married, even though back then she would never have dreamed of testing me or taunting me.
We weren’t really married , I reminded myself.
It didn’t help. The fucking muscle memory of being her husband had returned and I did not like the thought of Clementine endangering herself, even though she was clearly just trying to goad me.
Her kitchen was well-stocked and, although it was hard to drag my eyes away from her, how her hip jutted out in annoyance, her form-fitting shirt hiking up a little bit further to show more smooth, lightly tanned skin, I forced myself to look away and find pasta and start collecting the spices I’d need for the sauce.
With a loud huff, she moved into the living room and I could see out of the corner of my eye that she had sat down at her sewing machine. Since it was an open floor plan, I could glance over at her as I worked on dinner.
“What are you working on?” I asked as I opened the cans of crushed tomatoes.
She ignored my question. “Just make dinner,” she said. “We’ll see if I feel like eating it.”
I felt a strange pain in my gut. Clementine had always loved my grandma’s homemade spaghetti recipe.
I had been a good husband, I told myself defensively.
Wait, fuck. I hadn’t really been her husband.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said into the silence.
She ignored me.
“Do you really want to spend the next two weeks saying nothing to each other?” I asked, surprised to hear a thread of irritation in my voice.
It was not like me to let any emotion through.
“Yes, please,” was all she said, refusing to look at me as she threaded something that looked like a sparkly blue gown with hanging stars, moons, and comets.
For some reason, I absolutely refused to let this go, even though I was normally a taciturn person and preferred not to speak. At least, I thought that’s how I was.
“I see you’re still doing costuming,” I said, aware that it was slightly desperate of me to keep trying to get her to talk to me.
“Congratulations,” she said. “I see the eyes haven’t gone yet.”
“Can I see some of your designs?” I asked. “You always did really nice work.”
Clementine glared at me.
“ No . This isn’t a chance to reconnect, Grayson. Just do your fucking job and don’t talk to me.”
I turned away hastily before she could see my face, but the rejection stung.
It was just jarring to see Clementine like this. When we had been together, she had always looked at me with starry-eyed adoration. Always eager to hear about my day, eager to tell me about hers, and since obviously I couldn’t talk about my day at the imaginary accounting firm, I always encouraged her to talk.
And while she talked I was able to disassociate, forget about everything else besides her animated hazel eyes as she told me all about her design classes and the projects she was working on.
It was nice. Soothing.
Maybe that was what I had been missing in these recent years. Someone to talk to me, someone to look at me like that.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I could have had relationships if I wanted them. I had been in brief relationships before, and they always felt stifling, choking me with the pressure and intimacy.
So why was I thinking nostalgically about this, when it hadn’t even been real?
I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back as I threw myself into making dinner. She didn’t have any frozen garlic bread, so I whipped up a quick Irish loaf and made garlic butter from scratch.
As I chopped kale and butter lettuce for a salad, I glanced over at her again. She was still ignoring me totally.
Another spark of annoyed irritation sizzled up my spine.
This isn’t how this was supposed to go.
And how did you want it to go? my brain wondered before I clamped down on the question and shoved it relentlessly back in the recesses of my brain.
If I was hoping the painstakingly cooked dinner would soften Clementine, it did not.
She still refused to engage, only responding with brief, clipped answers to any question I asked her. She must be doing well with her costume designing if she was able to buy such a nice house and car, but it grated on me that she hated me so much that she wouldn’t share anything with me.
After supper, she changed and went outside to do yoga. I moved to the sink to do the dishes.
Why did I care so much what she thought of me? I wondered uneasily.
Had it just been too long since I’d had sex? I felt as fucking horned-up as a teenager.
This visit was supposed to be about making sure Clementine was protected and apologizing for any regrettable pain I had caused her in the course of doing my duty.
Nothing more.
So why did it hurt so badly that she refused to accept my apology?
I tried to reassemble the pillars of my righteousness.
The importance of the investigation.
The crimes that Harvey Adler had committed.
The absolute necessity for my deception to be able to get information on the subject.
Hell, I had worked with Vivi for years before I even met Clementine!
She was one of several women who I saw off and on because I had no time or desire for a serious relationship. My work was everything to me. It was the most important thing in my life. Taking down those who had defrauded the government and, hopefully, one day becoming the Head of Department.
So why did this one hurt so much?
I had never had a problem letting go of a case before.
Maybe I needed to switch departments. Because the thrill of work just hadn’t been there in the last few years.
And, a little voice in my head reminded me, your mission failed .
You didn’t catch the kingpin.
You caught a cog in the organization.
Despite all the rewards, the adulation, the excessive praise, the medals, the plaques, we hadn’t even done what we were supposed to.
Which meant I had screwed over Clementine and failed in my mission.
This was something one meal and an apology wasn’t going to fix.
And it was about more than sex, I reminded myself sternly, glancing out the window at where Clementine was finishing up her yoga session. I was glad I had something to do with my hands to distract myself, or I would have found it difficult to tear my eyes away from how her body looked, lit up by the summer sun. She bent down, the perky little curves of her ass making my cock twitch.
This was about doing the honorable thing.
It wasn’t about desiring Clementine. I had always wanted Clementine. Ever since the first moment I saw her.
I wasn’t sure if it was her at first. I only had a bad quality cellphone picture of the subject to go on.
And for a moment I thought,
Not her.
Not this one.
Not this one with the big hazel eyes, the soft lips, the sweet expression on her face, the big bulky gray sweatshirt that swamped her, making her look like a little adorable pointy-eared elf.
Because for a moment I wanted her for myself. Not for the job.
But in another moment I had driven down my feelings and done what I did best. Set my emotions aside and looked at a situation analytically.
And now she was my job again.
But what happens when this job is over?