10. Xavier
10
XAVIER
I want whatever pieces of Grayson Hart she’s willing to give me.
I knew that was true the first time I met her and proved it to be fact when I let her believe she was escaping my bed unnoticed almost a week ago. I’d felt her absence the moment she decided to leave, her mental detachment from what we’d just shared stealing her away from me before she even moved a muscle. Letting her go was hard but necessary. After years of only sharing her body and heart with one man, I knew she’d need time and space to process being with someone else. I didn’t like having to give her either of those things, but I sucked it up because she’s already spent too much of her life putting someone else’s needs before her own.
“You’re going to be late,” Mara says, poking her head through the door and interrupting my thoughts. She tilts her head to one side, wide eyes assessing me. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
My quick response only makes her more curious, and instead of closing my office door and continuing on her journey out of the office to begin her weekend, she steps inside. I let out a long sigh, not in the mood to deal with an inquisition. Mara doesn’t care. She plops down in one of the armchairs across from me and narrows her eyes.
“Tell me the truth.”
Hoping to move this conversation along quickly, I start to clear off my desk, stuffing papers into files and separating them into piles that indicate their varying priority levels. Mara waits patiently for me to finish, then arches a brow at me. “Are you done procrastinating?”
“I’m not procrastinating,” I say, rising from my desk and putting the few files I need to take home with me in my briefcase. “I’m just waiting for you to realize that whatever is on my mind is none of your business.”
“So there is something on your mind.”
“I’m a lawyer, Mara. There’s always something on my mind.”
The snaps from my briefcase sound off, punctuating my statement. Mara rolls her eyes and pushes to her feet, falling into step beside me as I make my way out of the office. “Personal or professional?”
“None of your business, Mara,” I insist, even as flashes of Grayson beneath me fill my head, the sound of her moans playing in my mind like my favorite song on repeat.
She nods, using my deflection as confirmation. “So, personal then.”
We step onto the elevator, and I remain quiet, scrolling through the group chat I have with Orion, Lincoln, and Chase. They’re unusually active today, most of the messages in the thread related to the logistics of the grand opening of Orion’s restaurant and lounge, Pulse, which is happening tonight. Even though Orion is my best friend, my brothers, Lincoln and Chase both jumped at the opportunity to invest in his business with me. Together, we purchased the building that used to house Arcane, the restaurant Grayson’s boss, Jaxon Daniels, used to own. It shut down not long after his departure, leaving the building and all the equipment to sit for months with no interest or offers until we came along, getting it at a steal.
“Is it Grayson?”
I cut an eye at her, trying to sus out how much Mara knows. She’s not a lawyer yet, but she already knows and lives by the first rule of practicing law: never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to.
Pocketing my phone, I cross my arms and meet her gaze straight on. “How did you know?”
A shit-eating grin pulls up the corners of her lips as she pumps a celebratory fist. “Yes! It’s about time you admitted it.”
“I haven’t admitted anything.”
“Not verbally, no, but your face says it all,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger in my direction.
“Pure conjecture.” I shrug, annoyed at how easily she reads me. “With no evidence to back it up, your argument is dead in the water.”
“Okay.” Mara turns to face me, squaring her shoulders as she prepares to deliver the facts of the case. “The following facts are not in dispute: one, you represented Grayson in her divorce and went harder for her than I’ve ever seen you go for any other client.” I start to argue, but she waves me off. “Two, you billed her for half the hours you worked and refused to invoice her even after she got that big ass settlement. Three, Grayson ended her divorce celebration at Luxe, which is exactly where you went on that same night. It stands to reason that you two would have run into each other and maybe even acted on the feelings you’ve been trying to hide since that cute little movie date y’all had back in February.”
The elevator comes to a stop, depositing us on the parking level reserved for our firm’s employees. Mara’s parked a little further down than I am, so we bypass my car to get to hers first.
“How do you know where her celebration ended?”
“Because she invited me. I got a whole itinerary from her cousin, Chantel.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
She fishes her keys out of her purse, tapping one button to unlock the car. “Because I didn’t think it was appropriate to be partying with clients, but now that I know you slept with her, I’m thinking that might have been fine.” My jaw drops, and Mara bursts out laughing. “Oh, my God! I was totally bullshitting, but you actually slept with her?”
Once I pick my jaw up off the floor, I level her with a stare that has her turning serious. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asks.
I run a hand over my hair, hating how closely Mara’s question resembles the one I’ve been asking myself since Grayson walked out on me. Technically, there are no rules prohibiting me from pursuing a romantic relationship with a former client. I mean, it’s not exactly encouraged, but it’s common enough in my field that it won’t have me appearing before any ethics boards.
My true concern isn’t the potential professional ramifications, it’s the personal ones, more so for Grayson than for me. She has no experience dating, and I’ve been playing the field for as long as she’s been tethered to Brian’s useless ass. Which isn’t to say that I’m some expert on romantic endeavors because I’m not. My last serious relationship was years ago, and it faded off rather than ended because I checked out and she forced herself not to care anymore, so my nonchalance hurt less.
Long story short, Grayson and I were both woefully unprepared for us. For the way it felt to be together like that. Our souls lain bare, rubbed raw, ripped apart and put back together, fused in some way that feels irreversible.
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly, wishing I could be more certain, wishing I knew more than the fact that it just feels right to be with her, and not just when she’s underneath me or on top of me or in front of me, her back arched and her legs parted to give me room to slide into her from the side. Clearing my throat to expel the wayward direction of my thoughts, I give Mara a thin smile. “See you Monday.”
She sends me off with a wave of her hand and no words of encouragement, which I strangely appreciate. When I’m thinking about how to come at a problem, I don’t like having other people’s voices floating around in my head, their opinions keeping me from forming my own. By the time I arrive at Pulse, I’ve decided that I have to approach this shift in my dynamic with Grayson the same way I approached our first dance: by following her lead. I trust her to tell me what she wants, to communicate her needs and limitations, and I hope that she’ll trust me to do the same.
“X, man, it’s about damn time you got here,” Lincoln, my baby brother, says by way of greeting when I arrive at the table Orion reserved for us. He stands to pull me into a one-armed hug, followed in close succession by Chase, who claps me on the shoulder with those big ass hands he got from our dad.
“What’s up, bro?” he says, letting me go and sinking back down into the booth, long arms hanging over the sides.
I return their greetings and glance around the dark, moody space that’s filled with people, but not the person I’m looking for. “Where’s Ma?”
My mother, Dahlia, was supposed to ride to the opening with me, but she decided I was taking too long and opted for a ride with my brothers instead. I expected to find her at the table with them, but I should have known she’d be somewhere working the room, teaming up with Orion’s mom, Liz, to find all the eligible ladies to set one, or all, of us up with.
Lincoln shrugs. “Somewhere around here.”
“I think I saw her at the bar,” Chase offers, scanning the room to confirm his theory. When he spots her, he nods. “She’s right there in the middle, talking somebody’s head off.”
Following his gaze, I find our mother through the crowd. Her short, platinum blonde hair styled in the finger waves she’s been rocking since the 90’s and the large gold hoops she won’t let go of make her hard to miss, but it’s the person she’s sitting next to that draws all of my attention. Even though I can only see the side of her face, I know her immediately, and I start moving in her direction without a second thought. When I get close enough to inhale the warm notes of her perfume, both she and my mother turn to face me.
“Hi, my baby!” Ma smiles brightly, the bangles on her arm clinking together softly as she opens her arms for a hug that I give her while my eyes linger on Grayson’s face.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Grayson, this is the son I was just telling you about.” She leans back, holding me at arm’s length and gazing at me with proud eyes. “My oldest, Xavier. He went to law school, graduated top of his class, is the youngest named partner in his firm, and…” Her voice trails off, and she looks between Grayson and I, eyes wide with surprise when she sees the way we’re staring at each other. “And you two already know each other,” she finishes, slipping off the barstool next to Grayson to stand beside me.
“Hey, Hart.”
Grayson’s eyes turn molten, and I know that if the melanin in her skin would allow for it, I’d see the red from a growing blush tinting her cheeks. She takes a slow sip of her drink and licks her lips, making me remember what it’s like to kiss her.
“Hi,” she murmurs, refusing to call me by my first or last name. That bothers me. I want my name on her lips the way they were the other night. I want the syllables wrapped around her tongue, desperate and clinging as she falls apart beneath my touch. My inappropriate thoughts must show on my face because Ma slips away suddenly and quietly, leaving us to sit in the heavy weight of too many things left unsaid.
I take the seat next to Grayson. “What are you doing here?”
A smirk forms on her lips as she tilts her head to the side. “Are you going to ask me that question every time you see me out in the wild?”
I huff out a laugh. “No, this is the last time I promise.”
“Kendra asked me to come with her,” she says, shaking her head at me, still smiling. “Orion invited her.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Apparently, they exchanged numbers at Luxe and have been talking every day.”
Between the revelation that my best friend has been in regular contact with her cousin and the mention of the night I’ve been obsessing over for days, I’m at a loss for words. Grayson finds that funny.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not have anything to say.”
“It doesn’t happen often,” I admit just as the bartender walks up to take my order. “Two fingers of the Balblair single malt and another one of what she’s having.” I slide a few folded hundreds in their direction and instruct them to keep the change before turning my attention back to Grayson.
She’s wearing black again tonight. A color I’ve come to associate with her smooth, mocha skin and the generous dips and curves that make up her body. On anyone else, an all black ensemble might come across as somber, but on her—especially in the clearly custom made mini dress with the hem riding up her thighs—it gives regal, sensual, fuckable .
As if she can sense my thoughts, Grayson looks away, scanning the length of the bar, probably looking for Kendra so she can walk out on me again. Studying the soft lines of her profile because she won’t give me her eyes, I wrack my brain for something to say to bring her attention back to me.
“So, you met my mother.”
Now, she turns her head and her gaze snags on mine. “She’s lovely, and she’s very proud of you. She told me you went into family law because of her.”
My brows rise, and I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder even though I know Ma won’t be anywhere to be found. I want to ask her how, and why, that conversation came up with someone who is a complete stranger to her. She usually doesn’t include the details of the emotional and psychological abuse my father subjected her to that resulted in a break from reality that landed her in a mental health hospital and Lincoln, Chase and I in a foster home in any of her “my son is a lawyer,” speeches.
“Oh, yeah? How’d that come up?”
“She watched me turn down several very handsome, very charming men and asked me what the hell was wrong with me.” Grayson chuckles, the warm sound hitting me like a swift kick to the ribs. “I told her I’d just gotten divorced and was over men at the moment. That resonated with her, and we just kind of ended up trading horror stories. She told me I shouldn’t let Brian make me give up on finding love and that finding your stepfather healed something inside of her, and then she asked me if I wanted to meet her oldest son.”
There’s a dull ache in my chest that’s existed right beneath my sternum since I was a kid, that came roaring back to life when I met Grayson and saw that distant look in her eye. I recognized it instantly, having seen it in my mother’s for so long, and I’m happy as hell that neither of them have it anymore, that I was able to contribute to Grayson’s liberation in a way I was too young to do for my mother.
“Did she at least do a good job of selling me?” I ask, voice rough with unchecked emotion.
Grayson nods, but she doesn’t laugh at my attempt at lightheartedness. “It was a great pitch. I can tell she’s been working on it for years.”
“Decades, really. She’s desperate for some grandkids.”
“Ugh.” Grayson rolls her eyes, taking another sip of her drink. “Aren’t they all? You should hear my mama and aunts when we’re all together. It’s all they talk about these days.”
“Doesn’t one of your aunts already have a grand kid, though? Crew, right? Kendra’s son?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, her eyes shining with appreciation at my superior recollection. “He’s about to turn seven, and we all adore him, but apparently he’s too old to meet their grand baby requirements. I think the final straw was him suddenly deciding he was done with stuffed animals and giving away his whole collection.”
I twist my lips to the side, considering her theory. “Sounds plausible. There’s a definite correlation between a kid making developmental strides and the desire for a new baby. I’m pretty sure my mom got pregnant with Chase the same night I decided I no longer needed to sleep in her bed.”
“I doubt that was intentional. She probably just got caught up in the thrill of being able to bust it wide open without a kid in the room.”
My nose wrinkles in disgust at her phrasing, and she snorts out a laugh. “Oh, grow up, Allen. You and your brothers are living, breathing proof that your mom got it in at least three times in her life.”
Disgust rolls through me again, this time manifesting in a full body shudder that has Grayson doubled over, clutching her sides. “You’re gross,” I tell her, smiling at her amusement despite being sick to my stomach at the topic.
“And you’re childish,” she tosses back. “Everyone has sex, Xavier. Including your mom.”
“I mean, I know that, but I don’t want to think about it.”
“Well, duh. No one wants to think about anyone having sex, especially not their mothers.”
The bartender reappears, sliding our drinks in front of us before disappearing again. I grab mine, taking a long sip of the brown liquid, letting the smoky flavor fill my lungs.
“Not true,” I say after swallowing. “There are plenty of people I’d happily think about having sex.”
Grayson arches a brow. “Like who?”
I don’t even have to think about my response. It flows past my lips in a smooth wave laced with desire and whiskey. “You and me, for starters.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and she shakes her head. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You did. I didn’t have to take the bait, though. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I figured we’d have to talk about it at some point.”
“Not if you don’t want to,” I assure her, hoping like hell she does want to.
She shifts in her seat, angling those mile long legs in my direction. “I shouldn’t have walked out like that.”
“Grayson, you don’t owe me any explanations. You did what you felt was best for you at the moment, and I respect that.”
Auburn eyes race over my features, trying to find out whether I actually mean what I say. She must find what she’s looking for because her features soften, vulnerability writing itself into the lines of her expression. “Is that why you didn’t call?”
“Well, yeah. I was trying to give you the space you so clearly needed.” Now, I’m searching her face, wanting to know what’s going on in her head. “Did you want me to call?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “I wanted you to call.”
There’s easily a hundred people in this room. Music playing, drinks flowing, conversations happening all around us, but right now, there’s just Grayson. There’s just us. There’s just her soft confession, and my hands that long for her skin and refuse to be denied the right to touch her any longer. I reach out, fingers hesitant as they wrap around the supple flesh covering her calf, growing bolder and more familiar when she doesn’t pull away. Grayson gasps when they run a short circuit up to her knee and down to her ankle. I only get to do it twice more before she covers my hand with hers, a warning shimmering in her irises.
“What else?” I ask.
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“What else do you want, Hart? From this? From me? I’ll give you whatever, do whatever, be whatever you want me to be. I’ll take whatever pieces of yourself you have available to give as long as I get to have some of you.” She shakes her head in disbelief and overwhelm, and I use my free hand to grip her chin, forcing her to focus on me and not the doubts swimming in her mind. “I know you have limits and demands, Grayson. I want to hear them all. I’m going to meet them all, so don’t be afraid to speak them. Not with me.”
It takes her a while. Long, agonizing seconds where the music feels too loud and everyone feels too close, the pitch of their voices too sharp, threatening to pierce the bubble around Grayson and I. By some small miracle, it doesn’t break.
“I can’t do serious,” she says, her jaw turning rigid underneath my touch. “After Brian and the divorce, I’m just not ready for anything like that.”
“So, you need casual. Understood.”
“No, not casual. Just un-serious.”
My lips quirk as I fight the urge to tell her that those words mean the same thing. She sees me biting the reminder back, and she smiles too. For a minute, we stay like that, smiling at each other over some unspoken thing. Finally, I respond, dipping my chin in acknowledgment of her amendment to my statement.
“Un-serious,” I repeat, leaning in to close the distance between her face and mine. Her breath skates over my lips. “That’s what you want us to be, Hart?”
“Yeah, Allen. Is that what you want?”
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything,” I murmur before finally taking her lips in a kiss that’s desperate enough to make us forget the lie we’ve just told ourselves and each other.