Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SAVVY
“Is this for real?” I wobble slightly in my too-tall heels as we step into the glittering foyer of the new Omni-Reyes headquarters. I don’t even want to know how they transformed this building in such a short amount of time.
If this is what they’re working with here in Georgia, what the hell did their California offices look like? It’s all so shiny, so pristine, like a hurricane didn’t nearly destroy a town a few miles away.
The contrast stings. We’re standing in opulence, while others still search for pieces of their lives. The chasm between the haves and the have-nots hits harder when you’ve always been on the side of the outcasts.
The entire first floor of their newly constructed office building has been converted into an elegant gala, complete with open bars, tall floral arrangements that reach for the sky like geysers, and blackjack tables that are supposed to encourage generosity.
I don’t know whether to gag or grab a cocktail.
“This is another world… Such a waste of money,” I mutter under my breath.
Grey responds coolly, “Unfortunately, this is just the way it works in some circles.”
My stomach betrays me with a loud, low grumble. I don’t even respond—just shrug. I can fake it till I make it with the best of them, but Grey throws me off kilter.
Unfortunately, the man doesn’t miss a damn thing. “Hungry?” His tone is clipped, almost irritated, which makes me straighten my spine, but I don’t answer.
He grabs my elbow and guides me toward the side room where catering is prepping trays. Before I can even blink, he’s flagged down a waiter and is studying the hors d’oeuvres like it’s his job.
“See anything you like?” His gruffness grates my nerves like the roughest sandpaper.
“I’m too nervous to eat.” It’s a lie, and I know instantly that he’s caught it.
He snorts and starts plucking pastries and finger foods onto a plate. “Sweet. Little. Liar.”
Heat floods my face, and my defenses rise. “Care to elaborate? What, exactly, am I lying about now?”
“I know you, Monroe. I’ve watched you. You don’t let nerves stop you. You bulldoze through them. It’s who you are.”
I want to argue, but I can’t. Not really.
“What could you possibly be nervous about here?” he asks, all push and no pause.
“Oh, I don’t know… maybe the fact that my life feels like it was swept up in a hurricane that hasn’t spit me out yet?
I can’t tell which way is up, and now I’m in a $4,000 dress that could’ve fed 1,500 people.
I know because I looked it up. I’m wearing the equivalent of 1,500 emergency meals, and I can’t even think about the cost of this ring. ”
He studies me for a long moment, his silence saying more than our squabbles ever could. “Did you worry about food as a child?”
“What?” I blink. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Blood rushing. How the hell did he get that from our conversation?
“Did you have food insecurity growing up?”
I hesitate. “Sometimes.” Lying would do me no good, since he’s a human lie detector that seems to have a direct connection to my conscience, so I supply a sliver of truth instead. “But that has nothing to do with this.”
It does, but there’s no reason he needs that information.
My stomach rumbles again, and Grey’s face hardens into furious lines. “Did you eat today?”
“Why are you so obsessed with my food intake?” I snap.
“Because someone has to be.” His tone is sharper now. “Pick. Something.”
He pushes the plate toward me. When I narrow my eyes, he softens. “Please.”
Ugh. Fine. I grab the mushroom puff and bite into it, then try not to moan when it hits my deprived taste buds.
He watches me like I’m performing magic. Like chewing is an intimate act.
“I may have grown up in a different world than you,” he starts, “but I’m insensitive, not ignorant. Braxton and I paid for this event, and the foundation is matching our costs in donations to Stillwater. These events bring in bigger donors. It’s a game. One we play to help others.”
I glance at the food when he inches it closer to me, then grab an oyster. He grins as though I just agreed to sink to my knees for him right here.
I allow myself a moment to savor the salty flavors that burst along my tongue. I am hungry, and I do need to get control of myself.
He offers me one more bite of something unidentifiable, and I decline. He pops it in his mouth… then immediately regrets it. Do I take satisfaction in his grimace? Yes, yes, I do.
“Want anything else?” he asks, swallowing so hard it’s audible.
“No,” I sigh, hand over my stomach. “There’s dinner at this thing, right?”
He nods, but his expression carries a shadow, a secret I don’t understand.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
He slips my arm through his, and irritation prickles my spine when his touch centers me, reminds me who I am—that I can do anything.
“Try to have fun, sweetheart. I’m on your side here.”
My breath catches. I don’t respond, but I can’t let it go either. When we’re standing on opposite sides of the same line, things make sense. I can handle whatever he throws at me. Side by side, fighting together, is a game I don’t know how to win.
As we move through the crowd and find our table, his touch grounds me, tethering me tighter to him with each step.
The rest of our party is already seated.
Madi is next to Braxton, and Grant, who I met this morning, is next to him.
On Grant’s other side is Grey’s nephew Sage, followed by Clover, then Grant’s brother Roman.
Sitting in such close proximity, I notice the similarities between the brothers—I’d think they were twins if I hadn’t overheard Grant introduce himself as the oldest brother earlier in the day.
Grey pulls out the chair next to Madi, and I quietly slip into it. Who knew he could be such a gentleman? Then he sits next to me, his hand finding its home on my thigh like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
I flinch at the pressure, but Madi catches my attention before I can react further.
Grey’s thumb draws slow circles on my leg through the slit in my dress, and even though my brain is in overdrive, my muscles start to relax. I allow myself to sink into the moment, trying to pretend that just for tonight, this could be real.
Conversations buzz around us. Clover is curled in on herself but speaking rapidly to Roman about her latest thriller novel. It’s adorable, honestly. When he replies, she reaches into her purse and grabs a tiny pen and notepad before scribbling down something about gun safety and security protocols.
“New career opportunity?” Grey asks, being a smartass. He doesn’t typically gravitate toward people so quickly, but he and Roman seem to be kindred spirits.
“No.” Roman is as gruff as Greyson is. Perhaps that’s why they’re getting along. “She has some…technical questions and inconsistencies with security and weapons handling. I’m simply offering my expertise.”
“How…magnanimous of you,” Grey says.
“Not particularly. I’m a fan of her work,” he says as though he’s commenting on the weather.
“You—you are?” Poor Clover’s face burns brighter than the sun.
“Yes,” Roman says, pointing to Grant. “Our entire family enjoys your work.”
I narrow my eyes while Braxton and Grey also sit up straighter.
“Relax.” Roman rolls his eyes. “Our mother was a voracious reader. It’s the one thing she instilled in all her boys. There’s nothing nefarious in our appreciation of literature…or your friend here.”
The hand on my thigh squeezes, drawing my attention to its owner. Grey scowls at Roman before dragging the same expression to Grant, and I feel as though I’ve missed something.
The brothers stare at Clover with interest. I wouldn’t say it’s sexual or predatory, but there’s a curiosity there, and Grey obviously finds it bothersome. I just don’t understand why.
Clover’s nervous chatter only pauses when synchronized servers arrive with plates in hand, setting them down in unison.
“That is so cool,” she whispers, the awe showcased in her wide eyes and innocent smile.
“This is the kind of shit our mother loved,” Grant says softly, and Grey shifts in his seat. “She passed away last year. We’re all missing her.”
My stomach clenches in sympathy. Grey offers his condolences, then promptly eats left-handed so he can keep his right hand on me. The gesture shouldn’t make my chest flutter, but it does.
It’s awkward to watch, and Braxton’s muffled laughter has Grey tightening his grip on my thigh before slowly dragging it away.
After cutting into my steak, I slowly slide it to the edge of my plate. Madi will think it’s because it’s too rare for me. That’s what I want her to think.
I know I need to get a handle on my life. It’s a slippery slope, it always is, but there are too many unknowns right now. Knowing I have a problem and understanding that I’ll wrestle it into submission the moment I have an ounce of energy to spare makes dealing with it a little easier.
The control makes me feel safe, even if it’s only a figment of my imagination.
It’s only a problem if I can’t manage it, and right now, I’ve got this.
Switching to the lobster tail, I bite into a buttery sliver of heaven. Grey grunts beside me, but I ignore him—it’s become an art form of mine.
But then the jerk reaches over my plate, stabs my filet, and places it on his own plate. Huh. Well, that solves that—damn it. Before I can stop him, he delivers his own lobster tail to my plate.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, attempting to keep the attention off us.
“I didn’t like the lobster, and you weren’t touching the steak,” he says.
My nostrils flare, but I say nothing.
“Grey, that’s…” Madi flashes her sunshiny grin my way. “It’s very sweet that you know Savvy doesn’t like her steak so rare.”
He nods but doesn’t comment. Instead, he wraps his arm around my chair and leans in to kiss the side of my head before whispering, “Eat.”
Asshole.
With his heated gaze on mine, I take another bite of lobster and nearly moan. Something that looks like a lobster should not taste so damn good.
Across the table, Roman’s attention on Clover becomes even more focused. The shift in his demeanor is subtle, but my pulse spikes.
“Have you had stalkers before?” Roman’s tone sends a chill racing through my bloodstream, and suddenly Grey’s hand is back on my thigh.
“No.” Clover’s laugh is uncomfortable at best. “Honestly, I do my best to blend in. Most people wouldn’t recognize me if I walked around with a sign over my head.”
Roman’s shoulders are wound tightly, and his knuckles are white around his utensils. “Not even after the Deathly Vows movie adaption a few years ago?”
He must really be a fan if he knows about that.
Roman shifts his focus to Grey and shrugs. I can tell he’s forcing his muscles to relax because Grey does the same thing. “It’s my job to know everything about everyone we do business with, and that extends to their family.”
That seems suspicious, but I let it go. For now.
Clover instantly keys into the rising tension and rushes to defuse it. “Oh gosh, no. I was so nervous, I never even made it to the red carpet for the movie premiere, and I didn’t do any interviews or anything. It’s not really my thing.”
“Is there anyone in your life who makes you uncomfortable?” Grant asks.
“No. I love everyone,” she says quietly. “I have a great, quiet life.”
The Harrington brothers’ questions are beginning to feel like an interrogation, and my poor friend is about to have a panic attack.
“But it is weird that Valen has suddenly started replying to your letters,” I offer, taking the pressure off Clover, but voicing a concern both Madi and I have had since his random sonnets started arriving last year.
Roman drops his fork to his plate with a clatter. On the other side of the table, Grant leans forward too.
“What letters?” Grant asks.
Grey and I make eye contact but say nothing.
“Oh, Lord. It’s nothing.” Clover shrinks in on herself.
“Valen is just…he was a childhood friend I lost touch with. I’ve…
” Her brown eyes flick nervously around the table.
“It’s really stupid and beyond embarrassing.
” If the poor girl flushes any harder, she might pass out.
“But I’ve written him letters for years. ”
“And he’s been…” Roman cuts a look to his brother that I can’t decipher before quickly focusing on Clover. “Responding?”
She shrugs. “Last year, he wrote back with a sonnet, which completely threw me for a loop. A few months later, a poem.”
“It’s weird as hell,” I mutter under my breath.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Grey asks so low I’m the only one who hears.
“That is…strange,” Grant says stiffly, saving me from having to reply, and I’m thankful because I’m not in the habit of sharing my best friend’s secrets. “We’d be happy to look into it, if you’d like.” He’s looking at Grey, but Clover answers.
“Oh, no. No, no, no. It’s okay. I’ve been writing to him since I was a teenager.
It’s obvious he doesn’t want anything to do with me.
” She shrugs sheepishly, but her pain slices through me.
I know how much this asshole’s silence kills her.
“It’s become a habit now, I think. I should probably just stop writing him. It’s pathetic.”
“No,” Madi says. “It’s not. You two have shared…history. You do what you need to do. If he didn’t want you writing him, he would have said so or returned your letters.”
“If he knew about them.” At least, that’s what I think Roman muttered. I can’t be sure, and his expression gives nothing away, but Grey is throwing a murderous expression his way too.
“Maybe,” Clover says as she slips back into the shawl she brought with her and ties it tightly around herself. The fact that she removed it at all tells me she had been at least a little comfortable with Roman, and that rarely happens.
Grey nods toward Clover, and I follow his line of vision to find Grant studying him closely. “Perhaps it is time to set up a meeting.”
Grant nods, and I shiver, not from cold, but from the feeling that things are about to change—for us all.