11. Grace
Grace
The Four Seasons exterior was all ancient granite with huge columns and wrought-iron decorations, but the inside was cozy luxury.
The white and beige marble floors were decorated with artistic rugs in reds and purples, while more pillars dotted the walls.
Staff in immaculate gray uniforms moved past with the ease of people who thought this history and grandeur was something to be expected, rather than marveled at.
I clutched the handle of my rollerbag tighter and tried not to look like someone who’d spent the flight reading romance novels on her phone while a muscled ex-operator hovered over her.
Garrett strode through the lobby as though he belonged here. Or like he didn’t care whether he belonged anywhere. His eyes swept the space in the quick, assessing way I was starting to recognize. He’d done the same thing at my café, at my apartment, and even at Tristan and Isabella’s house.
Did he ever just look at things without evaluating their tactical value?
At the check-in desk, a young woman with a sleek blonde bob greeted us with a warm smile. “Welcome to the Four Seasons. Do you have a reservation?”
“We do,” Garrett said. “Under Cruz.”
She typed and clicked on her computer, nodded, and within minutes we had keycards and directions.
“This way.” Garrett touched my elbow, steering me toward the elevators.
The contact sent an unexpected rush of warmth through my arm. Stop it. It’s his hand on your elbow. It was impersonal, except my body hadn’t gotten the memo since the shirtless kitchen incident, and it definitely hadn’t recovered from the hand-holding on the plane.
Get a grip, Grace. He’s doing a job.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and we stepped inside. Garrett pressed the button for our floor, then positioned himself between me and the doors. Even here. Even in an elevator, he was standing between me and… and what?
“Do you expect someone to attack us between the lobby and our room?”
“No.” He didn’t say more.
“Then why?—”
“Habit.”
The elevator rose smoothly, and I watched the numbers climb.
My reflection in the polished brass showed a rumpled, tired woman with circles under her eyes that no amount of in-flight moisturizer had fixed.
Next to Garrett’s solid presence, I felt like a mess pretending to be put together.
The doors opened onto a long hallway with a short-pile carpet that muffled our footsteps.
Modern art in sleek frames lined the walls, between the tall, rich oak doors on either side.
I was even a mess compared to the hallway.
Garrett stopped at a door near the end of the hall. He didn’t open it right away. “Wait until I give you the all clear.”
“What? Why?—”
But he was already tapping the keycard, already pushing the door open and ushering me inside before I could finish. The door closed behind us, and he motioned for me to stay put while he did his thing.
I wasn’t sure I could have moved, anyway.
The suite was gorgeous. It was roughly the size of my apartment back home, which shouldn’t have been impressive, except everything in it screamed money in a way my Brenton one-bedroom didn’t.
A sitting area with a plush purple sofa and two matching armchairs, arranged around a short black table, occupied the center of the room.
Around the corner, a partial wall housed a built-in TV and fireplace, and beyond that, I glimpsed the bed.
No door between the sitting room and the bed. Only an architectural divide.
Garrett stalked through the room, checking behind and underneath every surface. A minute passed. Two. After five more, he nodded to me. “Clear.”
“Clear of what, exactly?”
“Anything that shouldn’t be here.” He waved me in to explore. “Come on.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows pulled at me first. Pushing aside the sheer curtains, I looked out at the Thames. And there, lit golden in the late afternoon sun?—
“Oh my god. It’s the Tower of London!” I tapped a finger on the glass. “Is that London Bridge?”
“Tower Bridge,” Garrett said from behind me. “London Bridge is about half a mile away.” He pointed vaguely downstream. “It’s... less exciting.”
“Tower Bridge,” I repeated, trying not to press my nose against the glass like someone who’d never traveled, despite it being the truth. The iconic towers rose against the sky, standing guard over the stone walls of the Tower of London itself.
My throat tightened. Didi had promised to bring me here someday. “This is…”
Too much. This is too much. This is the kind of place rich people stay, not people like me.
“Secure,” Garrett said, flipping the deadbolt. “One entry point. Easy to monitor.”
Of course. He wasn’t thinking about the view or the fireplace or the massive bed. He was thinking about defensive positions.
I turned from the window. “Can we go now?”
He stood near the door, arms folded across his chest. The posture should have looked aggressive, but somehow it just looked tired. “Ground rules first.”
“Ground rules?”
“You don’t leave this suite without me. You don’t open the door for anyone—room service, housekeeping, doesn’t matter. If someone knocks, you come get me first.”
“Garrett—”
“You keep your phone charged and on you at all times. If we get separated for any reason, you call me immediately. Not text. Call.”
“That’s a little?—”
“You don’t mention the egg to anyone. Not hotel staff, not people we meet, not anyone. If someone asks why you’re in London, you’re on vacation. You list off museums, the Tower of London, or whatever.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn’t finished.
“The Caulfield meeting—I go with you. I carry the egg, and you don’t touch it until he needs to examine it. Still, I’m with you the entire time. Non-negotiable.”
Something inside me bristled. My parents were wonderful and supportive of everything I did, but Didi taught me independence meant not leaning on everyone else.
It meant finding my own strength and using it, like leaving a career that didn’t suit me and opening my own business where I’d be happier.
Now Garrett was denying me the opportunity to find my footing in this wild situation I’d fallen into by controlling everything? “That’s excessive, don’t you think?”
“No, it’s being prepared. If we act after something happens, we’ve already lost.”
“But I came to London to see things,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Not to be locked in a fancy prison.”
His eyes narrowed. Irritation? Understanding? “I know.”
“I’ve never been here before. My grandmother always said she’d show me the city someday. Now I’m finally here, and you want me to sit in a hotel room and stare at Tower Bridge through glass?—”
“I said you don’t leave without me.” He unfolded his arms, letting them drop to his sides. “I didn’t say you can’t leave at all.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“We can walk across the bridge, but there’s more to see inside the Tower of London itself.” He moved toward the windows, standing beside me but not too close. “We can go after the Caulfield meeting, if everything goes well.”
Hope fluttered in my chest, and I gazed at the city. “Really?”
“If it’s safe.” His jaw tightened. “And if you follow the other rules.”
It didn’t sound like total freedom, but I’d take it. Honestly, given the way he’d been treating this trip like a military operation, I hadn’t been sure what to expect. “Okay. It’s a deal.”
“I’ll take the sofa, of course.”
I glanced past the partial wall at the bed—king-sized at least, drowning in pillows and what must have been a silk duvet—then back at the decidedly smaller purple sofa.
“That doesn’t seem fair. The bed’s huge. You should take it.” I gestured at him, at the length of him. “You’re too—” Big. He’s so big. Don’t say that, Grace. “Tall. You’re too tall for the sofa.”
“The sitting room is right by the door.” He didn’t look at me. “I need to be closest to the entry point.”
“But—”
“So I’ll take the sofa.”
I wanted to argue, but his tone made it clear the discussion was over. Fine. If he wanted to fold himself onto that purple couch like some kind of tactical origami, that was his problem.
“I’m going to shower,” I said. “Unless you have a security protocol for that, too?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. “Lock the door. Don’t answer if someone knocks.”
What if you’re the one knocking, Galahad?
Shut up, Grace.
“Noted.” I grabbed my bag and retreated to the bathroom before I accidentally used my outer voice.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I almost leaned against it.
Almost touched my lips, imagining how he’d kiss or what his mouth felt like.
Instead, I settled for letting out a long breath that I definitely knew I’d been holding.
God, how was I going to manage a whole week with him?
The bathroom was, predictably, ridiculous.
Little bottles of products that I would have to stash in my bags to take home sat on the sink counter.
The floor was white marble, with a soaking tub large enough to swim in, gold mosaic tiles covering the walls, a separate rainfall shower, and a toilet behind a door with a telephone. A telephone!
I turned on the water and stripped out of my travel clothes, trying not to think about Garrett on the other side of the door.
Trying not to think about the way he’d held my hand on the plane, or how his eyes softened sometimes, or the fact I’d be sleeping in a bed with no door between us for the next several nights.
He’s doing a job. Nothing more.
The hot water helped shake off the day a little. By the time I emerged, wrapped in the fluffiest robe I’d ever touched, I felt human again.
Garrett sat on the purple sofa, laptop open on the coffee table. He’d removed his jacket, and the dark henley he wore underneath stretched across his shoulders in an entirely unfair way.
“Feel better?” he asked without looking up.
“Much.” I settled onto the opposite end of the sofa, tucking my feet underneath me. “What are you working on?”
“Caulfield’s background. Recent authentication cases.” He closed the laptop and shifted to face me. “I want to change the location of tomorrow’s meeting.”
“Change it? Why?”
“The address he gave you is his office. It’s his territory, which means too many variables I can’t control on short notice.
” He leaned an arm on the back of the couch.
“Arthur recommended a pub nearby called The Raven’s Vigil.
It’s a public setting with multiple exits and easier to monitor who comes and goes. ”
“You said I can’t mention the egg to anyone. Wouldn’t lots of people see it at a pub?”
“If Arthur recommended it, that means there are seats or booths where other people won’t be an issue.”
“You think something might happen?”
“I’d rather be prepared for something that doesn’t happen than unprepared for something that does.” He genuinely believed we might be in danger. Not hypothetically. Actually.
“Okay.” But there was always an upside. What was the upside to this? “I can try some authentic fish and chips.”
He nodded once and stood. “I’m going to shower. Afterward, we can order room service and get some shut-eye.”
“Sounds good.”
He grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom. The door closed. A moment later, I heard the water start.
I grabbed my phone and climbed on top of the bed to settle in for a read.
But all I could do for the first few minutes was stare at the door.
Garrett was on the other side of it. Naked.
In the same shower I’d just used, with the same water running over his skin, the same steam filling the air.
I thought about the tattoos I’d glimpsed in Tristan’s kitchen—the trident on his shoulder, the intricate designs wrapping around his biceps.
Thought about the scars scattered across his torso.
Those pecs.
That scowly face that had almost smiled a few times.
Stop it, Grace.
I pulled up my reading app, determined to distract myself. The hero in my current book was a former Marine protecting a witness. He was gruff and terrible at communicating his feelings. The heroine was sassy and tested him at every turn. What would Garrett do if I got sassy with him?
Does it matter, Grace? Because if you tried, you’d blush so hard, and you’d probably apologize. And then you’d lock yourself in the bathroom because you wouldn’t be able to face him.
I shifted from staring at the door to my novel. After a couple of pages, my eyelids grew heavy, and the words began to blur. Maybe a nap instead. Maybe that was what I needed.