Chapter 6
Gracyn
W hy did I say yes?
Curiosity. Plain and simple.
We’ll ignore the fact that I can’t say no to Brooks Handley, drunk or sober . But why did he stop me? Why was there a hint of desperation for me to stay? What does he want to talk about? Reminisce how stupid our decision-making skills are when we’re drunk? Can’t wait to tell him I don’t remember most of it.
But curiosity got the best of me.
The moment I sat down at a table with strangers, the regret set in. My name was handwritten on the placard, putting on display that I was a last-minute add-on. It’s not the strangers that scare me, it’s the man who looks at me like he hates me one minute but wants to devour me the next.
Soft pink hues flood the reception with tiny white lights flickering above. I’m smack in the midst of a fairy tale. This is the picture-perfect wedding all little girls dream of from the day they watch their first princess movie.
The emcee announces the wedding party, and Brooks enters, Presley in one arm, his partner on the other. A split second of jealousy has me reaching for my drink and downing it.
“He’s a sight to see, isn’t he?” the woman sitting next to me leans in and whispers. “Makes my ovaries dance.”
I quietly laugh and nod, because look at him … he’s a walking sex ad. I don’t know if it’s my ovaries or my vagina dancing, but things down south are acting like they had an energy drink. His eyes skip over the room, and they meet mine for a brief second, and my lips quirk up before he continues on. As if confirming I came.
Yep, party of one, right here, not looking desperate at all .
“Work is never a dull moment when he enters the building,” she continues, oblivious to our quick exchange. “You can practically feel the smiles on the womens’ faces as he walks by. It’s that obvious. Like Brooks Handley is going to notice the peons that work for him.” When I arch a brow at the chatty blond, she points to herself and says with amusement, “Peon number four hundred forty-eight. I eventually settled when I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell.”
“Hello. I’m sitting right here. And I can hear you,” the guy to her right bellows.
She laughs, waving him off. “You know I love you, Pete.”
He leans over so he’s in my sight and waves. “I’m totally kidding. I’m not Brooks Handley, and she ain’t no Taylor Swift. I’d call us even.”
I love this couple.
We all break out in a fit of laughter, and I squeeze my lips shut after a few guests glance in our direction. My laughs always seem to carry, usually embarrassing the hell out of Charli. He wraps his hand around her neck, pulling her toward him, and kisses her, heat and all. They’re so cute.
She fans her face and takes a sip of her drink and then turns her attention to me. “Anyway.” She beams, blushing.
“Is that the girl’s mom?” I prod.
“Nooo.” She inches closer, her voice more hushed. “You haven’t heard the story?”
I shake my head because this sounds like one story I want to hear. A juicy one. And who can walk away from one of those, especially if it involves your current husband ?
“Back in the day, Brooks was the bad boy of New York City, especially when New York crowned him its hottest bachelor. And when I mean bad, I mean a freak in the sheets, bad.”
I can confirm he’s still a freak in the sheets.
“There was a different woman on his arm every night, and the media ate it up. Millionaire, at the time , and sex, no better story than that.” Her eyes skirt around our area. I’m assuming to make sure no one is listening, which is ironic since she doesn’t know who I am. “One day, out of the blue, baby Presley shows up.” Ouch. I bet that put a huge kink in his plans. “Here’s the juicy part. Rumor is the girl’s mom tried to kill Brooks’s sister and then killed herself.”
I gasp with my hand over my mouth, searching for Brooks. He’s at the head table, laughing at Presley with a slice of orange between her teeth. My heart hammers against my chest. You’re an idiot. I’m a fool for assuming he’s a part-time dad and then telling him what I thought when in fact, he’s the total opposite. He’s all she has.
Why didn’t he say anything?
“He needs to find that baby a mama, but he’s shut that part of his life down, focusing on work and Presley.” She seems to know a lot about Brooks, and when I twist toward her with a questioning expression, she waves me off. “Well, that’s what they say, anyway. Working in the mailroom, you hear it all.”
Wow. He’s a man who has his priorities straight, his life in order, and then I storm into the picture and disrupt his world. Even though our marriage is an inconvenience on my part, I assume it’s a bigger deal for Brooks. So the question remains: Why did he want me to stay?
She takes a drink, licks her lips, and leans back. “I can see why he’s guarded, considering the hell he went through.”
The rage in his face when I was talking with Presley, it’s understandable now.
“That little girl is everything to him. But enough about him.” She lifts a curious brow. “So, what’s your reason for being stuck in the back forty? Piss off the bride?”
Nope, just a wedding crasher.
“Jared and I are old college friends.” I shrug while lying and hold up the handwritten placard. “Late RSVP, and it seems she was hoping I wouldn’t come.”
“That’ll do it.” She laughs.
For the next half hour, we’re served an appetizer, salad, and then dinner. Not surprisingly, everything runs to perfection. My new best friend keeps talking to me throughout dinner, which I’m thankful for.
When the music starts and people take to the dance floor, I grab my empty wineglass. “I guess we’re not a top priority back here to get refills. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find the bar.”
Waiting in line, I spot Brooks on the dance floor, an older woman in his arms. They laugh as he guides her across the floor in a fluid two-step. A man who can dance always catches my attention. My thoughts go to the night I was in his arms. His hips in sync with mine as we danced to a slow, heavy beat. The music matching our movement, fingers digging into my hips as we got lost in each other.
No wonder we ended up in bed. I remember the sex so clearly. It still baffles me I can’t remember anything else. Talk about leaving a lasting impression. The memory sparks a new memory. We’re in a taxi, and Brooks is ravaging my mouth. He left me breathless. When the car comes to a stop, Brooks asks why he stopped. The driver swore we told him Bellagio. But I don’t remember where exactly we were supposed to be.
“Bellagio, it is,” Brooks rasped, grabbing my hand and leading me to the front desk before carrying me to our room.
Wait. Were we already married?
My pulse races, and I spin away from his direction before someone catches me staring. I’m sure I look like a complete loony tune as I struggle to piece together our night. I glance over at the limited menu on the bar.
“You’re not from around here.”
A guy to my right leans his elbow on the bar and grins in my direction. He’s an attractive guy, but nothing stands out that would make me want to steal his coffee.
“What gave it away?”
“Your smile. Your red dress and your accent.”
I respond with a quick chuckle before ordering a glass of chardonnay. “I’ll give you the dress because that’s pretty obvious, considering I stand out like a sore thumb and, of course, the accent is a dead giveaway. But the smile?”
“I’m at the table next to you, and I haven’t seen you once not smile. That is definitely not a New Yorker trait. And there’s nothing painful about the dress you’re wearing.”
Oh, this guy is laying it on thick. I have to work hard to not roll my eyes.
“I’m Cooper,” he says, offering his hand. To be polite, I shake his hand.
“Gray.”
He looks past me for a millisecond. “Here by yourself?” I nod, and he adds, “I had a plus one, but they canceled at the last minute.”
“They’re missing out. I’m in town just for the wedding, heading home tomorrow.”
“Where are you fr?—”
“Gracyn!” Startled by the sound of my name, I spin around to find Presley, barefoot, red-faced and wearing a cheeky grin, running toward me. “I thought you weren’t coming.” She stops in front of me and cocks her head like a confused dog.
“Last-minute change of plans.” Her expression brightens, and her turquoise eyes glimmer with mischief. “I saw you dancing like a professional,” I say, pointing to the dance floor. She hasn’t stopped dancing to even eat dinner yet.
“Thank you. You want to dance with me?”
“Ah…” My gaze skips around the crowded room over her head. A flutter of panic tickles my belly. “I actually just got my drink.” I hold up my wineglass.
“But you have to.” She pouts, dropping her arms to her side.
“I don’t think you’re getting out of this,” Cooper quips. “How about I take your drink to the table? I’ll drop it off on the way back to mine.”
“I think you’re right, but I’ll just drop it off at the table first. Thank you for offering, though,” I say and turn toward Presley. “Be right back.”
When I place my drink down, my new friends are deep into their people-watching game. “Looks like I’m going to go dance. I’ll definitely be back for that.” I point to my wine.
“Have fun,” she says.
Presley waits for me at the edge of the floor, jumping up and down, grabbing my hand.
“All right, Presley, show me what you’ve got.”
Her dimples deepen, and I wonder if Brooks has them hiding under his beard. She pulls me to the dance floor, right as “The Chicken Song” comes on. Figures, the worst wedding song ever comes on.
“Stay right here, I’ll be back,” she demands after a minute of the annoying song, holding up her tiny finger, before darting off through the crowd.
Nope, this isn’t awkward at all dancing by myself.
My heart seizes when I see her dragging Brooks by the hand on to the floor. Our eyes meet, and his expression falls flat. “I swear I had nothing to do with this,” I snap, with my palms up. Remember, this was your idea. “I’ll let you guys dance.” I turn, but Presley grabs me, stopping me.
“No. Stay and dance.”
“But the song ended.” I laugh nervously, needing that drink right now.
“We’re taking it back with an oldie but a goodie. And we’re slowing it down,” the DJ announces. The song plays, and I let out a gargled chuckle, dropping my head. How in the world?
“Daddy, dance with Gracyn.”
Shock flanks his face as “The Lady In Red” by Chris de Burgh bellows out of the speakers. Then a lopsided grin creeps up under his beard as he holds his hand out for me.
This isn’t a good idea.
I slip my hand into his large one, and he pulls me into his chest, his other hand pressing into my lower back.
Yep, bad idea.
One touch, and I’m gasping as his scent floods my senses, especially my common sense.
“Sorry. I didn’t think I was raising such a sneaky lil’ shit,” he murmurs.
“She’s very calculating.”
“That’s what scares me the most.” He spins with me, holding tight around my waist.
“Brooks, what are we doing?” Unwanted and not welcome feelings creep into my chest. For all that I can remember, he’s a one-night stand, so where is this need to be close to him coming from?
“I guess fierce confidence and boldness in a woman is my weakness.”
I chuckle. “I’m sure you deal with those types of women every day.”
He pulls back, giving me a view of his chiseled face. “None that I’m dangerously attracted to.”
Exactly. Dangerous.
Glancing around, I notice several eyes focused on us. “It’s bad enough your daughter is trying to set us up. Now everyone is watching. What if our news gets out? I would hate myself if I hurt Presley.”
His hand tightens around my waist. “Dammit, Gray. You are not helping me hate you.”
“Are you trying to? Because it doesn’t seem like it.” Instead of answering, he spins me out, pulling me back into his arms in the next beat, and we dance for a few quiet moments.
This is not how this trip was supposed to go.
It was a drop-and-run type mission.
Until the point he asked me to come to the reception. That came as a surprise. Hostility, I expected. I knew I’d catch him off guard, and men like him don’t like losing control of situations. Which is why I’m surprised I’m here. In his arms. He could’ve had his team of lawyers on it at the snap of a finger. His silence has me thinking.
“You’re more reserved than I remember,” I murmur.
He laughs once. “In my real life, I have an image to withhold. Drunk, sloppy, and stupid isn’t it.” After my simple hum, he stares at me. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t pretending to be someone else. That was me. There’s too much at risk for me to act like I did in my early twenties.”
“Right. Like getting drunk and married to a total stranger.” I sigh. “Brooks, why didn’t you take my calls?”
“I like Gracyn ,” he says, avoiding the question. “I don’t remember that being your real name. It fits you. Sweet mixed with a little dirty .”
My cheeks flush with heat, and I shift my attention to the bride and groom dancing next to us to avoid the amusement in his eyes. I’ve always loved my name, but when I was in kindergarten, a little jackass boy decided it would be hilarious to call me Sin. Soon enough, all the boys joined in with the teasing. I hated my name after that, so I called myself Gray, unfazed by the taunts that I was a boring color. At least I wasn’t the devil. By the time I didn’t care about the sin part, Gray had stuck. To this day, my mom still refuses to call me that, so I go by both.
But the way Brooks says it, how he lingers on the last consonant, his definition , I like it. A lot. But not enough to make me lose my train of thought. “Don’t change the subject. Why didn’t you take my calls?”
“I…” His words trail off with the final notes of the song. He leans down and whispers, “Let me send Presley home. Meet me on the next level’s terrace in fifteen minutes. You’ll see it when you get off the elevators.”
With a quick nod, I turn to walk away, grateful for the glass of wine waiting for me.
The table is empty when I make it back. I grab my wine and let out a sigh, my heart still beating fast from the way he looked at me, the weight of his hand on my back. Everything lingers, refusing to let me breathe normally.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Cooper standing at the next table talking to a group of guys. Sipping my wine would have been more appropriate, but still disoriented from my dance with Brooks, I down half the glass. Cooper glances over, catching my eye, and I muster a polite smile. He waves with an eager smirk. Again, I have to control my rolling eyes.
Moments later the couple returns to the table, and she stops at her chair, staring at me with a curious expression. “Did I just make a fool of myself by telling you all the gossip? Because by the looks of that dance, you’re not strangers.”
Actually, we are.
Married strangers , but strangers.
Her husband is already sitting down, so we pull our chairs out and sit. “I’ve only met Brooks one other time.” Her lips twist in disbelief, and I hold up my right hand. Habit of a judge’s daughter. “I swear.”
“Well, you two have a solid connection for only meeting once. Only one man has ever looked at me like that.” Her head rocks to the side. “And he’s sitting right next to me.”
I sigh because no matter how I resist, Brooks makes me feel differently. I dismiss her with a wave of my hand, finishing the last of my drink. My nerves are already buzzing with anticipation, and her comment only makes it worse.