Chapter 8
Gracyn
“I don’t care if you take your whole fucking life to search the security feed. I need proof! You told me you were the best when I hired you. Prove it!”
I’m awakened by loud yelling, the sound exacerbating the pounding in my head. I dig my fingers into my eye sockets and pull in a deep whiff of … bacon ?
Wait. Whose voice was that?
I shoot up and listen for them to talk again . And whose bed is this ? Panic sinks deep inside my belly as my gaze darts around the unknown room. I jerk the comforter away, wearing only a white oversized T-shirt. Where the hell am I? Who took off my dress? Squeezing my eyes shut and tapping my forehead with my fingers. Think, Gray, think . Except, the last thing I can remember is Brooks coming out on the terrace.
Just as I’m about to leap out of bed in search of my phone, the door swings open, and I let out a startled yelp, yanking the blanket up to my chest. Brooks offers a shy smile as he strolls in wearing only blue plaid pajama bottoms. Tattoos . I totally forgot he had tattoos hiding under his shirt. I shake out of the thought and tilt my head in confusion.
“Does your head hurt?”
Seriously? Again?
This is getting out of control.
“Why is it I always lose a part of my memory when I’m with you?” His brows pinch in confusion. I throw my hands up, irritated this keeps happening, and blurt out, “First, it was our wedding, and now last night. Do you know how out of control it feels to not?—”
“Hold up,” he clips, and I send him a scowl for interrupting me. “You don’t remember us getting married?”
Oh yeah. About that…
My nod is slow and steady as I sigh. “I chased you.” I roll my eyes at how pathetic that sounds but keep going. "After you left. Those memories are hazy, so I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking. Let’s just blame the ridiculous amount of alcohol we consumed. But I ran into the street and a car hit me.” I lift my hair off my forehead, showing off the fresh red scar. “I woke up in the hospital not remembering anything. Kind of like right now .”
He paces at the foot of the bed, his hand clutching the back of his neck. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he mutters, coming to a halt and fixing his hazel eyes on me. “Shit, Gracyn. You ran after me?”
I sit up straight in the bed, tucking my feet under me. “Looks like it,” I mutter.
He leans against the gray dresser, his arms crossed and concern etched into his features.
“I’m fine. It wasn’t a bad accident. Just a little amnesia and a scar to remind me that every poor decision comes with consequences.” As I sense his guilt, I quickly add, “It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” He pushes off the dresser, taking long strides to sit by me on the bed. He drags his finger through my hair and runs his thumb over the scar. “I shouldn’t have left like that. I could’ve said goodbye.”
I lay my hand on top of his and pull it away. “I don’t blame you. I blame drunk Gray . She’s irresponsible and impulsive.” I lean in closer and whisper, “Hopefully, we never see her again.”
He chuckles once, but I can still see the worry in his eyes.
“But I have some questions about that night. But first, let’s talk about last night. What in the world? How did I end up here? There is no way I was too drunk to not remember this time, so what the hell happened?”
He pulls in a ragged breath and lets out a throaty growl as his eyes darken with the switched topic. I hit a nerve.
He stands again, pacing. Note to self: he can’t sit still when he’s angry. “Did you put your drink down at all last night?”
I pause, recalling my drinks. “I don’t … think so. I remember only having three. The one at the table when I first sat down, the one I got at the bar, and then the one you gave me. But I left my drink at the table because Presley wanted me to dance.” Things fall into place. I slap my hands down on the bed. “Did someone put something in my drink?”
“Yes.”
“That guy … what’s his name…” I snap my fingers a couple of times, trying to remember. “ Cooper . It had to be him. Is that why he followed me up to the terrace?”
Realization strikes me like a punch to the stomach. How could I have been so stupid? For years, while working in the bar, I was always on the lookout for women who had been drugged and made sure they didn’t leave unless it was safe. The number one rule: never let your drink out of your sight. But I was at a wedding . Bile rises in my throat as the memories of last night return. That’s why he was so insistent on me going to his room.
I swallow hard, fighting back the rising nausea.
The prick put a date rape drug in my drink.
Oh, he messed with the wrong woman.
With force, I throw the covers off and scoot to the side, planting my feet on the hardwood floors. I spot my purse on the chair in the room’s corner, and within a couple of seconds, I have my phone in my hand. “What’s his last name?” I demand. I’m sure Ray has a few acquaintances here in New York that would be glad to give Cooper a visit. Past being rational, I glance up when Brooks stays quiet. “Well? And don’t tell me you don’t know because you do. Barking each other’s last names at each other like a pissing match. Roscoe? Roman? I know it starts with an R.”
He blinks with a tilt of his head. “You seem like a woman on a mission, and as hot as that is right now, what exact mission is that?”
My lip quirks up. “Not one that you should worry about.”
Brooks’s tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip. I want to yell at him to stop flirting while I’m trying to manage the situation. “Oh, but you are my wife, sweet Gracyn. Anything you do concerns me,” he replies without a hint of humor.
Ignore the wife comment.
Ignore the wife comment.
It’s a mere technicality that doesn’t carry any significance to me. After all, I don’t even remember getting married, so truthfully, it holds zero weight on my end. “Exactly. I can’t go to the police because the last thing I want is for this”—I gesture between us—“to become public. But I have other means that I intend to use because that asshole drugged me. He can’t get away with it. Had you not been there, who knows what would’ve happened? I will find out his name with or without you.” I toss my phone on the bed and cross my arms tightly across my chest.
“I don’t doubt that.” He chuckles in amusement. “I’ll give you his name when we can confirm it’s him. Security is working on that right now.”
“This isn’t a laughing matter, Brooks.”
“You’re right, it’s not. Despite me being entertained by your five-foot-and-a-little-more of badass, I take this situation very seriously.” His body hardens, muscles tense, as he walks over and stops, shoving his hands in his pockets. “If you want to go to the police, I’d understand and be behind you one hundred percent. But if not, let me handle it. I have plenty of connections that can make his life hell.”
So do I.
“I’m sorry this happened to you. At a wedding, no less.”
As he passes me, a masculine, woodsy soap scent fills my senses. Damn, why does he have to smell amazing this early in the morning? I turn to see what he’s doing, and he reaches for something right outside the bedroom door. What the heck? He rolls in my bright blue suitcase.
“How did you get that?”
“Your key card was in your purse. And before you ask how I knew what room, it was still in the key card sleeve with the number written on the outside. I hope you don’t mind.”
I’m not sure how I feel. If it were anyone else, I would feel that they violated my privacy. “You packed all my stuff up?”
He hesitates for a beat. “I had my assistant do it. I didn’t know how long you’d be out, and with your flight today, I thought you might be on a time restraint.” He shifts his weight from side to side, as if he’s second-guessing this plan. It’s sweet and cute.
My flight doesn’t leave until this evening, and truthfully, I am grateful to have my stuff. “You’re so confusing,” I finally say.
“Why is that?”
“You’re this take-charge kind of guy. I watched you at the wedding. You made sure things got done and the same at the reception. There was a plan in place, and you took the job of making sure it was executed. Even if that meant dancing with the bride’s mom cause you could see that the bride was becoming overwhelmed by her.”
He lifts an amused brow. Way to admit you were watching him, Gray.
“And now this.” I point to the suitcase.
“What can I say? I like being efficient.”
“You like being in control,” I counter.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Always.”
“Yet, you couldn’t deal with our marriage,” I deadpan.
He swallows hard, nodding. “I also don’t like to admit when I fail.” Apparently. “There’s an appointment scheduled with my attorney on Monday,” he slips in, as if he needs to prove to me he was taking care of it so it doesn’t cloud his efficient persona.
“Better late than never,” I joke, stepping over to take the suitcase. When I turn to walk toward the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in a floor-length mirror and do a double take. Oh my god. I’m a cross between a person who went swimming with their mascara running down their face and a person who used a whole can of Aqua Net in the eighties. My hair is matted down in one spot and teased everywhere else. I’m a train wreck.
Choo choo, all aboard.
“You could’ve told me I looked like this,” I say, attempting to pat down the crazy hair.
I glance at him through the mirror, and he shrugs. “Oh, please tell me how I’m supposed to tell a woman that her hair looks like she got cum in it after a night of being drugged.”
I can’t help but burst out laughing. I was not expecting that. “And how do you know what that looks like?”
He rolls his lips, shaking his head. “Conversation for another day.”
I give up trying to make it look decent. The only thing that will help at this point is a shower.
“How much of that night do you remember? In Vegas,” he clarifies.
Which is embarrassing because there is more than one of those nights.
The lie slips off my lips. “None of it.”
“Really?” he says, surprised. There’s that pointed brow. “Nothing?” he prods.
“I mean, I remember you giving me your coffee.”
He laughs out loud once, sliding his hands in his pajama pockets. I watch them move a little lower and force my attention up to his face.
“And then meeting you at the club. That’s about it.” I don’t need him to know that I remember every detail, every second his hands were on me, every inch of skin that his lips grazed. That it’s the only thing I remember so clearly. What does that say about me? And his pants hanging dangerously low on his hips are not helping clear those images. He clears his throat, and I shift my attention back to him.
“You sure? You’re looking a little flush right now,” he muses.
I fan myself. “It’s just an aftereffect of the drugs,” I jest, pulling my bag to the bathroom so I can hide behind a closed door. I blow out a heated breath and lean against the door, thankful for the separation.
His voice on the other side makes me jump. “There’s a clean towel and washrag on the sink. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t steal anything.”
I cover my mouth so he can’t hear me laughing. But I hear his chuckle.
“I’m taking a shower,” I say back.
“Lock the door,” he replies, his voice trailing off as I can only guess he’s walking away. That’s a weird response. Whatever.
I click the lock on the door and then turn on all five shower heads. It’s like a car wash for people.
As water sprays every inch of my body, instead of enjoying the water massage, the thought about what might have happened last night gets the best of me. I can’t stop the tears from forming in the corners of my eyes. I’m in a city by myself. Nobody would’ve missed me for who knows how long. Cooper could have done whatever to me. He knew I was in town for the wedding alone. Ugh! That was a stupid confession. Could I have made myself any more of a target?
So far, nothing is going to plan.
The worst part? I like my husband.