Chapter 10
Lynley
The moment I step through the door of Rosetta Cafe, a warning skates down my spine, sending every hair standing on end. I freeze in front of the hostess stand, wondering if I’m imagining things. But I blink, and nothing has changed—the place is completely empty.
Not quiet, but empty.
None of the tables are occupied. There’s no one waiting to seat me, and all the ambient sounds you usually expect from a busy lunch spot are missing.
I don’t move, sure someone is going to appear and tell me off for coming into a place that’s obviously closed. When it doesn’t happen, I fumble with my bag, searching for my phone to double-check this is where Grafton told me to meet him.
I don’t even get the screen unlocked when my stomach flutters, the hair lifting on the back of my neck. I swallow thickly, already knowing what I’ll see, but I look up, and there he is.
Grafton.
He’s standing on the other side of the room, his eyes locked on me.
He’s wearing another dark, tailored suit, complete with a black dress shirt underneath.
As I watch, he reaches up, nimble fingers pulling his teal tie loose from his collar.
My hands fall uselessly to my sides, fingers still clutched around my phone.
He pulls the silky fabric away, tucking it into the pocket of his pants. “Hate these things,” he rumbles, a gleam in his icy eyes. “Although they do have some uses.”
My gaze skitters away, unable to withstand the intensity in his, but I catch the tug at the corner of his mouth before I do. I clear my throat. “Where is everyone?”
Grafton hasn’t moved, but his presence is smothering even from across the room.
It feels like he’s stealing all the oxygen, leaving me lightheaded.
“I booked the place out. I thought we could use some privacy,” he says casually, and then a thick brow wings up.
“I figured you wouldn’t want to risk coming back to the agency. ”
“Right.” My voice is shaky, tentative. “But we didn’t plan to meet until this morning.”
His stare is a burning brand on my skin, his voice as smooth as whiskey as he simply says, “Yes.”
He strides toward a table in the back corner. I approach warily, seeing that someone has readied two place settings and a glass of bubbly white wine beside both.
My mouth thins into a line. This feels…intimate.
It’s not what I expected when I messaged him this morning, knowing I was meeting him to get access to videos of my husband fucking other people.
Grafton is playing a game, and not knowing why is making me edgy.
I’m always walking a tightrope in trying to extract myself from my marriage with minimal damage to everyone except Christopher.
Grafton pulls my chair out for me, and I murmur a “Thank you,” averting my eyes from his as he lowers his large frame into the seat across from me.
“How are you, Lynley?” he asks after a moment, voice soft. I look over, noticing the way the corners of his eyes have creased downward. “You look tired.”
I huff through my nose. “Just what every woman wants to hear.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I clamp my lips shut.
Oh, god, it sounds like I’m fishing. A beat passes, and then my mouth is opening again, words pouring out of me.
“I haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all.
And after seeing the…” I trail off when his expression darkens.
I jump as a server appears on silent feet, her smile polite as she sets two plates down. “Here’s your appetizer—roasted fig and prosciutto crostini. Please signal if you need anything else.” Curiosity blazing as her eyes bounce between us, she melts away before either of us can say a word.
I watch her disappear through a back door, glancing back at Grafton, an embarrassed flush crawling up my neck. “It was so quiet. I didn’t think anyone else was here.”
He smirks. “I have many talents, but cooking is not one of them.” He gestures at the food, which is plated perfectly with a decorative garnish. “I know the chef. Julian Slater is an old friend. We shared a dorm in college.”
I pick up a crostini with my fingers, nibbling at the edge. “You don’t seem like the dorm type.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I wanted the college experience. I lasted a year before using my trust fund to purchase a property off campus. Anyway, Julian’s ‘thing’”—he finger quotes the word—“is creating specialized menus for whoever he’s cooking for.
He was doing it long before he ever opened his first restaurant, but he doesn’t always have time to play in the kitchen these days. ”
I finish my mouthful, reaching for my wine. “It feels like a lot for lunch,” I confess. “Especially considering why we’re here.”
Grafton’s attention is unwaveringly fixed on my face. “Why are we here, Lynley?” he asks softly.
I don’t answer straight away, picking up the second crostini on my plate and biting into it, giving myself time to gather my thoughts. To his credit, he doesn’t rush me, picking up one of his and eating it almost in one bite.
“The footage you have of my—” I squeeze my eyes shut, giving my head a little shake. “Of Christopher. I spoke to my lawyer. He said that if you give it to me, there’s a chance you could open yourself up to a lawsuit.”
Grafton’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m aware.” He pops a bite of his food into his mouth, his jaw working as he chews. “It’s a calculated risk, but worth it.”
My eyes widen, and I lean forward, my tone forceful as I demand, “Why’re you doing this? Nothing about this benefits you. I don’t understand what you could possibly hope to gain.” I drag a breath in through a suddenly dry mouth. “You don’t even know me.”
He doesn’t look away, the silence prolonged and evocative. I desperately want to look away, but it feels like I’m trapped, my eyes burning as I stare back at him unblinkingly.
“Lynne,” he says softly, and my stomach clenches uncomfortably.
“I have everything to gain by helping you with this. The footage is already yours.” He tucks his hand inside his jacket, pulling a USB drive out of the inner pocket.
He sets it on the table, sliding it into the middle.
“This is everything you’ll need. Each video is time-stamped.
There’s a chance he’ll argue that the videos have been doctored.
He seems like the type. But if that happens, I can get my guy, Knox, to prove they aren’t. ”
My fingers tremble at the sight of that USB, knowing it’s my ticket out—out of my marriage, out of the life that no longer feels like mine. But I’m terrified of the hidden costs if I accept it.
In my world, no one does something for the good of it.
“Lynne,” Grafton says again, and then waits for my eyes to slowly lift to his.
“There are no strings here.” His smile is crooked, wry.
“There are plenty of things I’ve done in my life that I’m not proud of, but I can promise that you and your children are the safest people in the world with me at your side. ”
“You’re his boss,” I whisper. “I don’t know you.”
He nods his head, expression contemplative. “But you will,” he says, and it sounds like a vow. I swallow thickly, unsure what to say, but I’m saved when the server approaches to clear our plates.
Grafton waits for her to leave and then levels a steady look at me. “Will it affect your divorce if Christopher doesn’t have a job?”
My heart lurches in my chest. “What?”
He props his elbows on the table, lacing his hands together.
“I’m assuming you have a prenup.” It’s not a question, making me wonder if he knows which family Christopher comes from.
He waits for my nod of confirmation before continuing, “You have proof of his infidelity”—he taps the drive with a long finger—“so what does that mean for your prenup and divorce?”
I don’t know if I should be saying anything, but I find myself telling him.
“My lawyer insisted on adding an infidelity clause.” My lips feel numb, my hands clammy and swollen.
“It says that he forfeits his rights to the house, as well as being required to pay a lump sum to me for every year of the marriage. The division of our finances are split like normal, including any accounts that are currently in just his name.”
He eyes me thoughtfully. “Would Christopher have hidden money? Off-shore accounts?”
A bitter noise escapes me. “I can almost guarantee it.” Christopher has always been money-minded, even when he didn’t need to be. It only got worse after his father almost lost everything after several bad financial calls. “My lawyer helped me hire a PI. He’s looking into it.”
Grafton dips his chin. “I’ll have Knox look into it as well. He’s excellent at finding details people want to hide.” There’s a beat, his voice gentle as he asks, “And the children?”
I stifle the immediate panic at the question.
It’s not something I’ve let myself dwell on, but as the weeks have gone by, and it’s become apparent how little I know Christopher, it’s become the thing that keeps me awake the most at night.
I shake my head, whispering helplessly, “There’s nothing in there to stop him from going after custody.
And he’ll fight me for them. I know he will. ”
Grafton reaches across the table, capturing my trembling hand in his. “Don’t worry, Lynne,” he says soothingly, and I hate that it works. He’s a stranger, but it feels like he can see through to pieces of me that I’ve always carefully guarded. “We won’t let that happen.”
The urge to argue is on the tip of my tongue, but I fight it back. “Why are you asking about all this?”
He smiles, a devious light in his eyes, but he doesn’t answer as the server reappears with the main course.