Chapter 19
NINETEEN
FLIC
FLIC: Don’t have the baby tonight. I’m in New York!!!
IZZY: What? Why?
FLIC: I’m having dinner with Grayson’s family. I doubt it’s going to be anything like our family dinners. Are you OK?
IZZY: Other than feeling like a beached whale, I’m fine. But don’t worry. I still have six weeks before my due date.
IZZY: Watch your back. These people are mega rich for a reason.
GRAYSON: I’m running a few minutes late. Your room is the first on the left.
FLIC: Got it!
Grayson’s apartment isn’t an apartment. It’s a penthouse mansion suspended above Manhattan, all soaring ceilings and walls of glass, the green expanse of Central Park and the city stretched out beneath it.
The art on the walls looks like it belongs in museums, not a place where someone actually lives.
Abstract pieces I don’t understand, but which scream expensive.
Apartments should be compact. They are space-saving and cozy, like my apartment a few blocks from the bar with its one room and one bathroom.
My apartment, that could fit ten times over into this place and there would still be enough room to hold a barn dance.
The bedroom Grayson directed me to is the nicest bedroom I’ve ever set foot in.
Far too nice to be a spare room in anyone’s apartment, that’s for sure.
The bed is huge with crisp white linens layered under a heavy duvet in soft stone and sage tones.
There’s dark oak furniture, and low, amber-lit lamps that soften the edges of the room.
A plush rug covers most of the wooden floors beneath my bare feet, and an armchair sits angled toward the window, begging for someone to sit in it with a cup of coffee and watch the day go by.
And the bathroom attached to it has a walk-in shower that felt nothing short of heaven.
I stare at my reflection in the floor-length mirror and barely recognize myself.
The dress I’m wearing is a dark green satin—almost black in certain lights.
I’ve left my hair loose, letting it fall in waves down my back.
The braids are practical, but there’s nothing practical about this dress.
I’ve added more makeup than I usually wear—kohl around my eyes and mascara.
Plus, a touch of bronzer on my cheeks and dark red lipstick.
The rest of the clothes I bought earlier are laid out carefully on the bed, price tags still on.
Of course, there were two cars waiting at the airport when we landed.
One whisked Grayson off to his board meeting, phone already to his ear, expression focused.
The other was for me. A driver who opened my door, smiled politely, and didn’t ask me where I wanted to go.
I wouldn’t have known what to say if he had.
What could I do but sit back and watch the city roll past like a movie set I’d somehow stumbled into?
Yellow cabs. Fire escapes. Hotdog vendors.
People rushing. Everything I’d seen a hundred times on screens, suddenly real before me.
When we pulled up outside Saks Fifth Avenue, I nearly told the driver to turn around, a part of me regretting my refusal to take Grayson’s credit card. I knew my pride might still be intact, but my meager bank balance wouldn’t be after setting foot in this place.
Then a woman appeared as the driver opened my car door, introducing herself as Jenny, my personal shopper. Everything is to be charged to Mr. Grayson’s account, she said, catching me flinch at a price tag. I stopped protesting after that.
I left the store with bags filled not just with a dress for dinner, but clothes for tomorrow. Underwear. Shoes. Makeup. Everything I could possibly need, plus a cute overnight bag to keep it in.
I smooth my hands over the satin where it clings to my hips.
I’ve never been to a ball. Never wanted to.
I skipped my own prom, decided it sounded lame, and spent the night drinking cheap beer in the back of a pickup truck instead.
Staring up at the stars. Laughing too loud.
Feeling like I’d made the better choice.
At the time, I was sure I had. Now I wonder if it was me who missed out.
The thought lingers longer than I expect.
I had fun today. Standing at the game with my friends and Mama and even Grayson, shouting myself hoarse, feeling that familiar rush when the Stormhawks took the field.
Now, surrounded by wealth, wearing a dress I wouldn’t normally choose, I wonder what else I might’ve passed up along the way. The nights I chose to work instead of going out. The relationships I ended the moment they asked me to bend. The way I’ve kept my world small and manageable and safe.
There’s a movement in the doorway, and I’m already smiling as I turn around to greet Grayson.
Except it’s not Grayson. It’s a woman in a stunning white dress, with brown hair the same color as Grayson’s.
She’s petite, polished, glamorous, and looking at me like I’m a tramp who’s wandered in from the street.
I guess, instantly, she must be Grayson’s little sister.
“Hi,” I say, keeping my chin up despite the cool, assessing gaze. “You must be Helena.”
She gives a small nod. “And you must be another pretty distraction in need of rescuing that Grayson picked up.”
I cross my arms before I even think about it, instinct more than attitude.
A reflex honed behind a bar where men like to assume things.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I say in a tone just as cool as Helena’s.
“I’m here because Grayson asked me for my help, not the other way around.
I don’t know you. And you don’t know me.
So, assume whatever you want, but you can wipe that look off your face. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
For a second, I worry I’ve gone too far.
I’ve only just met this woman and she’s Grayson’s little sister.
And even though I don’t know her history, I know from the brief mentions of her from Grayson that her life hasn’t been easy.
I’m about to apologize when Helena arches a perfectly groomed brow.
There’s a faint hint of something in her eyes.
Surprise. Maybe even respect. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting me to bite back.
“I see,” she says lightly. “So, you know my big brother well, then.”
I don’t hesitate. “Well enough to know he likes to help people but hates for anyone to know it.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “He told you about Ana?”
The name feels like a jab to my ribs. I don’t know about Ana.
I don’t know who she is or what she is to Grayson, or why the sound of her name makes something twist in my chest. But there is no universe where I let Helena see that.
I straighten my shoulders and meet her gaze.
“Grayson has told me everything I need to know,” I reply evenly.
Inside, I’m reeling. Who the hell is Ana? And why do I suddenly care so much about the mention of another woman? Grayson and I aren’t a thing. He made that clear on the flight.
He’ll assume I’m trying to protect you, and that there’s something more between us than there is.
The truth is, we’re barely more than acquaintances.
And when he’s not looking at me with an intensity that sets my body alight, he still irritates the hell out of me.
I should be crammed into a narrow seat on a domestic flight back to Denver right now, still buzzing from the game, still high on the Stormhawks win.
Instead, I’m standing in a New York penthouse in a dress that costs an unspeakable amount, being analyzed by a woman who’s known me for thirty seconds.
And she’s the one member of the Ashborne family that Grayson actually likes.
I’m suddenly not sure I want to know how bad his parents are.
Thankfully, Grayson appears in the doorway before Helena can land another dig.
And that’s when all coherent thoughts evaporate.
Because he looks so hot. No. More than hot.
He looks delicious. I’ve seen this man in a suit before, but this one is cut sharper.
It’s molded to show off muscle and broad shoulders and power.
He looks like he could sweep me into his arms without breaking a sweat and carry me straight to his bed and—
Stop. It’s just a suit on a man who asked me to have dinner with his family because I happened to be on his plane when he needed to detour. That’s all.
Still, the way his eyes darken when they land on me makes it dangerously hard to believe that. Because as his eyes roam over my body and then meet mine, I swear he’s having the exact same thought about taking me into his arms and into his bed.
“Flic.” My name is spoken deep and low, almost a growl. “You’re breathtaking.” The words slip out on a quiet exhale.
My pulse spikes. If it wasn’t for Helena’s very loud, very deliberate cackle of laughter, my knees might have buckled a little.
“I’m here too, Grayson,” she says.
He rolls his eyes. “I see you’ve introduced yourself.”
“I have,” Helena says smoothly. “She’s an interesting one.”
“An interesting one standing right here,” I cut in before she can dissect me further.
“Our car is waiting.” Grayson steps back to allow us to walk out the door before him.
In the elevator, Grayson’s cologne fills the small space. That smoky cedar wrapping around me in a way that feels far too intimate.
“How was the board meeting?” I ask, breaking the silence.
Helena laughs, but the sound lacks any humor. “Delightful as ever.”
I shoot Grayson a confused look.
“Helena is on the board, too,” he explains. “Our father put us both there, thinking we’d be easy votes so he could get his own way. He had no idea we’d be the opposite. And unlike half the board, our votes can’t be bought.”
Helena tilts her head. “Grayson, should we be talking about this now?” She shoots a quick glance at me.
Grayson leans against one of the mirrored walls, looking almost amused. “Flic, Helena thinks you might be one of our father’s spies. He occasionally tries to infiltrate our lives through people on his payroll.”
Surprise has my mouth drop open. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.” His expression darkens, and I sense we’re moving closer to whatever keeps him so tightly wound.
Grayson continues. “Helena, Flic owns a Stormhawks fan bar in Denver. I approached her to help me win over the fans and learn more about the city. She’s not someone our father would try to bribe. And the very last person who would ever accept a deal from him.”
Something clicks. “So that’s why the board meeting was last minute,” I say. “Because he assumed you were in Denver and wouldn’t make it back in time.”
Grayson nods. “He now does his best to schedule them at the last minute, when he thinks we won’t be able to show.
Tonight, Helena and I voted against him, and with our united presence, other board members followed suit.
There are a small group of us on the board who want to see Ashborne Holdings change—”
“We want our father out,” Helena says simply.
“They vote with us when they can. It doesn’t work every time, but today we were able to shut down a fifty-million-dollar deal that would’ve wiped out an entire fishing community on the Maine coast—privatizing the docks, selling off the processing plants, and forcing generations of family-run boats out of business. ”
“And he still wants dinner with you?” I ask.
“He likes to play happy families when we’re all in town,” Helena replies.
The venom in her voice says exactly what she thinks of that.
Grayson shares a look with his sister. Both eyes are filled with anger and hurt.
I see it in the tension rippling in the air that they’re both carrying the weight of something from their past.
I want to ask why they don’t both just walk away from their father and never speak to him again.
Grayson must sense the question on my lips because he answers before I can speak.
“If we cut him from our lives, it means walking away from our board seats at Ashborne Holdings, too. There’ll be no one to stop him from taking and destroying whatever the hell he likes.
We stay on the board and we endure these dinners, and it means our father is effectively on a leash. ”
“A leash that’s still far too long,” Helena adds as the elevator doors slide open.
Helena steps out first, already striding toward the waiting car. “That dress does suit you,” she tosses over her shoulder.
I’m caught off guard by the compliment after the frosty welcome, and murmur a “thanks” I don’t think she hears.
I turn to Grayson, expecting a quip about how different I look when I’m in my Stormhawks jersey or the black vest top I wear behind the bar, but there’s a familiar pinch between his brows, like he’s juggling three spreadsheets at once.
He stares off into the distance, and I have to hurry forward to keep the elevator doors from closing on him.
My eyes draw to his hand, and I have the sudden urge to slip my fingers between his.
To stand beside him. Not for the Stormhawks, or the fans, or Denver.
Not because of the Sullivans. Not even because of myself and my bar.
But because he needs someone in his corner tonight.
And I’m starting to see that Donny was right.
Grayson Ashborne doesn’t have many people to do that.
An expensive dress isn’t going to change the fact that I’m out of place and everyone can see it.
But if Grayson needs someone by his side tonight, I’ll be that.
For him. Just this once, my circle can get a little bigger.