An Improper Ever After(49)

This time I pay for my own coffee-a latte-and scan the patrons for the familiar ordinary face. 

There.

Mr. Grayson is in a corner with a cup of coffee himself. He's wearing a charcoal-gray suit with a neatly knotted blue tie. His dress shirt is white cotton, only a few shades lighter than his office-worker skin. His brown hair is professionally cropped-a cut you could get from any competent barber-and his brown eyes hold neither friendliness nor hostility. His features are even, but nothing stands out as particularly well formed. The overall effect is one of … singular ordinariness. Assessing him from across the café, I can see him as an insurance company clerk doing his job … or a car salesman doing his job … or any other everyday guy doing any other commonplace job. I always thought it was sort of sad that he was so unremarkable, but I now see it's an advantage. He's a chameleon. He can pretend to be anybody he wants, and no one will look twice.

I take the empty seat at the two-person table and place my purse in my lap. He looks me over with a thoroughness that's almost rude-from my opalescent sheath dress to the platinum chain around my neck and the diamond studs in my ears. I'm glad I took care with my appearance this morning, although I didn't do it just for him. I have another meeting later.

His lips quirk mockingly as he takes in my carefully made-up face. The reaction raises my hackles. I know I look good-better than good. I'm no longer the poor girl who depended on him to put food on the table and keep her younger sister away from predators. I remind myself he has every reason to undermine me before we start. How else is he going to get me to do what he wants?

Without preamble, I pull out the envelope from my purse and slide it toward him across the faux-wood table. "Here. The money I owe you." I take a quick sip of coffee.

"I thought I made it clear I need more than money in return."

"And I'm making it clear that this is all you're getting. Sue me if you don't like it."

"You're entirely too confident."

"I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you mean. What you asked for is illegal anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain," I bluff. I'm only about ninety percent sure. I'd like to think that Mr. Grayson is wrong, but sometimes the law surprises me with what is and isn't allowed.

Not even an eyelash twitches as he checks the amount. "Math. Still not your forte. This is too much."

"Keep the change," I say, throwing Elliot's words at him. "A tip for services rendered. Now listen to me. We aren't going to see each other again after this."

Mr. Grayson taps the envelope once with his index finger, the motion surprisingly decisive. "If you do this, you're going to sever everything with me. You won't be able to turn to me for help the next time you get into trouble."

"I want to sever everything with you. I don't want your kind of help anymore."

"Why? Do you believe your husband is going to be with you forever?" He sips his coffee thoughtfully. "You're a pretty girl, Annabelle, but not that pretty."

"Think whatever you want," I say. "You're not important anymore."

He tilts his head and regards me for a moment. "You honestly believe what you have with him is going to work?"

"I do."

"You love him."

"Yes."

"He doesn't love the women who love him."

"You don't know anything about him."

"Oh?" He laughs coldly. "Tell me something. Does he trust you? If I were to hug you and he were to walk in and see us, would he think nothing of it or would he become furious and accuse you of"-he rolls a hand carelessly-"betraying him?"




 

 

Mr. Grayson's barb hits home, and I put my hands on the edge of the table to steady them. "He trusts me," I say, but even to my own ear, my voice lacks conviction. But Elliot must trust me. Otherwise he had no reason to want to continue our marriage without the contract. I'm not letting Mr. Grayson sow doubts in my mind.

"Sure. I've looked into him, and I know things he doesn't suspect are public."

My breath stops for a moment. Elliot asked if I'd told Mr. Grayson about the marriage deal, but I never did. He's been aware of it from the very beginning. And Annabelle Underhill knows, too. "Do you work for Underhill?" I ask.

Genuine confusion clouds his gaze. "Who?"

"Annabelle Underhill."

He smiles. "The only Annabelle I know is you."

"Julian Reed, then?" Elliot's father is the next most logical choice.

"I've never even met the man."

Squinting, I take in his measure. Mr. Grayson is no open book, but I don't think he's lying. "How did you know Elliot needed to marry?"