Grayson's Vow(11)

The more condescension he'd shown me, that faint derision never leaving his expression, the more nervous and ruffled and unsure I'd become. I hated that feeling. I'd known it my whole life. Being scorned felt heartachingly familiar.

And then he'd told me I wasn't his type. As if it mattered. It didn't matter. Not at all. Not one bit. I only needed my money to be his type.

So why had it hurt?

I let out a sigh. He'd said he would call me, but based on his rude dismissal, I wouldn't hold my breath. Well. I'd tried. Another one of my Very Bad Ideas and Grayson Hawthorn had let me know that's exactly what he’d thought of it. In that slightly bored, pleasantly masculine voice of his no less. I felt my lips curve down. So the question was, what was I going to do now? Going back to my father was out of the question. I'd sooner sleep on a street corner. Or at the drop-in center. My heart sank when I thought of the center. What were they going to do now? So much was riding on getting my hands on the money Gram left. I supposed I could pull my car over and choose any number of people off the street to make the same offer I'd made to Grayson Hawthorn. Or place an ad on the Internet like I'd joked about with Kimberly. I could sell my car. It was in my name, one of the few things I'd bought with my own money. But then I wouldn't even have a place to sleep if and when my cash ran out.

I'd just thought . . . well, seeing Grayson Hawthorn at the bank, it seemed like fate. The more I'd thought about it yesterday in my small, lonely hotel room, the more my heart had felt like there was something very right about sharing my gram's money with that man in particular, considering the connection I knew existed between him and my father. Not that I could share that with him, and not that it would do him any good to know anyway. But I could share the money with him—money he desperately needed—and maybe set something right, balance the score in some small measure.

I had to admit his looks had swayed me, too. He looked like every hero in every fairy tale I'd ever dreamed, come to life. And, God, I wanted to believe in heroes again.

But sometimes, I supposed, a girl just had to be her own hero.

Especially when the hero in question turned out to be a dragon.

I knew Grayson Hawthorn had done wrong in his life, but after examining his case particulars, it seemed more like a terrible accident. And regardless, it was a mistake he'd paid for. More than paid for. And now he was still paying in people's perceptions of him. No one would give him a chance, or at least the loan he so desperately needed.

So I'd gone with my gut, decided at the very least to reserve judgment until I'd met him in person, and rushed to his home the next morning before I could completely lose my nerve.

Well. The Dragon would have to figure out his life for himself. Just as I would. I alone controlled my destiny. I hardly had time to indulge in despair. I parked my car in the hotel lot and made my way to my hotel room.

I stripped out of the dress and sandals I'd worn to meet with Grayson Hawthorn—an outfit from my old life I hadn't even realized I'd packed as I’d hurriedly thrown items into my suitcase willy-nilly. As I'd dressed this morning, I'd been happy for the mistake, though. I'd wanted to appear professional and the jeans or frayed shorts I normally wore didn't exactly say, "take me seriously." I paused. But maybe they did say, "I'm desperate! Marry me!" Perhaps I should have worn those after all.

After changing, I left the hotel and spent the day walking around downtown Napa, doing some window shopping, browsing through several shops including a bookstore, and stopping for a leisurely lunch at a small café Gram had liked. Despite being hopeless and without a plan, I made a conscious effort to clear my mind and enjoy the day as much as possible. If I had to get a waitressing job like Kimberly had suggested, then that's what I'd do. I wasn't afraid of hard work. I had hoped for a plan offering more options, but that wasn't to be. I straightened my spine and channeled my inner Scarlett O'Hara. I'd take today and then I'd come up with a new plan once the disaster that was this morning had rolled off my shoulders.

It was late afternoon when I returned to my hotel, the sky a clear, calm blue. I let myself into my room and lay down on my bed for a minute, fatigue overwhelming me. I had tossed and turned the night before in anticipation of my morning call on Grayson Hawthorn. I was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately.

I came awake blearily, confused for a minute about my surroundings, still in that gap between sleep and wakefulness, knowing something was wrong, but not yet recalling exactly what. Reality flowed back in slowly, the same way grief does, the pieces coming together to sit heavily on my chest. Wincing slightly, I rolled over and looked at the bedside clock. It was after four, so I'd only slept for a little over an hour. I sighed and sat up.