With a little smirk, he replied, “Of course. Everyone has.”
I rolled my eyes. Not everyone. Everyone has heard of the Beatles and Elvis. Jason Monroe was not Elvis. “Well, yours truly will be forced to write a duet with him to perform at The Grammys next month.”
His smirk fell slightly. “Very interesting. What did Monroe think of this?”
“Monroe?” I laughed, choosing to push his buttons. “What, are you on a nickname basis with him?”
Grayson’s blue eyes narrowed on me and I was reminded for the one-thousandth time that he was not someone who liked to be teased. Even when we were younger, he was the serious, brooding type. Oh, hmm, maybe he and Monroe would be best friends after all. They could sit in a circle and moan about the woes of manhood. Then they could give each other massages and… wait, that didn’t sound so bad. Maybe I’d like to watch that actually.
“Sounds like it’ll be a good challenge for you,” Grayson suggested, pulling me out of my daydream of him rubbing baby oil on Jason Monroe. Yeah, I know I said I didn’t see Grayson like that, but he probably knew his way around a bottle of massage oil as well as the next guy.
“He was a little hesitant about the set-up,” I replied, not wanting to admit the truth. He’d essentially scoffed at the idea of working with me. Let’s get real.
“We’ll see, I guess.”
He took another long sip of his coffee before setting it back on the table and fidgeting with the lid. His gaze focused on his hands as if he were performing heart surgery.
“So has your sister had any interviews with firms for post-grad?” he asked, not meeting my eyes.
I smirked at the fact that Grayson seemed to care about my sister even if he tried hard not to. The two of them were going to get along one day if it was the last thing I did. No, wait, if there was ever going to be “the last thing I did” I would want it to be something a little juicer, like sex with Jason Monroe. Whoa. What? I snapped my gaze up to Grayson to see if he’d somehow heard my internal ramblings.
“So has she?” he asked again, reminding me of his question.
“Not that I know of,“ I answered him just as his phone started vibrating under the table.
He cursed under his breath when he saw who was calling. With an apologetic nod, he answered the call and replied in clipped, sharp sentences.
“We’ve gone over the Jenson Project budget ten times and if they want marble in the master bath, they’re delusional at this point. No. Tell Jon to give me a call. No. If we go over, it’ll be coming out of your pocket. Jenson approved the cheaper stone two weeks ago.”
I took the opportunity to study him in parts: his sharp cheekbones, his straight nose that led down to his strong jaw. His dark hair reminded me of Jason’s, but that’s where the similarities between them ended. Grayson Cole was a businessman with enough confidence to make the President shake in his boots, while Jason was a rough-around-the-edges musician with a killer smile and forgotten facial hair.
If I ever had a type, it was Jason Monroe.
Clearly, Jason had obviously taken root in my head. I just needed to replace him with something else. Maybe that Brazilian model was still camped out in my condo, eating my food and watching my TV. Only problem: he hadn’t given me an orgasm. No. That wouldn’t do. I definitely needed a good ol’ orgasm so that I could push Jason out of my head.
Grayson ended his call and shoved his phone into his suit pocket. I could tell by the remorseful glance he was aiming at me that he was going to have to cut our hangout short.
“I’m sorry to do this, but I have to go check on a project.”
I waved my hand and smiled. “No worries. I’ve gotta run anyway.”
“It was good seeing you, Brook,” he said, wrapping me in a quick side hug before taking a step back. As if wrestling with himself, he stood staring toward the door for a moment before turning back to me. “And have Cameron call me. I might have something for her.”
Cameron.
Grayson was all business. No one called my sister by her full name, and the way he said it made it sound as if it pained him to offer. Was it seriously so much to ask him to help her out? If he had a brother that wanted to be a pop star, I wouldn’t have hesitated to help. Although the image of a man like Grayson trying to slip into one of my spandex costumes was too hilarious to imagine.
“I’ll tell her,” I said as he slipped on a pair of aviators and stepped out into the bright LA sun.
I watched him head to his fancy-pants sports car and then I went back to our booth so I could text Jerry to come pick me up early. When I pulled my phone out of my purse I saw I had a voice mail waiting for me from a blocked number. Interesting.