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“When did you get so bossy?”
“Answer the question, Alexandra.”
She huffed.
“I tried renting a space near Finn and Amanda. The leasing agent was the daughter of one of my father’s victims.” Her voice dropped so low he could barely hear her. “Her father killed himself when he lost almost all of his retirement.”
Damn it.
“That wasn’t your fault.”
The laugh that escaped her lips this time was bitter and thick with regret.
“Wasn’t it, though, in some way? I knew firsthand what he was capable of. I overheard some of his business deals. I had my suspicions and I did nothing about it but wear my pretty clothes and take his money.”
Self-loathing dripped from each word like poison. Grant stared at her, searching for any hint of deception. How many times had he challenged her on the way her father treated her? His employees? She’d acknowledged it but practically quaked at the possibility of confronting him.
Before he could question her further, she shook her head and frowned again.
“What are you doing here? I thought Jessica was supposed to take me out to the Hamptons house.”
“She had other work today. I’m taking you.”
Satisfaction threaded its way through his veins at the flicker of panic in Alexandra’s eyes. After his nearly disastrous moment in the courtyard the other night, he’d needed to remind himself of why he’d booked her services in the first place. Which is why he’d opted to escort Alexandra out to the Hamptons house personally. It presented the perfect opportunity to not only give her a glimpse of the world he now lived in, but also a chance to remind her of her place in it.
“Oh.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, just...ah...no. Let me grab my bag and lock up.”
As she turned off the lights, he cast one more critical glance over the shop. He’d wondered if his wealth would have any effect on the woman who had once spent her spring breaks in an overwater bungalow in the Maldives on a private island.
Judging by how far Alexandra had come down in the world, it wouldn’t be hard at all to show her just what she’d given up.
CHAPTER SIX
ALEXANDRASTAREDATthe house perched majestically above the deep blue waves of the Atlantic as the helicopter began its descent to the helipad in the corner of the estate. The architect had done an incredible job combining luxury with a homey feel. Pale gray shingles covered the exterior of the house. White shutters glinted in the sun. The darker gray roof topped three stories of what Grant had casually mentioned was a six-thousand-square-foot house, complete with twelve bedrooms, pool terrace, numerous decks and balconies in the same glimmering white as the shutters, and a private expanse of beach. All topped off by six acres of perfectly manicured grounds.
It came close to rivaling the Waldsworth Hamptons house, which had sat at the opposite end of the so-called Billionaires’ Lane.
Just a few miles away. She kept her eyes trained on the grass rushing up to meet them and resisted the temptation to glance in the direction of her former house.
A house that, despite its grandeur and castle-like appearance, had felt like a prison until Grant had stumbled upon her in the gardens. That summer had been the happiest she’d ever been. She hadn’t returned to the Hamptons since, the memories of what might have been too painful.
She should have made an excuse when she’d realized it was Grant and not Jessica she would be traveling with today. The tour would take less than an hour. It’d be enough time for him to show her where the various house party events would take place, and for her to take photos and notes and make sure the arrangement ideas she had would fit the space, lighting and atmosphere Grant wanted to create for his guests.
The sensation that someone was watching her penetrated through her melancholy. She looked up, but Grant’s attention was focused on a tablet in his lap, a phone pressed to his ear. Almost the same position he’d been in since they’d walked out of her desolate little shop. The black limo that had awaited them at the curb had been modest in length but luxurious inside, a stark contrast to the worn-down appearance of The Flower Bell. She’d been well aware of the abrupt change in her surroundings, from the buttery leather seats to the granite and hardwood inlays that put the scarred countertops of the little kitchenette in her studio to shame.
Not to mention that she was in jeans, sandals and a blue T-shirt with The Flower Bell’s logo on the front. Compared to Grant’s three-piece dark teal suit and a gold tie that matched the Rolex on his wrist, she looked like...
Well, like Grant had when they’d first met. Although even in his white T-shirt and ripped blue jean shorts, he’d looked so handsome it had made her heart hurt. He hadn’t leered or fawned or acted like a macho jerk. No, he’d just smiled down at her and stolen her heart on the spot.
She’d been so focused on how he’d made her feel, on how she felt about him, that she hadn’t even wondered what he’d thought about the differences between them. Had he felt as uncomfortable as she did now when she’d taken him for a ride in her convertible along the shore? Or when she’d taken him to the beach party with her former boarding school friends who had name-dropped brands, exotic vacation locales and obscure food names in an attempt to shame “the gardener” she’d brought along?
Although, she remembered as she risked another subtle glance at Grant, he hadn’t been fazed one bit. When she had paused, unsure how to handle their not so subtle snobbery without causing a scene, Grant had merely tightened his hold on her waist and calmly replied that he had preferred Cairo over Paris and that if they thought oysters Rockefeller to be a treat, they might want to broaden their horizons with Moqueca de Camarão stew with prawns. He’d said it all with a wide smile and steel in his eyes that had communicated he didn’t give a damn how much money they had; he thought they were idiots.
And now, as he picked up the phone and rattled off a series of numbers to someone who sounded like a financial adviser, he had become one of them. Part of her was proud of him. He’d told her about growing up on the crowded streets of Fortaleza. His trips to exotic locations had been work trips with his father, overseeing the delivery of construction equipment to major worksites in Egypt, Morocco and Japan. Not the vacations her friends were used to going on, but Grant’s father had made the most of the precious few hours of free time he’d gotten to share the world with his son.
