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At last, Grant stood to the side. She walked past him and continued down the hall without a backward glance. The flight back to New York would be awkward. But after that, she had no need to see him again until the brunch at the New York Public Library on Monday. After the brunch it would be the weeklong house party here, and then the gala at the Met the week after that. A busy schedule, but one that would keep her attention focused on her work and off the man she had once loved.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALEXANDRAGLANCEDDOWNat her watch as she walked out of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her tour with Jessica and Laura Jones had taken nearly two hours, including an hour at the New York Public Library and an hour at the Met, but it had been worth it. Unlike with Grant’s tour of the Hamptons house the day before, Alexandra had felt confident and in control. It had only taken Laura two minutes to put Alexandra at ease, and both women had responded to Alexandra’s questions with detailed answers instead of Grant’s short, clipped replies.
She’d liked Laura almost immediately. But she also liked Grant’s executive assistant, she’d realized somewhere between the Met’s Great Hall, where the guests would be welcomed, and the Cantor Roof Garden where, weather permitting, the cocktail hour would be held. What she had initially perceived as Jessica’s cold exterior had masked a dry, witty humor and an intelligent mind. Jessica’s feedback on the prospective clients in attendance and the whisperings she’d heard about what people were already thinking of the Pearson Group had been invaluable.
Such as the concern that Grant hadn’t come from money. When Jessica had shared that bit, it had sparked a fierce defense inside Alexandra’s chest. After everything he’d accomplished, after earning a graduate degree from Stanford and working for one of the most respected financial firms on the West Coast, people still looked down on him the same way her father had.
Her anger, fortunately, had also led to an idea for the breakfast at the New York Public Library that would kick off next week’s schedule. The roses and hyssop were still a good fit for the centerpieces. But she wanted something even more impressive for the table where Jessica would be stationed at, something respectable and professional but also luxurious. Something people would take one look at and not only feel like Grant paid attention to the kind of details that would keep them swimming in their own money, but also that he could afford the kind of lifestyle he currently kept with or without them.
It probably wouldn’t do much, she acknowledged. But doing something was better than doing nothing.
Being six o’clock on a Friday night, and with the first event taking place on Monday, that didn’t leave her a lot of time to put something together. Hailing a cab proved difficult and by the time she reached her shop, it was after seven. She hurried inside and powered up her laptop. As it booted, she walked over to the small closet and opened it, eyes scouring the various vases she kept for displays and special occasions.
The bell dinged over the front door. Alexandra turned, her smile fading as she took in the stringy hair, torn clothing and shaky hands of the young man standing in the doorway.
“Are you okay?”
She froze midstep as the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife.
“Cash,” he bit out in a grating voice.
“Sure. I have some in the register.”
She raised her hands so that he could see she wasn’t reaching for a phone or a weapon of her own. With slow, measured steps, she moved to the register, her eyes never wavering from the grimy knife clenched in his hand like a lifeline. She slid behind the counter, her fingers grasping for the key she foolishly kept in the lock of the register drawer. One twist and the drawer sprang open. She risked a glance down to scoop the meager pile of bills into her hands.
“Here.”
She set the money on the counter. The thief darted forward, the knife still pointed in her direction, and used one hand to spread the bills across the counter. Her heart pounded, but she managed to keep her breathing even as his cracked lips moved, counting up the total.
He looked up, eyes narrowing in anger.
“More. I need more.”
“That’s all I have. Most people pay online.”
“Then your laptop.”
She paused. Logically, she knew she should hand it over. The computer wasn’t worth her life. But in some ways, it was. The Flower Bell existed in that laptop, from her website and social media to client records and notes for all of her jobs. Because, like an idiot, no matter how many times Finn had reminded her, she hadn’t backed up her files.
“Could I give you something else? There’s some—”
“Laptop!” the man barked.
Before she could reply, he raised his hand over his head and then swung it down.
Grant instructed his limo driver to drop him off at the end of the block as he tucked the coat Alexandra had left at the Met over his arm. He wanted the element of surprise when he walked in the door. Petty, but he needed something to go his way. His ego still smarted over how yesterday had gone. Not only had showing off his wealth felt like a hollow victory, but they’d once again come so close to kissing andshe’dbeen the one to pull away.
But yesterday, standing so close together in his bedroom, he’d been an inch away from scooping her into his arms and carrying her to bed. His body had throbbed with desire, a need to hold her in his arms once more and reacquaint himself with everything he’d missed the past nine years. The dip at the base of her spine that had always made her sigh when he’d kissed it. The smattering of freckles on her shoulders from all of the time she’d spent in the sun. The way she’d laughed when he’d kissed and nibbled his way up her legs, her chuckles turning to sighs as he’d trailed his lips higher toward the apex of her thighs.
Damn it.
What had seemed like her genuine reaction to the photos of Carnival had unsettled him. The couple of women he had brought to the Hamptons house since he’d purchased it had merely glanced at them before oohing and ahhing over the views, the pool, the caviar and the champagne enjoyed on the balcony. Symbols of who they thought he was, or at least the parts of him they were interested in: his money, his reputation, his connections.
That the first thing that had seemed to truly impress Alexandra had been his most prized possession in the house had unbalanced him. For those few minutes he’d been thrust back into the past, to a woman whom he felt had seen him, truly seen him, and loved all of him.
He inwardly swore. In the cold light of day, it had been easy to see that Alexandra had just been acting. He’d confided a lot to her years ago. It would make sense that, whether she was trying to save her business or worm her way back into his life, she would use what knowledge she had to wiggle past his defenses.
