I glanced up at Grey, who was scrolling through his phone and taking a bite out of a piece of toast with strawberry jam on it. He had a tiny blob of red jam at the corner of his lips, and my tongue twitched to lick it off him.
I closed my eyes and breathed. “Not yet. But I’ll try to do that today. I promise.”
“I’m worried about my jewelry, Ellison. Some of those pieces mean a lot to me.”
“I understand. I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.”
When I ended the call, I took a sip of my own coffee to buy myself some time to strategize.
“Well done,” Grey said after a few moments. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
I looked up to see if I could determine whether he was pulling my leg or not. He seemed to be genuine. “It wasn’t. You’re right. But it probably would have been much harder had it all been true.”
His eyes cut right through me. “It isn’t?”
The moisture disappeared from my mouth and throat. “That we’re dating? No.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, and we both knew it. He was asking about my sexuality. Thankfully, he let it stand without pressing me.
“What did she ask you for at the end?” he asked, pretending not to care much as he reached for his toast again. I’d been around him enough this week to recognize this tactic of his.
“It’s something I need your help with, actually. She wants some of her jewelry out of the safe deposit box at the bank.”
Grey paused for a split second before continuing to eat his toast casually. Once again, I knew this tactic. I waited him out.
“I believe you mean my jewelry.”
I rolled my eyes and set my phone down before wrapping both hands around my warm mug. “I mean York Capital’s jewelry, and my family still actually owns forty-five percent of York Capital.”
The edge of one of his lips lifted. “But not the part that controls the jewelry.”
“Stop being an ass. What do I have to trade you for my mother’s jewelry? Surely you want something.”
We’d already done this a few times this week, trading my degradation in some manner for additional rights or assets. It had become a kind of game between us.
He pursed his lips in thought. “I want you to spend some time debriefing me on this week’s events at the house party. Sports we might be expected to participate in, lingo these people use in various situations, who’s who of the guest list, the layout of the property and house, the length and courses of the meals, the type of food, the expected socializing methods, Ian and Binnie Duckworth’s preferred topics of conversation, how to treat the ‘help,’ how to handle anything I’m unfamiliar with, and anything else you think might be relevant to my success as a guest at this… thing.” He paused. “And, more specifically, what a shuttlecock is.”
Grey turned his back to me again as if to wipe the counter down of his toast crumbs.
He’s nervous.
The realization hit me swift and hard. This kid from low-income housing and a single mom in White Plains was worried about being the black sheep during a gathering of old money families.
“I would do that anyway,” I admitted softly. “If you simply asked me.”
“Not necessary,” he said stiffly. “We shall stop at the bank on the way to our lunch meeting and pick up what you need. I will also need to know what kind of clothing to bring, and I assume we will have to procure some items for you as well since you hardly expected to be traveling to such an event when you were summoned here from Vermont.”
He was right. “Yes. I guess that’s true. I’ll need some time off this afternoon if we’re leaving tomorrow.”
Jenny came into the room with a box and set it down in front of me. “It’s for you. Now, what can I make you for breakfast? How about waffles?”
I nodded my thanks and opened the box, wondering who the hell knew where I was staying. As soon as the brown paper came off, I saw the Nike logo on the box. I glanced up at Grey, who had his same old stoic face on, revealing nothing.
I opened the box to find a pair of sleek running shoes in my size.
“We’ll get the rest of what we need this afternoon,” he said roughly. “My personal shopper will be waiting for us at Neiman’s after our meeting.”
For a poor kid from White Plains, the man sure knew how to impress.
“Thank you,” I said as sincerely as I could. The gesture had been incredibly thoughtful. I wanted to hug the shoes to my chest. My legs vibrated with the need to stretch and run. “Maybe I can find some time tonight to go for a run.”
He glanced up at me for a second before looking away again. “There’s a treadmill in the gym down the hall past your room.”
My chest felt fluttery and light. Was the man actually making an effort to lighten up and connect with me? Well, maybe “lighten up” was a stretch, but I definitely got the sense he was making some kind of effort. That boded well for our upcoming acting challenge.
I didn’t have any worries for my part. In fact, my worries went the other way. It was entirely possible I would enjoy being Grey’s boyfriend too much. It wasn’t the house party week that concerned me, but the following one. After returning to Vermont to start my new life at the academy, how the hell would I shake off the memory of having Grey Blackwood by my side?
Jenny slid a plate of waffles in front of me, and my stomach balked. Suddenly, I was nervous. Was my potential disappointment worth it to get some piece of York Capital back? Of course it was. I needed to stop being emotional about this and keep my eye on the prize.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Grey asked, glancing at my untouched plate. I looked up at him and saw a tiny crinkle of concern between his eyebrows.
I wanted him. I wanted him so badly it hurt. Maybe… maybe York Capital wasn’t all I could get out of the week at the Duckworth’s house party. Maybe there was a chance I could try and win Grey over, convince him to date me for real.
Execute my own kind of hostile takeover, on him.
“I am hungry,” I said, meeting his eyes.
“Then eat.” He resumed his usual commanding tone, which reached right into my gut and grabbed me with its tight fist.
“Yes, sir,” I said. And then I dared a wink at him. His eyes flared wide for a moment before narrowing at me.
“Cheeky bastard,” he muttered.
He had no idea.
Later that afternoon, after an interminable meeting with the most douchey blowhards I’d ever met, Grey and I made our way to Neiman Marcus for our clothes shopping. I’d deliberately moved our lunch meeting to a restaurant close to the store so we wouldn’t waste time trying to cross the city during the Friday lunch crush.
“Thank god that’s over,” I said. “I thought that one guy was going to ask to lick your face.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sometimes Grey sounded like he was from Greenwich instead of White Plains. It usually made me snicker, but this time I was too annoyed from the meeting to laugh.
“I’ve never met three more sniveling suck-ups in my life. They acted like you were Jesus.” If there’d been a rock on the sidewalk, I would have kicked it.
“Who says I’m not?”