He didn’t know the details about Ellison’s and my need to pretend to be together in a relationship, but Marcel knew I’d come to this event as Ellison’s guest in the hopes of meeting Ian Duckworth.
“I’ll have you know I had actual sand between my toes a couple of hours ago,” I said. “And that was after drinking a fruity drink with alcohol in it.”
Marcel made a big dramatic sighing sound. “No way. Tell me more. How does Ellison York look in a tiny swimsuit? Better yet, send pics so I can get the full effect.”
“No one has worn any tiny swimsuits, and even if he had, I wouldn’t be creeping on him with my phone camera.” At least, I wouldn’t have been sharing the photos if I had.
“Party pooper. Then what can you tell me? Did you talk to Duckworth yet?”
“I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet. I’ve talked to Duckworth but not about the deal. He’s not receptive to discussing business here, but I hope to develop a little more of a friendship so he’ll accept a lunch or dinner invitation when we get back to town.”
“Good plan. Meanwhile, tell me what you’re not telling me.”
He was always like this. Meddling asshole.
“I’m not not telling you anything,” I insisted.
He knew I was lying, but he didn’t call me on it. “I heard Adrian Mahoney is there. He’s that architect John Sloane wants you to use. I wouldn’t mind, if only because that man is hot as shit.”
“I met him earlier today. He’s definitely hot. I’d get his number for you so you could ask Luca for a threesome for your birthday, except Adrian is married to a woman. Probably not interested in a gay throuple situation.”
Marcel’s familiar laughter was successful in relaxing me. I let out another sigh.
“Grey, tell me what’s going on with Ellison York. You’ve been tied up in knots all week. Is he really that bad?”
He’s really that good.
“No. He’s not bad. That’s the problem. I…” Well, here went nothing. “I like him.”
“You like him,” he repeated. “As in, the way you like a healthy egg white omelet? Or as in the way you like taking over multimillion-dollar companies and making rich old white men cry into their high-thread-count handkerchiefs?”
I swallowed hard and admitted in a rough voice, “I like him… the way I like seeing all those zeroes at the end of my net worth.”
Like something necessary to my happiness.
Like something I very much didn’t want to be without anymore.
Like something I still thought would slip through my fingers anyway when I least expected it.
“Oh. Ohhhh. Oh fuck.” Marcel had a way with words.
“Yep.” I walked over to the bedroom window and looked out on the long driveway. Thankfully, our room didn’t have a view of the ocean because then I’d be able to look down and see Ellison talking to his parents on the patio. And I would want to race down there and protect him from his asshole of a father.
“Well, good!” Marcel turned chipper, and his voice took a tone I was very familiar with, the one where he was energizing himself to tackle a challenge and overcome it come hell or high water. “We can work with this. It’s a good thing. When was the last time you liked a guy? Never? That sounds about right. So what we’re going to do is…” His voice trailed off.
“He lives in Vermont,” I reminded him glumly. “And he’s Ellison fucking York, son of Warren ‘Emperor of Evil’ York, remember?”
“Yes,” he said happily. “And we rock at vanquishing evil villains! We eat villains for breakfast. Hell, we’ve already overcome York bullshit once, we can do it again. Now, tell me everything. Let’s formulate a plan.”
“No plan. I don’t need a plan,” I said tersely. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t need your help with it.”
“Okay, you stop this right now, mister. Don’t push him away, Grey,” Marcel warned. “You’re going to do something stupid, I just know it.”
He was probably right. “No, I’m not. But I’m also not going to seriously consider an actual future with the man who’s…” I lost my train of thought.
“Gorgeous? Smart? Well educated? Funny? Nice to strangers? Yes, of course. Why would you want a future with that nonsense?”
“You’re not as funny as you think,” I grumbled.
“You’re more transparent than you think. And I have no doubt Ellison is smart enough to see through your tough-guy bullshit.”
“Mpfh.”
Silence landed between us while I thought about what I really wanted out of a fling with Ellison.
After a few moments, Marcel interrupted my tangled thoughts. “Please give this a chance, Grey. I can tell by the sound of your voice that you’ve already accepted defeat like it’s a foregone conclusion, and that’s bullshit. The Grey Blackwood I live to torture thrives on challenge! The underdog-ier he is, the better! And more than that,” he added more softly, “you deserve to find someone to build a life with. This wealth and success you’ve been working so hard to build isn’t going to love you back. It isn’t going to make you chicken soup when you’re sick.”
“I have Jenny for that,” I said. “And food delivery apps on my phone.”
The judgmental silence fell again, and it rankled.
“Ask yourself this, Grey: What comes next?”
“Well, I was thinking I might nap if my personal assistant would ever shut—”
Marcel ignored me. “You’ve taken down Warren York, the biggest evil of them all. You’re this close to getting Duckworth to sign. Then what? When all the wrongs have been righted and the vengeance is done, what’s left?”
“I have to go,” I said eventually.
Marcel sighed. “Okay, but let me say one more thing.”
“Could I stop you if I wanted to?” I closed my eyes and braced for the lecture, but he surprised me.
“He likes apples.”
I opened my eyes as if it would help me understand better. “Who does?”
“Ellison. I was in the elevator with someone yesterday who had a big basket of apples, like from an orchard. I asked about it, and she said they were a gift for Ellison because he has a thing about apples and she’d been apple picking with some friends.”
“Yes, I know he likes apples. I prefer oranges. What does that have to do with anything? Are we making fruit salad? Why are you telling me this?”
I heard Marcel mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Beyond me how a brilliant businessman can have the emotional intelligence of a fucking rock,” but I couldn’t be sure.
Then his voice rang clear again. “Never mind, Romeo. Enjoy your nap. Good luck with everything.”
I could have sworn he muttered a “You’re going to need it” at the end, but I couldn’t be sure about that either.
18
Ellison
“He who wishes to fight must first count the cost.”
~ Sun Tzu, The Art of War