I halt and give Grayson a look. He eyes Blake over my head. “We need a minute.”
Blake and Adrian move ahead of us, which means that obviously, they feel we’re now secure. I want to believe that’s true, but Ri has involved other people in his hate for Grayson, bad people, that it’s hard to know if we can let our guards down and when. “We’re good, Grayson. You don’t have to worry about me, or gossip, or Ri’s attacks through other people. Go to work and do what you do, focus on the challenge which is not us.”
He catches my hip and walks me to him. “Where is this coming from, Mia?”
“I know you, Grayson. I can almost feel the weight on your shoulders pressing on my own. Ri isn’t done attacking you and there are people out there who would hurt you just to hurt you. Because you’re rich and good-looking. I want to make you stronger—”
“You do, baby. You abso-fucking-lutely do.”
He says that but it’s not completely true, not right this moment, but I’m going to fix that. I have to fix that. I flatten my hand on his chest, the silk of his tie, and the thunder of his heart under my palm. “I screwed up, Grayson. You’re the love of my life. I know you’re mine. I know I’m yours. You need to know, too, and know nothing touches us ever again. Set us aside, walk in there, and work that Bennett magic and get this over with. Find the bad eggs, get them out, and let’s move on.”
He studies me for several long beats, and then kisses me hard on the lips, ending that kiss with my lipstick on his mouth. I laugh and wipe his mouth. “It’s not your shade.”
He winks and links my arm with his arm and as we start walking, the bond we share, present and strong, and I can almost feel the weight on his shoulder ease just a little bit. He’s lighter now, and yet there’s a razor-sharp edge to him as well. He’s ready to play ball and win. And any nerves I’d had about my return here fade. Being here means being with him, passionately engaged in his life, his company, and, no—our life. This is where I belong.
We round the corner to the elevators and Grayson motions Blake forward. Adrian stays behind by the elevators. Not long afterward, I’m swarmed with warm welcomes, hugs, and lots of familiar faces. I’m instantly back home. Oh yes, indeed, I belong here. I should never have left, but I will not let regret dictate the future. I’m here to stay.
We eventually make it into the executive offices that house only a dozen people out of the thousand-plus of Bennett employees in the building, and we head to Grayson’s office. It’s there that I’m greeted by his secretary Nancy, who’s fortyish, with black-rimmed glasses, and quite lovely in all ways.
“Mia!” She shoots up from her seat and rushes around her desk.
I’m pulled into a hug, and she whispers in my ear. “Screw TMZ.”
I laugh and ease back to smile at her. “I’m not upset by that. We both know it’s not true and—” I show her my ring.
She squeals and eyes Grayson. “When?”
“We’re working on the details, but I’d do it today if we could,” he assures her.
“No eloping,” Nancy scolds. “You two have waited too long for this and I want to plan the wedding of the century.” She eyes Grayson. “Don’t let this mess dictate how you get married. Of course, TMZ is calling you a manwhore now, and they’ll be trying to chopper over your wedding later. They are such whores themselves.”
Grayson’s displeasure with the topic washes over his features and his jaw sets hard. I can almost feel him bristling with the control he doesn’t own right now but wants back. His eyes glint hard and I watch determination fill his stare. He doesn’t just want it back. He’s about to take it back.
Blake rejoins us at that moment—we’d lost him back in the lobby, and he’s not alone. The good-looking man with him, who has tattoos peeking from under his suit jacket, and intense blue eyes, is Eric, his best friend. My friend, too.
“Welcome back, Mia,” he greets, and to my surprise, he pulls me into a hug—Eric is not a hugger—and whispers in my ear. “He wasn’t whole without you.”
“Nor was I,” I say, feeling a bit choked up, because Eric doesn’t just say things to say things. Eric isn’t a fluffer or a “feel-good” kind of guy, but he’s just managed to make me feel quite good. That is until he releases me and Blake motions to Grayson’s door.
“We need to talk,” Blake says, and now he’s the intense one, and that doesn’t read like good news.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Grayson
Control.
There are very few people in this world that really know how much I value and need control. Mia knows. Eric knows. Right now, I do not feel in control. At all. It’s driving me mad. I catch Mia’s hand and pull her ahead of me into my office, a possessive, protective action, I know, but I can’t help it. I just endured my enemy holding a gun on her head, and he’s not done coming at me, and us, yet.
Blake shuts the door, and we converge around my conference table. Eric tosses a file down in the center. “Statistically,” he says, savant that he is, “those are the ten employees hired in the past year, most likely to be dirty. However,” he adds, “statistically, the odds of you being burned by one of those people is eighty percent less likely than you being burned by someone you know and trust, someone close to you.”
“Me?” Mia bristles, when Mia doesn’t bristle easily. “Are you talking about me?”
“Easy, baby,” I murmur. “He’s not talking about you.”
“Are you?” she asks, focused on Eric.
“The odds of it being you are about even with it being me, Mia,” he states, “which is ten percent, statistically speaking only. Neither of us is going to burn Grayson. And you know I have an intimate understanding of being burned by those close to me.”
He means his family, who own an empire of their own and treat him like a bastard—which technically he is, as his mother wasn’t married to his father, but that’s beside the point. They treat him horribly. “If I thought you were the bad guy here,” he adds, “I’d be handing Grayson a drink and talking to him one on one.”
“We’d all need a drink to tell Grayson that shit,” Blake adds. “The bottom line here is that we all know Grayson is still under attack. The FBI now knows that Grayson is under attack.”
“How do we know the FBI isn’t a part of that?” I ask. “We know the DA’s office has dirty players. If the DA’s office can do it, why not the FBI?”
“We have enough documentation to cover his ass,” he says, “but when you talk about someone near and dear to Grayson, you’re talking a bigger exposure.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Davis, my second confidant to Eric, and my personal attorney walks in. “You rang?”
Blake motions him forward and Davis, a tall, regal, looking man, in his thirties, with dark hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard, joins us at the table. Once he’s up to speed, the debate begins. “What about Nancy?” Davis asks. “She knows everything you do.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not Nancy. She’s loyal, and she makes as much as a seasoned attorney.”