“Five hundred thousand pounds lost on the tables over the course of three nights, in exchange for one week’s access. Those are the terms, on your honor—and his.”
His. There was emphasis on that word, like the Factotum was as much larger-in-life to his errand boy as Tobias Hawthorne had been to his grandsons. If the Factotum demands that kind of respect… exactly how powerful is the Proprietor?
Jameson opted to shelve that question and ask a different one. “Do you have a name?”
“Rohan.” There was something sharp and knowing on his face as he spoke. “Not that it matters.”
“Well, Rohan,” Avery said, “you can tell your boss he has a deal.” She picked up the pen and signed.
Rohan shifted his gaze to Jameson. “You’ll be signing, too, if you want to play.”
Avery slipped the pen into Jameson’s hand. He turned it in his fingers, taking in every element of the design, committing it to memory.
And then he signed.
CHAPTER 17
GRAYSON
Grayson knew that every problem had solutions, plural. Falling into the trap of assuming there was only one could keep you from seeing the optimal combination. Complex problems were fluid, dynamic.
Gigi was a complex problem.
Having spent the twenty-four hours since he’d dropped her off biding his time and considering all angles, Grayson knew that the most obvious solution was for him to see to it that she lost the key she wore around her neck. No key, no safe-deposit box access, no inconvenient evidence or revelations. But there were other possible courses of action given that Gigi also had no idea which safe-deposit box was her father’s.
Keep an eye on her. Assess the best strategy for stealing her key. Stop her from figuring out what name the box is under. All of those actions required reaching back out. Luckily, the internet made that easy. It was simple enough to find the social media platform on which Gigi Grayson was most active, create an account, and begin to compose a direct message.
@OMGiGi. Grayson stared at the username and debated the best approach. I need to see you again. That was direct, straightforward—but what if she saw it as having romantic undertones? Grayson shuddered. Did the coffee finally wear off? seemed more benign, but could that be seen as flirting, too?
There were some significant downsides to subterfuge.
Have you heard from Kent Trowbridge? Grayson typed the words—no disturbing undertones whatsoever—into the message box and hit Send. While he waited for a reply, he decided to do a bit of research on the man that Gigi had called for help.
The man who had left her at the police station overnight and for much of the following day, seemingly without so much as informing her mother that she was in police custody.
With trademark efficiency, Grayson skimmed the search results. As Gigi had indicated, Kent Trowbridge was indeed a lawyer. A prominent one. Before Grayson could dig any deeper, Gigi returned his message.
Grayson opened it and stared at the screen. She’d sent him… a picture of a cat? A fat orange cat lying on its back with its paws on its face. Chunky lettering on the bottom of the picture spelled out WHO DIS?
Grayson typed back a single word: his first name.
Still going with that, huh? came Gigi’s reply. Before he could start typing again, a barrage of other messages arrived.
@OMGiGi: Ask me about my master plan, “Grayson.”
@OMGiGi: On second thought, I’ll tell you in person.
@OMGiGi: You are coming over, right?
@OMGiGi: My dad would want you to.
Grayson focused on the fact that she had extended the invitation, not on her reference to their father. Before he could accept, she sent a picture of another cat: white, fluffy, yowling.
@OMGiGi: This cat wants you to come over.
@OMGiGi: Fair warning: I have an unlimited supply of cats.
Grayson snorted. I hope you are referring to pictures of cats, he typed back.
@OMGiGi: Perhaps! Perhaps not. Come over and find out.
Grayson felt a jab of guilt, as Xander’s warning came back to him. You’re going to have to lie to her. Sabotage her. Gain her trust and betray her. Gigi’s trust really didn’t seem difficult to gain. Grayson halfway wanted to sit her down and impress upon her that she needed to be more careful.
She never should have gotten into a car with him.
She shouldn’t be inviting him over now.
But the most Grayson could allow himself was two messages, sent in quick succession. Two warnings.
@NonErrata575: You are far too trusting.
@NonErrata575: I have my own reasons for looking for your father.
@OMGiGi: That sounds nefarious! But I don’t care! All that matters is that you’re looking.