Trowbridge. Given that the two of them were clearly on a first-name basis, the fact that he’d chosen to address her as Mrs. Grayson felt pointed.
“Gigi saw the investigators,” Acacia admitted in a hushed voice that Grayson could barely hear. “I’m trying my best to protect the girls, but—”
“We’ve been over this, Acacia. You don’t have the resources to protect anyone. I’m doing the best I can, but you know—”
“I am going to handle this.” Acacia’s voice wasn’t hushed now.
“Your parents aren’t here anymore. Your husband is gone. And the money—”
“I know.” Acacia appeared, pacing outside the portico.
“I’ll do whatever I can.” Kent Trowbridge stepped out after her. He was shorter than she was and moved like a guy who prided himself on being fitter than men half his age. “You know that I am here for you, Acacia. You just have to let me be here for you.”
The moment Grayson saw the lawyer place a hand on Acacia’s shoulder—far too close to her neck—he took three loud steps forward. Instantly, Trowbridge’s hand dropped. Acacia stepped away from him, and they both whipped their heads toward the house.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Grayson didn’t raise his voice, but he had his grandfather’s way of being heard. He walked, his pace unhurried, to a spot just short of the Ferrari, then paused and held out his hand, forcing his opponent to close the distance between them to take it.
“Grayson Hawthorne,” he said, meeting the lawyer’s eyes.
He saw a spark of recognition at his last name. “Kent Trowbridge.”
Grayson let his lips curl slightly. “I know.” There was power in those two words. Make them wonder what you know.
Trowbridge glanced back at Acacia. “We’ll talk later,” he told her.
Grayson didn’t step into his own car until the lawyer was gone. He didn’t press Acacia on what he’d overheard. Instead, as he pulled out of the drive, he made a call. “Zabrowski, you have exactly one chance to prove to me that you’re worth continuing to keep on retainer.”
CHAPTER 23
JAMESON
Twelve hours after Jameson and Avery signed the NDA, another black envelope showed up at the flat. This one featured only a single thread of shining platinum, encircling a black wax seal. The design imprinted on the wax was familiar. A triangle inside a circle inside a square. Jameson ran his thumb over the contours, his brain rotating the shapes, disassembling them, reassembling them. He broke the seal and opened the envelope to find an invitation—also black, with silver script. Affixed to the bottom of the card, there was a small but ornate key.
Jameson skimmed the instructions and plucked the gold key from the card, then turned to Avery, an electric smile spreading over his face. “It appears we’re headed to the opera.”
“Zip me up?” Avery’s gown was black with gold embroidery, a delicate, complicated pattern that swirled down her torso, her hips, all the way to the floor. The sight of her in that dress, open in the back, brought Jameson right back to the edge of the falls, hungering for more.
“My pleasure.” He gave himself a moment first, tracing his hand from her bare neck to the small of her back, then splaying his fingers outward, the warmth of her skin soft and scalding against his palm.
Avery’s back arched. When she spoke, her voice was low and rough. “Tahiti.” When one of them said that code word—their code word—the other had to let their guard down entirely.
Jameson was surprised it had taken her this long. He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. “You want me to strip?” He brought his thumb to a spot just below her jawbone where he could see her pulse.
“I want you to admit that this matters to you,” Avery said, leaning into his touch.
Jameson wound his free arm around her, pulling her body back against his. “Winning always matters.” Being with her like this—it felt like winning every damn time. “An impossible challenge,” he murmured directly into her skin. “A hidden world. A secret game. It’s all very me.”
“And that’s it? This is just a diversion?” Avery turned her head, and Jameson began slowly tracing her jawline. Tahiti meant being honest—with himself, with her. He let his hand drop from her jaw.
N-O. He drew the letters with his thumb on her back.
“No,” Avery murmured. “This isn’t just a challenge or a game or a diversion to you.” She paused. “Is it Ian?”