Sweet Talk (18 page)

“This kitchen is practically the size of my entire apartment,” she said.

Stainless steel, granite, and sleek lacquered cabinets everywhere she looked. All of the appliances appeared to be brand-new: two double-size ovens, a microwave, an espresso machine, a coffeemaker that had so many buttons it looked like it could run NORAD, a huge stove with eight gas burners, and a few other electrical gadgets she had never seen before.

The granite island was twice the size of hers. She pulled out one of the four bar stools and sat.

“Do you know how to work all of these appliances?”

“Sure I do.” He was at the sink across from her washing his hands. “But Patrick, our housekeeper, runs the kitchen,” he explained.

“Housekeeper?” she asked.

“That’s what Patrick calls himself, but he’s more like a manager. He runs the house and he also helps with the renovation projects I take on. He needed a place to live at the same time Henry was moving in with me, so it’s worked out for everyone. He keeps Henry and me on schedule and somewhat organized. Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine or . . .”

“Just water for now.”

He got her a bottle, opened it, and handed it to her. “I’ll get dinner started and then go change out of this suit.”

“May I help?”

“No, you relax. I’ve got this.”

“So what’s your plan?”

He moved to the other side of the island to face her. Then he looked at his watch. “It’s six thirty-five. I’ll change my clothes and fix dinner. By eight twenty we should be finished. That’s when I’ll hit on you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Then, at eight forty I’ll hit on you again. My plan is to wear you down,” he added.

She nodded and very seriously said, “I see.”

“At eight fifty-five you’ll give in just to get me to stop nagging you. Besides . . .”

“Besides what?”

“Let’s face it, sweetheart. I’m good. You’ve told me so.”

“When did I . . .”

“Every time I touch you and you moan and beg me to—”

She put her hand over his mouth. She could feel her cheeks warming, knew she was blushing. “I can’t argue with the truth.” She took a calming breath. “And then?” she asked, trying to maintain a somber expression.

“At approximately one in the morning, we’ll get dressed, and I’ll take you home.” He smiled as he added, “And that’s my plan.”

She leaned forward. “That’s all good and well, but I was asking you what your plan was for dinner.”

He laughed as he came around the island and leaned down to kiss her. “You taste good,” he whispered.

“Grayson, you know we can’t . . . not here . . .”

He rubbed his lips over hers. “Yeah, I know. Want to hear my secondary plan?”

“You like messing with me, don’t you?”

“I kinda do. I like the way you blush.”

She nudged him. “Go change your clothes.”

“Come with me.”

She pushed him again. “Oh no. I’ll wait here.”

As soon as he left the kitchen, she went to the window to look out. She could see over the rooftops for blocks. Down below, traffic was moving slowly, and there were no pedestrians on the sidewalks. Snow flurries were expected, and the temperature had plummeted.

She turned and surveyed the apartment. There was a rectangular table with four chairs near the window. Henry’s backpack was in the center of the table with two action figures. A deck of cards was stacked next to a notepad and pen. On the chair was an iPad.

Grayson returned wearing a pair of jeans and a light-blue cotton shirt, open at the neck with sleeves rolled up. Olivia insisted on helping prepare dinner. He grilled salmon he’d been marinating, made a spicy lemon-pepper sauce, and added steamed vegetables and brown rice. He let Olivia do the microwaving of the vegetable steam bag, but after seeing the result of her attempt to cook risotto, he wouldn’t let her near the fish.

She didn’t think he’d noticed during dinner, but when they were rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher later, he said, “You should have told me.”

“Told you what?” she asked, handing him a glass to rinse.

“That you don’t like salmon.”

“It looked delicious.”

“You didn’t taste it.”

“Okay, I don’t like salmon. I’m sorry.”

“I would have fixed you something else.”

“You went to so much trouble, I didn’t want to be impolite,” she explained. “Does Henry like your cooking.”

“My nephew has a very limited palate. Chicken fingers and mac and cheese are his favorites. Patrick can get him to eat vegetables, but I can’t.”

Grayson’s cell phone beeped with a text. He read the message and sighed. “Henry’s coming home from the movie. He was supposed to spend the night with his grandfather, but . . .”

“He’d rather sleep here?”

“No, his grandfather . . . my dad . . . has a friend coming over to spend some time with him. She just called him to let him know she’s back in town.”

“Do you have time to take me home?”

He shook his head. “They’re on their way now, but as soon as Patrick gets back, we can leave. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“I don’t mind waiting, and I’d like to meet Henry.”

He took a plate from her hand and said, “I’ll finish here. You look tired. Why don’t you relax, and I’ll brew a cup of coffee.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer tea if you have it,” she said.

“Tea coming up,” he said.

Olivia sat in one of the club chairs and picked up a comic book from a stack on the side table. As she thumbed through the pages, reading about a superhero in a slick purple suit who could teleport himself anywhere in the world, she began to feel a tightness in her chest. She recognized the signs of her asthma immediately and walked to the hall closet to get her purse. She pulled her cell phone out, then her lipstick, comb, billfold, tissues . . . no inhaler.

Grayson saw what she was doing. “Your inhaler is in my coat pocket.”

Startled, she asked, “How did it get in your coat?”

“You left it on the table, so I grabbed it.”

It was such a thoughtful thing to do. “Thank you.”

She was thinking how terribly sweet he was until he started lecturing her.

“You need to pay attention and make certain you’ve always got an inhaler with you, Olivia. I’ve done some reading on asthma, and an attack can get out of hand. I don’t understand how you can be so cavalier about it.”

She used her inhaler and put it in her purse. Then she walked into the living room. She stopped in front of the windows.

“This view is spectacular.”

He stood behind her and put his arms around her. “Don’t want to talk about inhalers?”

“Not really,” she said. “I’ll admit I’ve become a little too careless about my asthma. I’ll try to do better.”

He turned her around, tilted her face up with his hand under her chin and kissed her. He meant only to give her a quick kiss, but in no time at all it got out of hand, and before he realized what he was doing, he’d lifted her up, her pelvis pressed against his, his mouth ravishing hers.

She didn’t hear the bell on the elevator. Grayson did and reluctantly let go of her.

The doors hadn’t completely opened when Henry bounded out, shouting, “Uncle Grayson!”

“I’m right here, Henry. You don’t need to shout.”

Henry remembered the intercom and pressed it. “I’m home, Grandfather.” Turning back to Grayson, he said, “He let me ride up by myself. Who’s she?”

“A friend,” he answered. “Put your coat away and take your shoes into your bedroom.” Henry had already kicked them off. “Then come meet her.”

He was back in two seconds, which told Grayson he’d opened his bedroom door and tossed his coat and shoes in. He slid across the marble and walked over to Olivia. Grayson made the introductions.

Olivia thought Henry was a charmer. There were a few similarities to Grayson in bone structure, high cheekbones and square jaw, and he definitely had the same smile. Henry was tall for his age and lanky. He stared up at her with big brown eyes for a good twenty seconds without saying a word. She stared back.

Grayson watched the two with amusement.

Henry broke the staring contest. “Do you work in the FBI?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“She’s an attorney, Henry,” Grayson explained.

“You are, too.”

“Yes.”

He looked at Olivia again. “Do you go into the court to help good people or bad people?”

“She has two jobs,” Grayson said. “She works on taxes for the IRS,” he said, trying to simplify it for him.

“I don’t know taxes.”

“She’s also a children’s attorney.”

Henry was fascinated by the idea. “Kids can have their own lawyers? You could work for me.”

“Yes, I guess I could,” she said. She walked over to the sofa and sat. He followed and sat beside her.

“How was the movie?” she asked.

“Grandfather didn’t buy the premise. That’s what he said.”

Grayson sat in an easy chair facing them. “Did he explain what premise meant?”

Henry nodded. “He did, and he said he didn’t believe a car could turn into a robot.”

Transforming one item into another was the topic of conversation for the next ten minutes, and then the three of them moved to the dining room table. While Grayson caught up on his e-mails on his laptop, she and Henry worked on constructing a filling station with Legos.

She heard, “You’re doing it wrong,” at least ten times, and she noticed that every time Henry said it, Grayson flashed a smile. Henry thoroughly enjoyed that she was so inept.

“Grandfather says I need a woman,” Henry casually remarked.

That statement got Grayson’s full attention. Olivia didn’t seem fazed. “For what purpose?”

“To boss me probably. Olivia, when we’re finished, do you want to see my room?”

She was trying to cram a tiny cube into the base of the attached carwash. She couldn’t resist teasing him.

“I already saw your room. It’s very nice. I liked your bed. I rolled around in it and tested the pillow. Nice and firm.”

Henry was giggling. “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh yes,” she countered. “Then I went through all your stuff, played some video games, and when I was finished, I went into your closet and tried on some of your clothes.”

He had a good laugh. Then he told her she was connecting the Legos all wrong again. She handed him the tiny piece and said, “You fix it. I’ll watch.”

“Olivia, will you write down your phone number in case I need my own lawyer?”

“Henry, she doesn’t—” Grayson began.

She interrupted. “I don’t need to write my number. I’ll give you one of my cards.”

He followed her to the entry where she’d left her purse and patiently waited while she searched for the case with her cards. She found it and gave him one.

“Are you worried about something?” she asked.

“No, but I’m going to try out for soccer.”

She wanted to ask him to explain why he thought he’d need an attorney for soccer and would have if the elevator bell hadn’t sounded. A few seconds later Patrick arrived.

She had expected a much older man, but Patrick was in his early forties. He was very tall, at least six feet five, and with his lean frame, he had the physical attributes of an NBA player. He shook her hand and shot Grayson a sly look of approval before heading to his room to change.

“Patrick plays basketball most Friday nights,” Henry told her.

He then asked her to play a card game with him. Since Henry was having such a good time with Olivia—he was clearly winning—Grayson waited until his nephew had gone to bed to take her home.

Olivia was quiet in the car, her mind jumping from one thought to another.

“Do you worry that Henry’s father will come home and take him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He smiled. “Because my brother knows what’s best for Henry, and right now he needs stability.”

“But what if . . .”

“Olivia?”

“Yes?”

“Do you like to worry?”

She started to say no, of course not, then decided to think about it. “I guess I’m used to worrying.”

“So, you do admit you’re a pessimist.”

“I’m a realist.”

Grayson didn’t argue. “Henry likes you.”

“That’s because I have the sense of humor of a nine-year-old. He gets me.”

“What about me? Do you think I get you?”

She turned toward him. “Probably not.”

He didn’t look at her as he said, “Oh, I know exactly what’s going on inside that illogical mind of yours.”

She took immediate umbrage. “Excuse me? Illogical?”

“About some things, yes, you’re definitely illogical,” he said. She opened her mouth to disagree, but he changed the subject. “Ronan told me you’re reading up on a couple of Jorguson’s old clients.”

“I was thinking I might—”

He cut her off. “You aren’t still considering going to work for that prick, are you? Because if you are, you should know I’m not gonna let that happen. If you think I’ll stand by and watch you put yourself in danger, you’re out of your ever-loving mind.”

Olivia was surprised by his reaction. In the space of a few seconds, he had worked himself into a lather. “You care that I—”

“Damn right, I care.”

She put a hand up. “Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m telling you, Olivia, I won’t let you—”

“I’m not going to work for Jorguson. And don’t you dare say, ‘Damn right, you’re not,’” she rushed to add when he looked as though he was about to say just that. “I made the decision, not you.”

“If you want to think—”

“Grayson, I’m not going to argue with you.”

He took a breath. “Yeah, okay. Tell me why you were looking at Jorguson’s connections.”

“I’ve been stuck at home every night, and I haven’t been able to find anything on my father, so out of sheer boredom, a little curiosity, and . . .”

“And what?”

“My ego,” she said. “I guess I thought I might find something that would help the FBI’s investigation.”

“Did you find anything?” he asked.

“I discovered a great deal about Gretta Keene and some of the horrific crimes she might have committed. If Jorguson is involved with any of them, I hope you can find the proof you need to bring him down.”