Elizabeth Bevarly – Only on His Terms (страница 3)
But he offered no indication that he expected her to get it for him. “No, I’ve had my quota for the day, too.”
The conversation seemed ready to stall, and Gracie was desperate to hold on to the only friend she was likely to make today. As a result, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. “So...this house. This room. This view. Is this place gorgeous or what?”
Her question seemed to stump him. He glanced around the library as if he were seeing it for the first time, but he didn’t seem nearly as impressed as she. “It’s all right, I guess. The room’s a little formal for my taste, and the view’s a little boring, but...”
It was a rare individual who wouldn’t covet a house as grand as this, Gracie thought. Although she had no intention of keeping it or much of anything else Harry had left her, since fourteen billion—yes,
“Well, what kind of place do you call home?” she asked.
Without hesitation, he told her, “Bright lights, big city. I’ve lived in Manhattan since I started college, and I’m never leaving.”
His enthusiasm for the fast-paced setting didn’t seem to fit with how he’d reminded her of Harry earlier. But she tried to sound convincing when she said, “Oh. Okay.”
She must not have done a very good job, though, because he said, “You sound surprised.”
“I guess I am, kind of.”
“Why?” He suddenly seemed a little defensive.
She shrugged. “Maybe because I was just thinking how you remind me of someone I used to know, and he wasn’t a bright-lights, big-city kind of guy at all.”
At least, he hadn’t been when Gracie knew him. But Harry’s life before that? Who knew? Nothing she’d discovered about him in the past week had seemed true to the man she’d called her friend for years.
Her new friend’s wariness seemed to increase. “Old boyfriend?”
“Well, old, anyway,” Gracie said with a smile. “More like a grandfather, though.”
He relaxed visibly, but still looked sweetly abashed. “You know, the last thing a guy wants to hear when he’s trying to impress a beautiful woman he’s just met is how he reminds her of her grandfather.”
He thought she was beautiful? Was he trying to impress her? And was he actually admitting it? Did he know how one of her turn-ons, coming in second after a bewitching smile, was men who spoke frankly and honestly? Especially because she’d known so few of them. Really, none other than Harry.
“I, uh...” she stammered. “I mean, um, ah...”
He seemed to take great pleasure in having rendered her speechless. Not arrogantly so, but as if he were simply delighted by his success. “So you’re not a big-city type yourself?”
Grateful for the change of subject—and something she could respond to with actual words—she shook her head. “Not at all. I mean, I’ve lived in big cities all my life, but never in the city proper. I’ve always been a suburban girl.”
Even though she’d never known her father and had lived in an apartment growing up, her life had been no different from her friends’ who’d lived in houses with yards and a two-parents-and-siblings family unit. Her mother had been active at her school and the leader of her Brownie troop. And even with her meager income, Marian Sumner had somehow always had enough for summer vacations and piano and gymnastics lessons. As a girl, Gracie had spent summers playing in the park, autumns jumping into leaf piles, winters building snowmen and springs riding her bike. Completely unremarkable. Totally suburban.
Her new friend considered her again, but this time, he seemed to be taking in something other than her physical appearance. “At first, I was thinking you seem like the city type, too. The suit is a little retro, but you’d still be right at home in the East Village or Williamsburg. Now, though...”
His voice trailed off before he completed his analysis, and he studied Gracie in the most interesting—and interested—way. Heat pooled in her midsection, spiraling outward, until every cell she possessed felt as if it was going to catch fire. The entire room seemed to go silent for an interminable moment, as if everyone else had disappeared, and it was just the two of them alone in the universe. She’d never experienced anything like it before. It was...unsettling. But nice.
“Now?” she echoed, hoping to spur his response and end the curious spell. The word came out so quietly, however, and he still seemed so lost in thought, that she wondered if he’d even heard her.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if he were trying to physically dispel the thoughts from his brain. “Now I think maybe you do seem like the wholesome girl next door.”
This time, it was Gracie’s turn to look abashed. “You know, the last thing a girl wants to hear when she’s trying to impress a beautiful man she’s just met is how she reminds him of a glass of milk.”
That, finally, seemed to break the weird enchantment. Both of them laughed lightly, but she suspected it was as much due to relief that the tension had evaporated as it was to finding humor in the remark.
“Do you have to go back to work after this thing?” he asked. “Or would you maybe be free for a late lunch?”
In spite of the banter they’d been sharing, the invitation came out of nowhere and caught Gracie off-guard. A million questions cartwheeled through her brain, and she had no idea how to respond to any of them. How had her morning gone from foreboding to flirtatious? Where had this guy come from? How could she like him so much after only knowing him a matter of moments? And how on earth was she supposed to accept an invitation to lunch with him when her entire life was about to explode in a way that was nothing short of atomic?
She tried to reply with something that made sense, but all that came out was “Lunch...? I...? Work...?”
He was clearly enjoying how much he continued to keep her off-kilter. “Yeah, lunch. Yeah, you. As for your work, which firm do you work for?” He glanced around the room. “Maybe I can pull some strings for you. I’ve known most of these people all my life. A couple of them owe me favors.”
“Firm?” she echoed, the single word all she could manage in her growing confusion.
“Which law firm, representing which one of my father’s interests?” For the first time since they began chatting, he sobered. “Not that they’re my father’s interests anymore. Not since that trashy, scheming, manipulative gold digger got her hooks into him. Not that my mother and I are going down without a fight.”
It dawned on Gracie then—dawned like a two-by-four to the back of her head—that the man to whom she had been speaking so warmly wasn’t one of the many attorneys who were here representing Harry’s former colleagues. Nor was he one of those colleagues. It was Harry’s son, Harrison Sage III. The man who had assumed he would, along with his mother, inherit the bulk of his father’s fortune. The one whom Gracie had prevented from doing just that. The one she had earlier been thinking might be furious, vindictive and homicidal.
Then his other remark hit her. The part about the trashy, scheming, manipulative gold digger. That was what he thought she was? Her? The woman whose idea of stilettos was a kitten heel? The woman who preferred her hemlines below the knee? The woman who’d nearly blinded herself that morning with a mascara wand? The woman who intended to give away nearly every nickel of the fourteen billion—yes
Because even without Mr. Tarrant’s having told her about Harry’s wish that she give away the bulk of his fortune to make the world a better place, Gracie would have done just that. She didn’t want the responsibility that came with so much money. She didn’t want the notoriety. She didn’t want the pandemonium. She didn’t want the terror.
Maybe she’d been struggling to make ends meet before last week, but she had been making them meet. And she’d been happy with her life in Seattle. She had fun friends. She had a cute apartment. She was gainfully employed. She was working toward her degree. She’d had hope for the future in general and a sunny outlook for any given day. Since finding out about her inheritance, however, she’d awoken every morning with a nervous stomach, and had only been able to sleep every night with a pill. In between those times, she’d been jumpy, withdrawn and scared.
Most people would probably think she was nuts, but Gracie didn’t want to be a billionaire. She didn’t even want to be a millionaire. She wanted to have enough so that she could make it through life without worrying, but not so much that she spent the rest of her life worrying. Did that make sense? To her, it did. To Harry’s son, however...
She searched for words that would explain everything to Harrison Sage III quickly enough that he wouldn’t have time to believe she was any of the things he’d just called her. But there was still so much of it she didn’t understand herself. How could she explain it to him when even she couldn’t make sense of it?