The Do It List (The Do It List #1) (27 page)

 
“Do you mind, Moneypenny?”

“Have your cigar, Mr. Craig.” I sipped my drink and read the spines of a few leather-bound volumes. Beyond the intense physical attraction I felt for him, there were times like these that hinted at a more comfortable relationship. I leaned against the desk and watched him snip the end of the expensive stogie.

“When I was in prep school, I used to sneak in here and steal a cigar now and then.”

“You mean like now?” Another look at the surroundings made me wonder. “How is it your mother keeps the den so masculine?”

“I think these cigars are for Laurent.” Bradley held the lighter below the cigar and rotated the shaft until the tip glowed. He set down the lighter and blew on the embers. “I’m not even sure if Laurent is his given name or his surname.”

 
“Perhaps you should ask.” I stared at Bradley. “You think maybe Laurent has another job description?”

He winked as he took his first puff. “Let’s just say Mother has never seemed happier. It’s nice.”

“Right this way. Bradley, Grace—are you two hiding down here?”

Apparently Ann Craig was also giving a house tour.
 

She descended the stairs followed by a number of guests. “Here you two are. We’re just about ready for dinner. I wanted you to meet my new team of estate advisors, or are you all attorneys?”

Three men and a young woman assembled before us. I suppose they smiled, I couldn’t be sure, I was so distracted by the specter of a man I’d not seen in years. My stomach lurched in the same way it used to. At first because he was so hot, then after his colossal betrayal because it hurt to be near him.

I suppose I just stared, wide-eyed.
 

The man in question also appeared riveted. Gobsmacked might be a better description, but not in the funny, cute Bradley way.
 

Ann turned to the good-looking group and rattled off names. The only one I heard was Troy Lambert.

Troy Lambert. Smart, beautiful and dangerous to know. The kind of man who made you think, damn girl, you’re in trouble now.

“Troy, I’d like you to meet my son Bradley and his friend—”

“Hello, Gracie.”

 
The heat drained from my cheeks and my fingers turned into icicles as the man who had almost ruined my life spoke.

 
“You’re looking more beautiful than ever.”

BRADLEY’S MOTHER DID a pretty amusing double take. “You two know each other?”

I tried to say something. I would have settled for any sort of utterance, but the words got stuck in my throat. And the freeze went beyond tongue-tied, I was nearly in shock.

“Gracie and I went to school together. Pacific Palisades High.” His gaze darted to Bradley and back to me. “Go Dolphins.” His smile was stiff, measured.

I managed a nod, even as my head reeled. I had forgotten how handsome he was. His unruly sandy brown hair had been combed into submission, darker now that he spent his days in an office and not on a surfboard off Point Reyes. And those striking, gray-green eyes flecked with copper and framed by long eyelashes were every bit as dazzling as they were ten years ago.
 

Bradley stroked my back, softly. He had easily picked up on the awkward vibe. “So, you two dated in high school?”

I managed to shake off some of the stun and meet Troy’s gaze. “We flirted in high school. We didn’t actually date until UCLA.”
 

The color drained from his face and his eyes darted away.

My attempt at small talk sounded edgy and forced. I felt wobbly, almost faint, and my heart raced—signs of an imminent panic attack.

“College sweethearts?” Bradley’s mother teased Troy in a cute, age-appropriate way.

 
“One date,” I said coolly. “My freshman year.”

“So what was Gracie like in high school?” Bradley asked.

 
I knew Bradley well enough to know he was fishing for information. He couldn’t possibly imagine the algae infested, slime-ridden pond he treaded water in.
 

Bradley knew almost nothing about my past. I had purposely kept it from him, from everyone. Part of me wanted to break the whole, sordid story wide open—the abuse, betrayal, and humiliation. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I reminded myself that Troy was inviolate, he could never be damaged in the way he had damaged me. I had given up on my revenge fantasies years ago.

The interloper from my past grinned. “Let’s see…she was on the homecoming court, of course.”

 
Jeezus, his smile was so cute.

 
“She was head songleader our senior year.” He finally met my gaze. “I remember you choreographed some wicked dance routines. Very well-liked, popular with her classmates…”
 

His gaze moved to Bradley. “I understand you transferred to Darcy Wexler Dean before the merger tanked. I follow large independents as well as publicly held media companies. Anytime you guys wanna go public, we’d be glad to help.”

I half expected him to hand us each a business card.

Bradley puffed on his cigar. “Darcy Wexler Dean is still interested in acquiring a European partner, hopefully, a better fit this time.”

 
Troy’s words buzzed around in my brain. Hard to concentrate when you’re struggling with a fight or flight response. I wanted to run from the den—this house—this island called Manhattan. My throat constricted as the room shrank around me. Vaguely, I was aware that Bradley was speaking.

 
“Axel Wexler is the man you want to speak with. He’s open to anything but Scacchi for obvious reasons.”

“So…you’re not in strategic management?” Troy raised his glass and sipped his drink. Two fingers of Tequila, neat. Seemed pretty obvious the two alpha males were sizing each other up.

“I was transferred here to head up Insight, a new research arm. We’re being paired with the über creatives—an experimental approach.”

Troy swung his attention back over to me. “That would be Barking Mad, including their newly appointed copy chief, Grace Taylor-Scott.”

I stared at him. “I’m sorry. How could you…?”

“I read Advertising Age.” His gaze swept over me in a way that made me uncomfortable. “Like I said, I have an interest. I follow stock reports, mostly. Darcy Wexler Dean is a prime candidate for a merger, especially if you guys land the Unilever business.”

“Shop talk,” Ann grumbled. “I so love it. Last call for drinks before dinner.” She led the way out of the den. Numbly, I trailed behind the group making their way up the back stairs. My knees trembled when I thought back ten years to a different Gracie. I was stronger now, much stronger. But seeing Troy had been gut wrenching and I felt completely unnerved.

Bradley held me back. “Are you all right?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“What can I do?”

My knees knocked, and I was about to pee in my pants. “I need to visit the bathroom.”

 
Bradley walked me down the corridor and pointed me toward the powder room. “I’m going to get us another drink. I’ll be right back.”

Father had warned me that Troy Lambert was in Manhattan working in investments. My Dad, the ever-vigilant detective, had continued to work the cold case. In a city of over eight million people, I just never dreamed Troy and I would run into each other. We moved in very different circles. Apparently, he was part of a legal team that managed Bradley’s mother’s estate.
 

Good God… I inhaled a breath and exhaled slowly. Fuck, this was more than awkward, this was a waking nightmare. I stepped inside the powder room and back out again. I thought about the private bath in Bradley’s room, the perfect hidden retreat.

I ran upstairs and locked myself in his bathroom. A glance in the mirror surprised me. A pretty young woman stared back at me, and she didn’t look weak or wobbly. A bit wide-eyed, perhaps, but otherwise normal. I tried smiling and detected a bit of tightness around the mouth.

I ran a hand towel under cold water and lowered the toilet seat cover. Holding the cold compress to my temples, I sat down and took long slow breaths.
 

To ease the mounting anxiety, I entertained myself with flight fantasies. I could slip down the servant stairs and catch a cab. My escape plan cheered some, even felt liberating.

The soft tap on the door had to be Bradley. “Gracie? Are you in there?”

 
The sound of his voice gave me strength.

“I’m not feeling so well.”

“Gracie, let me in.”

Finally, I reached over and turned the lock. Immediately the door opened and he was kneeling beside me.

 
“Tell me what’s going on.” He waited patiently for an answer. “This has something to do with Troy Lambert.”

Fuck, I was trembling again, almost uncontrollably. Bradley reached for me.

“Talk it out, baby—trust me.”

I couldn’t look him in the eye, so I fell into his chest. “We had one date, our freshman year.” My raspy soft voice whispered. “Troy was pledging a fraternity. He invited me to a party. I didn’t drink much back then. He used to tease me about it. I passed out from one drink—later we found out it was laced with Rohypnol.”

“He raped you.”

 
Bradley pushed away, and his gaze frightened me. I had seen the look before, when Derek had insulted me, only this was much worse. I thought about nodding a yes, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Eventually, the whole dirty story would come out. If I was serious about Bradley, I needed to trust in myself and in him.

 
“He left me in a room alone, and four of his fraternity brothers raped me.”

The only time I had seen an expression even close to the one on Bradley was my father’s face when I awoke in the hospital bed at UCLA Medical Center. Fighting back tears, trying so hard to not to show their pain. Bradley blinked, several times. A shudder moved through his body and into mine, as he gathered me in his arms and hugged me tight.

Dad had pursued every last one of the rapists—threatened the university—gone above and beyond. Up until that time, I had never seen my father in such a state and I had no idea how much he loved me. We had bonded over the terrible experience, and both my parents actually acted like parents for several months after the incident.

Bradley’s expression had turned murderous. Sweeping me up, he carried me into the bedroom. He held me on his lap for the longest time, through a deluge of tears and hiccups.

 
“I’m so sorry, Gracie.” He brushed a kiss over my cheek and lips. “What do you want to do? We can leave the way we came in. I’ll call Laurent and have him forward our apologies.” He reached for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand.

“Your mother will be so disappointed if we leave.” I sniffed.

“She’ll get over it. Blow.”

 
I pictured his mother making excuses to her guests, the look of relief on Troy’s face. I leaned into the tissue and blew. The very idea made me angry. And anger felt so much better than whimpering victim.
 

I grabbed Bradley’s arm. “No, we’re staying. I’ll be damned if he’s going to continue to ruin my life.”
 

“You don’t have to do anything, Gracie. You don’t have to be any braver than you’ve already been. You have nothing to prove to me, or yourself and certainly not to him.” Bradley held my hand so tightly both our knuckles turned white.

 
“Ouch—you’re right,” I whispered.

“Sorry.” He released my hand, kissing those same knuckles. “If you really want to stay, I’ll kick his ass down Park Avenue to Harlem River. Just say the word.”

I narrowed my gaze. “Do not lay a finger on him. His father is an attorney and a powerful Washington lobbyist—they could hurt you, Bradley.”

His jaw clenched. “Friends in high places.”

“The highest.” I sighed. “Even though Troy was implicated in the gang rape, he received a plea bargain. He went to Princeton, not prison.” I held his face in my hands. “Promise me, Bradley.”

He took his time answering. “You got it, baby doll.”

I repaired raccoon eyes while Bradley made the call.

“Laurent, could you let Mother know that Gracie and I will be leaving? Gracie isn’t feeling well…yes…best get her home.” Bradley lowered the phone.“ He wants to drive us. You okay with that?”

The ride back was quiet. Bradley held me against him, my head on his shoulder. Absently, I ran through the game apps on his phone.

 
“Resident Evil 4, Call of Duty, Need for Speed. You like car racing games.”

“Racing and first-person shooter. There’s something about blowing the heads off zombies that’s incredibly therapeutic.” His grin had a bit of bad boy in it. “When I was in primary school I wanted to be an SAS man. Royal Marine Commandos.”

“Like a Navy SEAL?” I asked.

 
He dipped his head, and warm lips crushed mine. Hungry. Raw. Possessive. His kiss served as a reminder of the sexual chemistry between us. And there was something territorial about the way he moved those firm, pliable lips over mine. He let up just enough to whisper, “It was toss-up. Navy SEAL or Organizational Dynamics.”

His gentle humor lifted more than my spirits. I opened wider, luring his tongue into my mouth. He was a world-class kisser, and he tasted of good whiskey and a hint of tobacco—a sexy mix of masculine appetites. Bradley could also be fiercely protective. Perhaps more than he should be.
 

When was I going to learn to fight my own battles? Or make peace, if that’s what it took to move on. I exhaled a soft sigh. “Let’s shoot zombies.”

He squeezed me closer and used both hands to teach me the controls. His chin stubble brushed against my cheek and the friction generated heat that warmed my whole body.

When Laurent turned onto Irving Place, Bradley gave him a new address.

“Take us for a ride around the park, and pullover near Two Gramercy West.”
 

He grinned broad enough to reveal that wonderful dimple. “I made an offer on a flat.”