The Player, page 7
“Don’t start.”
Joy glanced at the Scotch.
“And I really don’t want to hear about the liquor.”
Joy nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you later when I bring up dinner.”
“Don’t hurry.”
“Alex—”
“And shut the door tightly, will you?”
Joy left, wondering what she could do to help her brother and once again coming up with nothing.
Downstairs in Frankie’s office, she felt somewhat foolish as she dialed the number Alex had given her. The person who picked up had a foreign accent that lengthened the words “Cutler residence” into a whole paragraph. After giving her name, Joy expected to get politely turned away when she asked to speak with Cassandra. Instead she was put on hold and then the widow came on the line.
“Joy! How nice to hear from you.”
“I, uh, I’ve been thinking about what you said, about making a dress for you? And I’d like to, if you’re still interested.”
“Absolutely and your timing is perfect. The Hall Foundation is having its annual gala soon. When can you come to New York?”
New York City?
Good Lord. The last time she had been in a town bigger than Saranac was when she’d been in college. And Burlington, Vermont, wasn’t exactly a towering metropolis of commerce. Heck, if a building had six stories there, it was considered a skyscraper.
“I can come anytime, I guess.”
“Wonderful! Why don’t you ride down tomorrow with Gray? He was supposed to come last week to teach his class at Columbia, but his father had some difficulties.”
Oh, jeez. Four and a half hours in the car with Gray. One way.
And she thought the Big Apple was overwhelming. How was she going to keep sharp for that long?
“I—uh, maybe I should just take the train.”
“Don’t be silly. Gray will enjoy your company and he knows right where I live.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Would you like me to call him for you?”
As if she didn’t feel like enough of a rube already? “No. I’ll do it.”
“And you must stay with me. I have three guest rooms in this place that are rarely used. I could stand some company.”
“That’s really generous of you.”
“My pleasure. See you tomorrow!”
Joy put the phone down and stared at it.
Now, she just had to call Gray.
* * *
GRAY LEANED FORWARD in the leather chair, planting his elbows on the desk.
“No, here’s what you’re going to tell your client. If he doesn’t lay off, I’m going to crush him. Are we clear? Either the congressman cans the smear campaign against my boy, or I’m going to drop a dime to the Boston Globe and make sure the whole damn commonwealth knows what he tried to pull with those construction contracts. You remember, the ones he gave to his in-laws’ shadow corporations?”
The lawyer on the other end of the line started to backpedal madly. As a heavy hitter sent in to intimidate, the guy had failed miserably. Gray was just too damn good at this kind of song and dance to be dressed down by nothing more than a big, loud noise with Esq. after its name.
Unfortunately, as November got closer, this backroom brawling stuff was only going to get more intense. He wasn’t looking forward to all the threat trading. And he wasn’t going to be thrilled to follow through on what he’d promised if the congressman’s attack ads didn’t dry up immediately.
Although he’d make the call in a heartbeat.
He reached for his bourbon. “Look, I’ve got to go. You’re boring me.”
Mr. Fancy Pants, Big City Attorney who’d tried to muscle in on the situation was still nattering as the line was cut.
Gray shook his head. What an amateur, trying to pull the whole legality of free speech nonsense. Sure there was the First Amendment and thank God for it. But the Constitution couldn’t be used as a shield to protect liars. Not in Gray’s world, anyway.
The phone rang.
Great. It was probably the lawyer again. Threatening to sue for tortuous interference of a phone call.
Gray picked up receiver and snapped, “What part of bored didn’t you understand?”
There was a long silence.
“Gray?”
He put down the bourbon. “Hi—”
“It’s Joy Moorehouse.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I, uh, I just got off the phone with Cassandra. I understand you’re going to New York City tomorrow and I was wondering if I could catch a ride with you.”
Gray took a deep breath. He hadn’t been aware of sending any requests to God lately. But evidently the Big Guy knew his stuff.
“Sure. I can pick you up. I’m leaving early, though. At seven.”
“Fine with me.”
“Are you going to do a dress for her?”
“Yes.”
“Good for you. And Cass.”
“So I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah. You will.”
Gray hung up. The tension that had crawled up his spine and burrowed into his shoulders while talking to the attorney slowly bled out of him.
Okay, so it was replaced with a state of half arousal. But anticipation, even if it was misplaced, misdirected and miserably persistent, was better than lawyer-onset annoyance any day.
Gray began to smile.
He tried to cover up the stupid grin by throwing back the bourbon and getting to work.
But the damn thing wouldn’t go away.
Chapter Six
STANDING IN THE COOL morning air, with a small suitcase and her portfolio at her feet, Joy was totally disorientated. Surely she couldn’t be going to New York City. In Gray’s car. So she could talk about designing a dress for the man’s überelegant lover.
The Twilight Zone tingles got more pronounced as the BMW came around the corner. When Gray got out, he greeted her with a smile.
“You ready?”
She did a quick survey of him. Dark suit. Bright tie. Crisp white shirt. Hair back and still a little damp. He smelled like cedar soap and that sophisticated, sandalwood aftershave he wore.
She reached for her luggage, but he got to the handles first, putting the suitcase and her drawings in the trunk. As she slid into the leather seat, she looked over and saw two stainless-steel coffee mugs.
“I brought some for you, too,” he said as he got behind the wheel. “Wasn’t sure how you liked yours so there’s some sugar and cream in that bag at your feet.”
Four hours later, Joy decided Einstein was right. Time was relative.
As the great city came into view and they got on Riverside Drive, she could have sworn she’d only been in the car for ten minutes. They talked the whole time. Gray had been really interested in her designing. And the books she liked to read. And the music she listened to. And what she thought about a thousand different things, large and small. It was difficult not to fall even harder for him. Somehow, his curiosity in her was more attractive than his most attractive physical attributes.
And God knew the man was running a barn sale on tall, dark and handsome.
“Cass’s place is on Park in the seventies,” Gray said, as if that was supposed to mean something to her.
“I’ve never been here before.”
“Really? You’ll have to get her to show you around. New York is one of the best cities in the world. I love it here.”
She looked out of the window. “It’s…overwhelming.”
The day was bright and clear, the buildings shooting up into a screaming blue, autumn sky. Everything seemed too sharp, especially the shadows thrown by the hard edges of so many skyscrapers. As vertigo taunted her stomach with threats of the bile variety, she brought her eyes back to level. No relief there. The blurring rush of pedestrians and taxis and trucks and bike couriers was like a carnival ride pregnant ladies weren’t supposed to get on.
God, everyone looked as if they had somewhere they needed to be. Urgently. And the pace made the people seem important.
As her own internal tempo struggled to catch up, she wished she was back home at White Caps. It was just after eleven-thirty. She’d be getting Grand-Em’s lunch ready. In the cozy familiarity of the kitchen. Using plates she’d put food on every day of her life.
What the hell was she doing in New York?
Taking a deep breath, she looked down at her lap to avoid all the visual stimulation. What she saw just made her feel smaller. She was wearing a pair of black slacks that had been cleaned so many times, the seams were a dark gray. There was only more of the same in her luggage. Lacking any clothes that were particularly chic, she’d stuffed her suitcase full of dark things in the hope that she’d look a little less like an upstate interloper.
She figured the Big Apple was not a place you wanted to hit in pastels. There was probably a city ordinance against pink. And forget about flower prints.
Except as she stared at the rushing people, she was certain no one would be fooled by her attempt at camouflage. Rubbing her palms on her thighs, she felt the cotton grab because her hands were sweaty.
“Do you get here often?” she asked, trying to distract herself.
Gray nodded. “I teach at Columbia every once in a while and I’ve got a couple of clients here. I usually end up coming in once, twice a month. Fortunately it’s just a short plane ride from D.C.”
“Do you have an apartment here?”
“I stay at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel.”
She shifted in the bucket seat. Pulled at the collar of her black shirt.
“You okay?” Gray asked, glancing over at her.
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes, I am.”
His hand reached across the seat. Covered one of hers briefly. And then returned to the wheel. “You’re going to do fine.”
She glanced over at him. He was focused on the tangle of cabs and cars and trucks, but he was relaxed. With his bold profile, his tangible confidence, his well-made clothes, he seemed totally in control. Heck, he looked as if he had the power to clear the streets by a wave of his hand, but chose to endure the inconvenience of traffic because it was simply what a deity did if it lived among humans.
Had this man ever been scared? she thought. Lost? Sad?
Statistically speaking, the answer had to be yes. No one lived such a charmed life. But she just couldn’t picture him vulnerable to anything.
“You’re very lucky,” she said softly.
Dark brows flickered. “Why?”
“Because you’re so strong.”
He frowned. “Trust me. Sometimes I’m not nearly strong enough.”
Minutes later, Gray pulled up in front of a tall, pale building with a dark green awning. A uniformed doorman stepped forward and opened Joy’s door.
“Mr. Bennett, how nice to see you again. Ma’am.” The man tilted his cap.
“Rodney, how are you?” Gray popped the trunk and got her suitcase out. As he came up to her, he smoothly switched the luggage to his other hand when she tried to take it from him. “This is Joy Moorehouse. She’s staying with Mrs. Cutler for the night. I’m just going to walk her upstairs.”
Joy let herself get swept inside. The lobby was all marble floors and fresh bouquets of flowers, and the elevator was an old-fashioned brass-and-glass number that ran as if it were new. As they rode up, the chiming sound at each floor was cheerful.
When they came to a stop, Gray held the gate so she could step out first and then led her over to a single, ornate door in the hall. He rang the bell and a maid answered.
Cassandra wasn’t far behind. “Oh, good! You’re here in time for lunch. Gray, will you stay?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to be at class in an hour. But are you both free for dinner tonight?”
Cass shook her head. “Allison and I are getting together, but I’m sure Joy would like to go out on the town, right?”
Joy glanced at Gray. “Don’t feel as though you have to amuse me.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
And then he was gone.
* * *
JOY TAPPED HER PENCIL against the mahogany table and shook her head. She and Cassandra had been talking for hours.
“No, Cass, you’re wrong. Red is the color you’re going to want to wear and let me tell you why. If we go with the high-collared gown, we’ve got an opportunity to leverage your complexion and use it as part of the overall effect of the dress. The red will travel up your torso and frame your throat and jaw—see this line here? The color in concert with the design will set off your face like it was the inside of a flower. If you’re uncomfortable, you can wear your hair up to lessen any contrast. But if I pick the right tone, and I will, you won’t have to.”
Joy waited, staring at the design she’d sketched out. She couldn’t believe she was being so direct, but she was so sure of what she saw. She knew exactly what the gown would look like, what the color was going to be, how the satin would fall.
But she didn’t want her first and only client to feel railroaded.
“I, uh, I’m sorry if I’m being pushy.”
“Don’t be.” Cass looked up with a smile. “God, you are so much better than good. And you’re absolutely right. Let’s do it.”
Joy tried not to beam. “You are not going to be sorry. I promise you.”
A grandfather clock started to chime in the corner.
“Six o’clock,” Cass said. “Gray will be here before you know it and I’m sure you’ll want to get ready. By the way, the tub in your bathroom is perfect for soaking, or so I’ve been told by many a weary traveler.”
As Joy started collecting her drawings, her sense of mastery dimmed. The reminder she was having dinner with Gray made her go back to feeling out of place.
And when her eyes flickered over the formal dining room, the alienation got sharper. Everything in it, from the heavy ivory drapes, to the Aubusson rug, to the dark oil paintings, had been chosen with a perfect sense of style. And a bottomless wallet. It had been so easy to forget that she and Cass were worlds apart when they’d been talking about designs.
But now reality was back.
“Joy?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s nothing going on between Gray and me.”
Joy’s hands stilled. “That’s none of my business.”
“Maybe not, but I thought you’d want to know. Gray and I have been friends for years. He was one of my first clients when I got started as an architect.” Cass picked up some of the colored pencils that were littering the table. “Would you mind if I pried a little?”
Joy shrugged, moving faster to gather her things. When her gum eraser popped out of her hand and made a swan dive for the floor, it was a relief to reach under the table.
“How long have you been interested in Gray?”
Joy gave up all pretense of being busy and considered the merits of passing out cold. There were quite a number of them, the first being that the topic of Gray Bennett would get dropped. That alone seemed worth the risk of banging herself on the head when she hit the beautiful rug. Besides, maybe the impact would knock some sense into her.
“I’m sorry, Joy. I can be a little too direct sometimes.”
“I don’t mind that.” Joy brought her head up with care. “But I have to be honest with you. I don’t feel comfortable talking about him.”
“I totally understand.” There was a pause and then Cassandra smiled. “May I at least ask what you’re going to wear tonight?”
“Ah, I don’t know. I don’t really have anything fancy. I didn’t expect to be going out.”
“How’d you like to borrow something of mine?” Cass asked.
As Joy looked at the woman, she could have sworn the redhead had a twinkle in her eye.
* * *
GRAY STEPPED OUT OF the elevator and looked down Cassandra’s hall.
His seminar had gone fine, but overall, he’d had a hellish day. Chasing down the gossip about Roger Adams’s infidelity wasn’t fun. And he’d hoped Beckin’s source about the affair would be equivocal. The guy hadn’t been. Apparently, the reporter, Anna Shaw, had come out of Adams’s room, and when confronted with a witness, had run red-faced in the opposite direction. With her heels kicking up, the rear slit of her raincoat had flipped open to reveal a tiger-print Victoria’s Secret number. And a whole lot of skin.
Now, again, one story didn’t mean Senator Adams was the leak or that he was cheating on his wife, Allison. It just didn’t look good.
And there was something about the whole situation that troubled Gray. He couldn’t put his finger on it yet, but he’d learned long ago that when his instincts started to fire, he better dig until he found out why.
He rang Cassandra’s bell.
The door opened.
And a whole new Joy Moorehouse was revealed.
Gray felt his eyes pop out of his head and tried to compose himself.
No luck. He could not dial down his stare reflex and only prayed his tongue hadn’t rolled out of his mouth and onto his tie.
She was wearing a low-cut black dress, the creamy swells of her breasts revealed more than they were concealed. There was no way she was wearing a bra and the silk was so fine, laid so lightly on her skin, it would only take a fingertip to brush the neckline aside. He could see himself nuzzling her while he went to work on the dress’s zipper, wherever the damn thing was.
He looked up. Her hair was brushed out straight and lying down her back. He wanted to touch it, bury his face in it.
He wanted her all over him.
Gray cleared his throat and quickly buttoned his double-breasted jacket. Hiding what was happening to his body seemed not only polite, but an act of self-preservation. Not that she didn’t know how affected he was. The high color on her cheekbones told him he’d embarrassed her, ogling her like that.
Yeah, he’d once been smooth with the women. Truly.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, praying the answer was yes.
Because the caveman in him was pointing out, with admirable if tragic logic, that since she’d answered the ring, it was likely that Cassandra and the maid were not home. Which meant if he were to come inside and the door were to be closed behind him, he and Joy would be all alone. With plenty of privacy. And quite a number of beds to choose from.
