Chapter Twenty-Two
Sebastian
Easton barges into my office for the second time today, and he seems even more pissed off than he was when he dropped me back here after our failed venture this morning. But unlike earlier, he doesn’t greet me with a potential lead or anything. Instead, he storms straight to my desk and slaps his hand onto the mahogany surface right in front of me.
What Easton did at that bastard’s house still leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I glower at his dramatic display. If it weren’t for Easton, the guy would already be ten feet under because anything less than that would be too close to the fucking surface.
“Tell me again how she’s not fucking up to something. She needs to go, Sebastian,” he says, his voice growing darker with each word as he rips his hand away, sending several photographs scattering across the desk. The photographs look similar to the ones on Grace’s camera card. Not the ones I sneak glances at whenever I’m on my laptop, but the ones she’d taken while stalking me.
“We’ve already seen these,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, so I don’t reach for any of them, more for the sake of not giving him a reaction because I’m still fuming with annoyance at him.
East bristles at my disinterested response. A sense of satisfaction rolls through me for getting under his skin. “She was hiding them in her bag, Sebastian! What the fuck else is she hiding?”
That gets my attention.“What do you mean they were in her bag? How did you get them?” His green eyes spark with defiance, and I push up from my chair in one swift movement, planting my hands on the desk. “How the fuck did you get the photos, East?” I ask, leaning over the desk and bringing myself closer to him.
“It doesn’t matter how! They’re fucking here now.” He throws his hands up to extenuate his point, and a bandage shows around his bicep as his short-sleeve shifts with the movement.
“What did you do to her?” The thought of Easton hurting Grace sends a pang of alarm through me, but I don’t let any of it show through my cold exterior. East isn’t downright malicious, but he’s also not a saint by any standards. He has no idea about the encounters I’ve had with her or the thoughts that perforate my mind all damn day and night. Visions of sucking her timid tongue into my mouth. Images of her underneath me, on top of me. Who the hell knows what he’d do if he knew.
Easton rears back at my question like he doesn’t quite recognise who he’s talking to. “Why do you give a shit what happens to her?”
It’s not that it isn’t suspicious that she still has photos of me, but clearly, they’re part of the stash she had when we found her. Since she’s been in the penthouse, I haven’t had any inklings that she’s out to get me. Does she have secrets? Yes,and I want to get to the bottom of each one, but my gut tells me she isn’t about to attack me in my sleep.
Or do you only feel that way because you want to draw every ounce of pleasure she’s capable of out of her sweet lips and drink it down like a shot of ecstasy? Fuck.
“I don’t.” The lie burns my tongue, and I grab my phone from the desk before brushing past Easton and leaving the office. I definitely do not think about the girl who’s stolen my sanity waiting for me when I return to the penthouse.
Shadow greets me when I enter the penthouse like he does every night, but the scent of food cooking distracts me. I made sure we had groceries, but as far as I know, neither of us has actually cooked a meal.
I scratch Shadow’s head and round the corner into the kitchen. Grace stands in front of the stove, her back to me. A heavy book sits open on the bench by the stove, and she flicks the page over while something sizzles in a frying pan. Her long hair is pulled back into a loose braid, and she wears her usual plain t-shirt and pair of jeans that hug all of her subtle curves.
I frown when I realise I’ve actually never seen her wear something else, apart from the knitted jumper she’s not wearing at the moment.
How much could she have fit in that backpack?
Whilst trying to keep my distance from her, it feels like I’ve missed something important, and I make a mental note to ask her about it.
After I place my keys on the end of the island bench, I clear my throat.
Grace spins around, and a nervous smile crosses her face. “I found this and thought I would make dinner. I hope that’s okay.” She gestures to the thick book on the bench I now realise is a cookbook. “I wasn’t sure when you were coming back, so I was going to leave you a plate. But now that you’re here…”
Is she asking me to have dinner with her?
I can’t deny I’m drawn to Grace. It’s the reason I’ve been spending more time in the penthouse, but I also don’t trust myself around her. The closer I am to her, the stronger the pull, so I keep as much distance between us as I can, which usually means spending half the night in my office. Not that it’s much different than if I were to stay at work like I usually do.
What happened between her and Easton? He never actually said if they had an altercation. Would she tell me if she was hurt? I don’t see how Easton could have gotten to her bag without her knowing, but she seems unharmed, and I let out a relieved breath.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask instead.
“No, it’s almost done. Thank you,” Grace says, and after a moment, she returns to what she was doing.
My stare lingers a while longer before I pull myself away and leave Grace in the kitchen to finish up. I take the opportunity to set about getting Shadow his dinner. It’s earlier than he normally eats, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.
By the time I get back to the kitchen, Grace is putting the final touches on the meal. Her eyes meet mine as soon as she senses my presence, and she seems to hesitate before speaking.
“I can put the plate in the refrigerator for later if you’re not hungry,” she says, but I catch a hint of disappointment in her voice.
I’ve been an asshole.