“First of all, no, Dare Grangeworth is not a client, so relax. That doesn’t mean I don’t know something about him. But you need to decide, going in, how much you want to know. And I ask because I hesitate to take away Dare’s opportunity to tell his stories for himself. That’s an important part of getting to know someone.”
“That’s a good point,” I said, leaning my forearms on the counter. “And usually, I’m right as rain on letting things unfold in an organic way. But I’m also a curious, curious girl and I’d like to know a lil’ something-something going into tonight.”
“I get that,” Rayna said, a patient smile on her pretty face. “I’ll give you this: from what I’ve heard, he doesn’t sleep around and he’s not casual about sex, despite what you would find if you Googled him.”
“Noted,” I said. “What would I find if I Googled him?”
She shrugged. “Early in his career, the press depicted him as the
Grangeworth prodigal son who had grown from boy genius to art-rock-god, with a voracious, sexual appetite.”
I felt the blood drain from my head.
She eyed me. “Hey, most of that isn’t true, Alice. He was working the press, building a brand the art world would want–and it worked. Listen, he’s an amazing artist, but that’s not enough here. You could line the trashcans of New York with all the talent that’s here. Dare knew that and made it work for him.”
Her phone beeped and she held up a finger. “Hold on a sec.” She read the text, her eyes went wide, but she smoothed her expression.
“What’s up? Is everything okay?” I asked.
“It will be,” she said, in a way that told me not to pry. I had learned early on there was no use trying to cajole or push her into anything. Rayna was a vault no one knew the combination to.
She typed something quickly, then shoved her phone into her pocket. “I’ve gotta go,” she said as she walked towards the door. But she turned back at the last minute. “One more thing sweetie.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to hear about her. Because there’s no hearing about Dare without hearing about Chloe. And there’s a lot to hear about Dare and Chloe. Just remember this: it wasn’t his fault, even though there are some people who would like someone to blame.”
And then she left, locking my door behind her.
I sat there, flummoxed.
“What the heck am I supposed to do with that?”
I opted for something girly and twirly, a dress in a shade of blue I knew would match my eyes. I may have started this thing between us with the singular task of just having sex in the name of science, but his insisting we have a proper date charmed the Southerner in me. His chivalry brought out all my feminine instincts.
I wore my hair down.
I dabbed my one bottle of expensive perfume onto my wrists, along the column of my neck and behind my knees.
I wore the good underwear, the ones without holes, and a coordinated push-up bra.
A girl could lie to herself quite a bit when it came to a man, but if she’s wearing matching bra and panties and bothering to shave, well, the jig is up. She’s into the guy.
I have to admit, it didn’t hurt at all—him insisting on sending a car to pick me up. My name may have been Alice, but Dare Grangeworth made me feel like a Cinderella on the night of the ball.
I rode that high until I walked into the restaurant. One look around at the beautiful people of Manhattan and the surrounding understated elegance—the kind that can only come from having money—and suddenly, I felt like a dressed-up rube.
If you’ve ever had that dream of showing up to class naked, well, that’s pretty much the same feeling I was experiencing. I fidgeted with the thin, rose gold necklace around my neck and smoothed down my dress, mostly to dry my palm sweat.
Always attractive in a date.
The woman at the hostess stand looked twelve. A six-foot-tall tween wearing stilettos. Of course, she was dressed in the requisite New Yorker-black outfit, something I had yet to succumb to. At least she offered a genuine smile when I approached.
“Uh, hi. I’m meeting Dare Grangeworth?”
“Absolutely. Welcome to Blade. Right this way,” she said. I followed her into the restaurant. They had a million lit candles and twinkle lights draped everywhere, making the room feel like a winter wonderland—for rich people.
Towards the back, I spotted Dare at a table for two.
Holy hell, he was handsome. If a fairy godmother had swept in and said I could wish for my perfect man, Dare would be the type, a combination of hard and soft, approachable and elusive.
I am in totally over my head.
The minute he took note I was walking his way, he stood up, his gaze raking over me, and I swore I could feel the heat of it all over. And I have to admit, I noticed he didn’t even glance twice at the hostess-tween model-skyscraper.
I liked that. Even my ex, Chad, who used to swear up and down I was the only one for him would still furtively check out other women when we went out.
I hated it.
She moved to pull out my chair, but Dare beat her to it.
“I got it,” he said.
“Of course, Mr. Grangeworth. Enjoy your evening,” she said, leaving.
We both stood there for a minute, gazing at one other. Already, the evening felt different, in a way that both thrilled and terrified me. I kept telling myself I wasn’t looking for a relationship, not beyond sex, at least. But whatever was developing between Dare and I already felt like a living entity, with its own heartbeat, one I could feel outside my chest.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey.” His smile so wide, his eyes crinkled in the corners, the sweetness of him making something in the center of my chest open in a warm bloom of happy. He gestured towards the chair. “Sit, relax.”
I complied, letting him help tuck in my chair as I fanned my skirt out. When he was done, he leaned close and gave a feather light kiss on my cheek. I caught a hint of his scent: sandalwood and fresh-pressed linen. Delicious. I shivered at the touch and, even though I couldn’t see it, I felt him smile.
“You look beautiful, Alice,” he said. “That color suits you.”
“Thanks, City,” I said, my crooked grin growing. “As my mama would say, you clean up real good yourself.”
He smiled, taking my compliment in stride. Damn, he really was the epitome of virile masculinity, with his lush beard and big hands. I didn’t know his art medium, but whatever it was, it made his hands look rough and used.
Hopefully, just like he was in bed.
He was wearing a black suede jacket, cut to fit his muscled, broad shoulders, so wide I wondered if he had to pivot his body when walking through a standard door.
“Can I just say how much I’m loving the aesthetic in here?” I said, trying to get my brain to focus on something—anything—besides him. “Everyone can’t help but look good in this light.”
He chuckled. “Hate to break it to you, Alice, but you don’t need to worry about the lighting concept in any room you enter. You’re stunning, the kind of beautiful that makes the rest of us feel ugly.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far, but thanks.”
He frowned.
“What?” I asked.
“I was hoping you weren’t the kind of woman who couldn’t take a compliment.”
I gave a slight head tilt. “You’re speaking in double negatives.”
“And you’re redirecting,” he said.
I let out a soft laugh. “Apparently, not in a subtle or effective way. But thank you for the compliment.”
His smile returned.
The server came over, read the specials including their handcrafted cocktails.
“That all sounds great, but all I really want is a beer,” I said. “Whatever you have on tap is fine.”
The waiter started reading from a list as long as my arm.
I interrupted. “Just keep it simple. I’ll have a Bud Light.”<
br />
“I’ll have the same. And we’ll have wine with dinner. I had a bottle of Sequoia Grove Cambium brought over earlier,” he said.
“Very good, Mr. Grangeworth. I’ll check with the sommelier,” the server said, then walked away.
He leaned forward, forearms on the table, the candlelight casting him in a golden glow. I took the folded napkin and fanned it onto my lap, mostly so I had something to do with my hands. Caroline had taught me well, even if our mama never did.
“It’s a relief, going out with someone who orders just what she wants, instead of worrying about putting on airs.”
I shrugged. “It shows my Southern roots,” I said. “My working-class, Southern roots.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I’m the same, despite my name.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Both his brows shot up. “Really?”
I was blank. “Am I missing something?”
He stared, as if he was trying to assess if I was telling tales or shooting straight.
“Dare,” I went on. “What is it?”
“I’m just surprised. Not to sound like an ass, but I’m used to people knowing all about me—or at least thinking they know all about me before ever having met me.”
“Well, I know some,” I said, taking a sip of my water.
A wry smile curled his mouth. “Like what?”
“Well, I didn’t Google you, but one of my friends did advise me not to believe your manwhore press image. She said there’s more to know, but wanted to leave it to you to do the telling,” I said.
His expression registered surprise and, judging from how his shoulders dropped, some relief. “Got to say, I like your friend already.”
I leaned forward. “Why Mr. Grangeworth. Do you have something to
hide? Some deep and dark secret that would make even us Southern gothic characters gasp in horror?”
Something clouded his eyes, something I couldn’t read.
But then the server returned. “Here you are,” he said, giving us our beers. “I spoke with Henry, our sommelier. He’ll be by to serve your wine with dinner.”
He handed us menus.
Dare leaned over the table. “Am I safe in assuming my Southern girl enjoys a good steak?”
My heart fluttered, hearing him call me his Southern girl.
“That’s affirmative,” I said, trying to exude some New York girl cool.
Stop it, Alice. You just got out of a five-year, claustrophobic relationship.
The last thing you need right now is to get caught up in City’s larger than life, man-god tractor beam.
And yet, my Judas of a body was reacting against what my brain was instructing. Welcome to me.
“Good,” Dare said, handing back his menu. I did the same. “We’ll have two of your Wagyu long-bone ribeye, medium rare, with the usual sides.” He turned his attention back to me. “It’ll be more than an army can eat, but you can take the rest home with you, if you like. I assumed medium-rare is okay?”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
The waiter asked, “Do you have any allergies, miss?”
I smiled. “Nope. I can eat anything.”
“Very good, miss,” the server said.
Finally, we were back to just the two of us again.
“Okay, you’ve got me curious now,” I said, taking a healthy sip of my beer. “What did you mean when you said you’re working-class, despite your name?”
He scratched the side of his face. “Well, in New York, the Grangeworths are well known. The man who was technically my father owned a healthy chunk of New York real estate, something he inherited from his father.”
“Ah, okay,” I said.
“My mom—her name is Regina, but everyone calls her Gina—was Douglas Grangeworth’s secretary and mistress. They were together for years. That is, until she became pregnant with me. When she wouldn’t have an abortion, he broke it off.”
His gaze found mine and this time, I saw something there I did recognize: anger, shame, uncertainty.
“We have almost the same story,” I said, placing my hand on top of his. “Except substitute rich, real estate magnate father with probably a no-good, bar fly redneck who couldn’t hold a job, and then you’d have whoever my dad was. Same story for my sister, Caroline, by the way.”
“Yeah?” he said, giving my hand a squeeze, then placing his other hand on top of mine. I felt the warmth of him everywhere.
“Don’t get me wrong. My mama’s a good woman,” I said, “But she’s always been a magnet for deadbeats. She wouldn’t know how to make a good decision even if you gave her a step-by-step recipe.”
He chuckled. “You’re funny,” he said, smiling.
I shrugged. “Humor’s my favorite coping mechanism.”
He took that in. “She must miss you a lot, with both of you being here in the city.”
I let go of him to take another sip of my beer. “Caroline and I both went to Chapel Hill for college, which is a good few hours away from Devil’s Peak, so she’s been used to us gone for a while now.”
He nodded, turning the glass in his hand. “I went away for school too, but
I came back here as soon as I could. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
“Where did you go to school?” I asked.
“RISD for art school, the Rhode Island School of Design. Before that, Bronx Science. I did well, but my heart was never into math or the sciences. I always knew I wanted to be an artist.”
“Takes a lot of guts, to go for something like that.”
“Yes and no,” he said.
He didn’t elaborate.
I gave him a ‘come on now’ look. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to do this whole proper, first date business. You can’t wimp out now. Spill it, cowboy,” I said.
My sass earned me a genuine smile, albeit a small one.
“Did you ever meet him?” I asked.
He finished his beer. “Once, when I was fifteen. It didn’t go well. I told him off.”
“You had every right to be angry,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I gave him a lot of it, right before nine eleven.”
I stilled.
He blew out a harsh exhale. “He usually didn’t go downtown. He was Upper East Side all the way, but he had a meeting in the North tower at nine o’clock. He arrived twenty minutes early.”
We sat there, staring at each other.
“The plane crashed at eight forty-six a.m.”
“City,” I whispered.
“Six minutes.”
I was at a loss for words.
The whole world felt nine eleven. If you were alive, you remembered exactly where you were when you got the news. But that said, I never knew anyone who’d lost someone close to them on that day. Until now.
“I don’t want to feed you platitudes,” I said.
His clear green eyes darkened. “So, don’t.”
I thought about my own fatherless life, missing something you’ve never known.
“I bet the illusion is better,” I said.
His brow quirked.
“I never knew who my father was,” I went on. “I’ll never know. Most likely, he was an alcoholic miscreant, but I have to admit, when I was younger, I’d let myself imagine he was handsome and rich, maybe famous. I had an elaborate fantasy, that someday he’d find out about me and come and rescue me from the dregs of Devil’s Peak.”
“The perfect Father-King,” he said. “As long as he’s unknown, the fantasy upholds.”
“Exactly.”
“I wasn’t born with the last name Grangeworth,” he said.
“You weren’t?”
He shook his head. “It was in my father’s will, that’s when he finally acknowledged my existence in a public way. He left a sizeable sum for my mom and me, with one stipulation—that I take his last name by my eighteenth birthday. I didn’t want to do it, of course. Why should I, when he had denied me his entire life? But it meant t
he end of my family living paycheck to paycheck. It would give them security. I couldn’t deny them that.”
Right as he stopped, the servers came and brought us the most sumptuous steak I would have in my life, with wine beyond anything I’d ever experienced. They brought eight sides. I had three bites of two of them.
But as I was riding the high of good eating, Dare’s mood was sinking fast.
“You don’t know this about me, but I have a few super powers,” I said while scooting a bit closer to him. “I can tell if someone’s got a crush, even before they know it themselves. I also have the uncanny ability to be able to name any song in under five notes.”
A whisper of a grin showed. “Is that right?”
“Oh yeah, want to test me?”
“Maybe later.”
I went on. “And I can feel the air.”
Two lines formed between his brows. “Come again?”
“I can walk into any room and sense the mood of everyone in it. And, about twenty seconds ago, yours went south, and right-quick too, if I may say.”
He had an elbow on the armrest, with his chin cradled in his cupped hand. “Beautiful and perceptive,” he said. “You’re right, by the way.”
“Thank you for sharing all that with me,” I said, meaning it. “I get the feeling you don’t let a lot of people in.”
“That’s true,” he said as he signaled the server for the bill, then held my gaze, his smile closing and growing tight. “I’ve had a really good time tonight.”
Okay, so what’s the problem?
“I did too,” I said.
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s why this is going to be hard.”
“What is?” I asked.
“Me telling you I’m out.”
The air stopped flowing to my lungs. Everything burned.
“I don’t understand,” I said. I felt like I was falling through a different kind of tunnel, one where gravity and weightlessness crashed inside my gut.
“Yeah, sorry Dixie, but there’s no way I’m gonna be your sexual guinea pig. Find someone else.”
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
The Wonder of You Page 7
