* * *
Marc showed up at Island Books right on time. The bookstore was packed with people, which surprised Marc. Clearly, Holloway was a popular artist. Marc ended up standing in the back due to the standing room only crowd. When Grayson Holloway made his way to the podium, Marc found himself even more intrigued by the artist. With his long dirty blonde hair and the scruff on his chin and under his nose, he had the appearance of a surfer-beach bum. His skin was tanned. His body seemed athletic. He radiated a raw energy that seemed to invigorate the crowd. The ladies seemed to be taking notice of him.
Marc listened as Holloway discussed his upcoming works and announced a deal he’d just signed for one of his earlier books to make its way to television. The more Marc heard him talk, the more he realized that Holloway was successful. Book deals. Television shows. Merchandising. Why in the world was he trying to claim a piece of the Savannah House pie? Surely, he didn’t need it. After the lecture, the crowd lined up to have Grayson sign copies of his best-selling books. Marc calculated that it would take way too long to stand on line and schmooze with Holloway. And in all likelihood there was nothing Marc would glean from a brief meet and greet.
He took a quick glance at his watch. He’d located Holloway’s address by talking to Linda, the concierge at the Briarwood Inn. She had a bit of a gossipy nature and had provided detailed information about where Holloway lived. It sat right on a lake on a rather remote patch of land. If he could get a ride out to that location tomorrow he could snap some pictures to put in the file. At the moment he was going to snap a few pictures of Holloway so he could share them with the ladies.
“You heading over to the Sparrow afterward?”
“Yes. I heard Grayson will be there, so that’s where I’m headed.”
Laughter rang out. “You really have it bad for him, don’t you?”
Marc swung his gaze in the direction of the two female voices. Both women—a blonde and a redhead—were very attractive. The blonde had a silly smirk on her face. He deduced she was the one who was crushing on Holloway. Marc ducked his head down and continued to eavesdrop. Maybe he might learn a thing or two.
“I’ve been chasing him for years now, but he’s not biting.”
“Maybe it’s time to move on,” the redhead advised. “He’s easy on the eyes but he can be as mean as a snake. He’s got a major chip on his shoulder.”
“Not always,” the blonde said. There was a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “If you ask me he has the right to be angry. He just lashes out at the world because of what happened to him.”
Loud clapping drowned out the two voices. Marc felt frustrated at his inability to hear any more of their conversation. He wanted to know what had happened to Holloway. Perhaps it might shed some light on the claim he’d made regarding Savannah House.
The book signing was over. From what Marc had gleaned from eavesdropping, Holloway frequented the Sparrow. Marc knew where he was headed next. To the Sparrow, a trendy little pub-eatery right down the street. If he was lucky, maybe he just might be able to get some more information about Holloway by watching him up close and personal.
Marc made his way over to the Sparrow. He beat a fast path so he would avoid the post book signing crowd. Marc took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer and an order of spicy wings. Just as his beer arrived, a group of people straggled into the pub. Adrenaline raced through him. Score! Grayson Holloway took a seat a few seats down from him.
“Hey,” he said with a nod, “Is this place always so dead?”
“You must not be familiar with the Vineyard in winter. It’s a lot quieter. This town really gets energized in the summer. Once all the summer folks head off island, Martha’s Vineyard is pretty quiet.” The bartender pushed a beer in front of Holloway along with a bowl of pretzels.
“Thanks for telling me,” Marc said.
Grayson ran a hand through his shaggy hair. He really did look like a California surfer. “Where are you from? I detect a southern accent. It’s very slight but still noticeable.”
“I’m a southern boy, born in Virginia.” Marc carefully avoided any mention of Savannah or Georgia. He didn’t want Grayson’s antenna to go up. Marc hadn’t wanted to lie so he fudged the truth a little bit. He had been born in Virginia so technically he hadn’t lied.
“What brings you to Oak Bluffs?” Grayson asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.
“Business,” he said flatly. “My name is Marc.”
“I’m Grayson. I’m guessing you’re one of those hedge fund guys. Am I right? That’s what my father wanted me to go into.” He let out a sharp laugh. “He’s an author himself as well as being an academician.”
“Anything of note he’s published?” Marc asked, fishing for something to grab ahold of.
Grayson shrugged. “He’s written a few academic books as well as a series of books about adoption.”
“Interesting subject. Was he adopted? Were you?”
Grayson sent him a sharp look. For a moment Marc wondered if he’d been too abrupt with his questions. “He was adopted. I wasn’t. I’m a ringer for dear old dad. My whole childhood I had to hear about him being a foundling.”
Marc sensed some trouble between Holloway and his father. There was a bitter tone to his voice. A lot of resentment was resting on the surface.
“The thing is, he’s spent all this time writing about being adopted but when he had the chance he never took any steps to meet his birth mother.”
A chill swept over Marc. Birth mother. One his father had never met. Could that be the connection to Savannah House and Miss Hattie. Or was it just a coincidence. “That’s a shame. Why not?”
“Because he didn’t want to disrupt her life.” Holloway let out a harsh laugh. “So incredibly noble, isn’t he?”
“Maybe he just couldn’t handle it.”
“Maybe, but it was pretty shortsighted of him. She’s dead now. No worries though. In the end, nothing can every truly be buried. Not a single thing.”
At that moment the two women from the book signing popped up at the bar. The redhead was giving Marc the eye. Clearly she wanted to get to know him better. Knowing he most likely wouldn’t get any more one on one time with Holloway, Marc pushed himself away from the bar and hopped off his stool. “Nice talking to you,” he said with a nod. Holloway raised his beer up in the air and said, “Right back at you. Enjoy the island while you’re here.”
Marc walked out of the Sparrow and headed back toward the inn. He was dealing with mixed feelings. He knew the trip to the island had been the right decision. Grayson Holloway was an enigmatic figure. Clearly, he was a brilliant artist, who had a thriving career. Yet, there was an air of dissatisfaction hovering around him. And the information about his father, Tanner Holloway, was intriguing. He’d said his father hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to meet his birth mother. And what about the birth father? Was it possible that was the link to Savannah House?
Tomorrow Marc would be heading home to Savannah. He’d do a little more digging today with the locals and try to get some photos of Holloway’s house. If his hunch was correct about Holloway not being motivated by money, this entire situation would become a lot more complicated.
“The best part about life are the unexpected blessings. They come out of nowhere and lift us up.”
Miss Hattie Alexander
Chapter Five
It was a beautiful evening for a ball, Charlotte thought as she walked outside to the patio of the Savannah Historical Society. The place was lit up with twinkling lights and festive candles. Flowers were on every table in the ballroom. They were even placed on the tables outside on the patio. Charlotte pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. A brisk wind was kicking up.
Belles of the Ball. This charity event was a wonderful opportunity to give back to the Savannah community. So many wonderful causes would benefit from local philanthropists and donors. She had been proud to present a check on behalf of Savannah House. She wished it cou
ld have been larger. But there was always next year! She was on her own tonight since none of the other ladies could make it. It had been a nice evening, although she wished she had a companion on her arm.
“I know I’m supposed to be patient, Lord,” she said out loud as she gazed up at the heavens. “But when will I find my other half? My special someone?”
The sound of the patio door closing with a firm click alerted her to the fact that someone else had joined her. Sigh. She had really wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Thankfully they had just missed hearing her plea to the Lord. That would have been downright humiliating.
“Hello there.” The rich timbre of the masculine voice was familiar. Charlotte turned around and nearly gasped out loud at the sight of Marc standing a few feet away from her.
“Marc. I had no idea you’d come back from Massachusetts.” The sight of him sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Goodness! This man sure knew how to wear a tuxedo. The black tux, along with the white dress shirt lent him an elegant, suave look. Charlotte hoped she wasn’t staring. Self-consciously, she tugged at the side of her gown. It was too tight, she realized. She’d put on a few pounds in the last few months. Why had she worn this ill-fitting dress this evening?
“I came back this afternoon. I’d practically forgotten about this event.” He let out a low chuckle. “I had to dust off this tux at the back of my closet.”
“It looks great,” Charlotte said, feeling a little flustered at Marc’s close proximity.
“You look wonderful,” Marc said, his eyes full of male appreciation.
“Thank you,” she murmured, standing a little straighter at Marc’s compliment. The way he said it sounded so sincere. As if he really, truly meant it. It warmed her insides. The rose colored gown had been an impulse buy. She’d purchased it at her friend Lily’s dress shop. Lily had been effusive in her praise, and Charlotte had decided to trust Lily’s judgement and purchase the dress.
“I was inside when they were taking pictures of you. I believe it was the Savannah Gazette.”
“Yes, they’re doing an article on local female philanthropists.” Charlotte shook her head and laughed. “It’s hard to see myself as a philanthropist. Our donation wasn’t grand but it did come from our hearts.”
“You ladies are making a difference,” Marc said. “So many will benefit from your generosity.”
“That really makes me feel good,” Charlotte said with a smile. Growing up she’d been taught to donate her time to charitable organizations. Those values were so deeply instilled in her she couldn’t shake them. She was at her happiest when she was doing good things for others.
“Can I ask you a question? Why do you keep putting yourself in the back whenever anyone takes a picture of you in a group?”
Charlotte shrugged. “It must just be a coincidence.”
“No,” Marc disputed her. “It seems very deliberate on your part. I was watching you for quite some time.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, feeling a flash of annoyance with Marc. Why did he even care? Heat flushed her cheeks at the way he was calling her out. His gaze seemed to penetrate all of her outer layers. It felt as if he could see straight through her, right down to all her insecurities.
Marc gazed at her without saying a word. The wheels seemed to be turning in his head. “I think you do, Charlotte,” he said in a soft voice. It was as gentle as a breeze. Awareness flared between them. Charlotte realized Marc wasn’t poking at her. He cared. She didn’t know why, but he did. Suddenly, all of her defenses came crashing down.
“Since you’re so interested, I hate the way I look in pictures. Satisfied?” Charlotte asked in a raised voice.
“I’m hardly satisfied. I’m filled with curiosity. You’re a beautiful woman. That should be celebrated.”
“I’m not.” Charlotte shook her head. “And you shouldn’t say something like that just to appease me.”
Marc knitted his brows together. His gaze sliced through her like laser beams. He took a step toward her, his movements as quick as lightning. Charlotte wanted to take a step back, but she held her ground. The last thing she wanted was for Marc Cabron to think he intimidated her. She wasn’t afraid of him, despite the intense look etched on his face.
“Are you so blind that you can’t even see yourself?” he asked. His tone sounded incredulous.
She smoothed her hair back, one of her nervous gestures. “I-I’m not blind. And I’m not a fool either. I know what I am. I accepted it a long time ago.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And what is that, pray tell?”
Charlotte held her head up high, even though she was trembling.
“I’m a good person with a loyal heart. But I’m ordinary. Plain. There’s no shame in it, but I know what I am.”
The sound of Marc’s laughter rang out in the still of the night. Charlotte bristled.
“I don’t appreciate being laughed at,” Charlotte said, trying to hold her chin up high even though it was trembling. His laughter wounded her.
Why did it even matter to her what Marc thought or believed?
“I’m not laughing at you. Honestly, I’m stunned. That’s why I laughed. And frankly, I chuckled because of the ridiculousness of your statement. Ordinary? Charlotte Duvall. The very last thing you could ever be is ordinary.” Marc’s voice sounded slightly raspy. His beautiful eyes were dark with emotion. Charlotte couldn’t have looked away from his soulful gaze if she tried. He reached out a finger and trailed it alongside her cheek. “Round, high cheekbones. A delicate smattering of freckles. Bright, inquisitive eyes the color of cornflowers. Full, ruby lips. And when you’re angry, your eyes flash like a bolt of lightning. It all combines to create a spectacular face. Believe it or not, Charlotte. You are a stunningly beautiful woman. And it’s a doggone shame no man has ever been able to convince you of that fact.”
Marc took a few steps away from her. His retreat caused her stomach to clench. It was the strangest feeling in the world. She didn’t know why, but she wanted Marc to stay. And it scared her right down to her very soul.
“Goodnight, Charlotte.” The rich timbre of Marc’s voice gave her goosebumps.
By the time she uttered a reply, Marc had disappeared into the velvety night. Charlotte watched as stars flickered in the sky above her. She folded her arms across her chest. She shivered, even though the night air felt balmy. Marc had called her beautiful. Beautiful! Spectacular!
Other than her mother and Case, she couldn’t remember a single soul ever describing her as beautiful. And she didn’t think she’d ever felt that way. Not until tonight. Not until a few minutes ago when Marc had touched her face and told her in painstaking detail about the quality of her features. Truth had flowed from his words. She had seen sincerity emanating from his eyes. Knowing he thought she was beautiful served as a healing balm for all the times she’d felt like a plain Jane. Marc, without even knowing it, had lifted her up—way higher than she’d ever imagined.
His comments weren’t a magical cure-all for her low self-esteem, but there was now a ray of light shining forth from the darkest regions inside her where self-doubt lived. He’d given her a precious gift. He’d made her believe that a man could find her beautiful. And although it shocked her to the core, she wondered what it might be like to be the woman Marc Cabron loved and adored. She didn’t even want to admit it to herself, but she also wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Courted by him. The thoughts racing through her mind gutted her. She felt incredibly disloyal to Case.
Charlotte made her way back to the ballroom, praying all the way for divine guidance. Having thoughts like this about Marc went way over a line in the sand she really didn’t want to cross. How could she be having these thoughts about the man who had almost ruined her brother’s life?
* * *
As Marc walked away from Charlotte he clenched his fists at his side. It bothered him deeply to see Charlotte’s low self-esteem. Although she hid i
t well with shows of bravado, it was right there lurking under the surface. How in the world didn’t she realize her appeal? Her staggering beauty? Maybe she didn’t own a mirror. Or maybe no one had ever given her a reason to believe in her beauty.
What do I care? It’s not my problem.
But he did care. A lot. And he didn’t know when exactly he had started caring about Charlotte Duvall. For the longest time he had viewed her as a spoiled brat who’d been raised with a silver spoon in her mouth. When she had confronted him at Savannah House about working for them, he had been riled up. By the time she had shown up at his office seeking redemption, she had begun to worm her way into his good graces. Now, confusion speared through him. He had been awestruck at the sight of her tonight in her rose colored gown. It set off her warm coloring and highlighted the graceful slope of her neck.
The feelings she brought to life hadn’t been ordinary ones, Marc realized. His awareness of her had been of a romantic variety. He let out a groan. These feelings weren’t in his control!
He had a crush on Charlotte. And it was just about the most ridiculous twist of fate he could imagine. Case’s sister wouldn’t give him the time of day. So it was futile to develop feelings for someone who was off-limits. Out of his league. Duvall princesses sat in their ivory towers and looked down on peons like him.
As he stepped into his car and revved his engine, Marc couldn’t resist wondering for a few moments what it might look like if he was with a woman like Charlotte.
* * *
“Shoot. Shoot. Come on! Not tonight of all nights.” Charlotte steered her car to the side of the isolated road. She had been on her way back to Savannah House after attending the Belles of the Ball event. A sudden clattering noise had indicated a problem with her car. Seconds later she had heard a popping sound and the car began to wobble. Once Charlotte pulled over she begin to gather her thoughts. She had to be careful in the event another car might come down the road and hit her or her vehicle. Thankfully she’d pulled over to the shoulder where it was safer.
Falling in Love (Secrets of Savannah Book 5) Page 7
