Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  I whisked up my hair in a soft French twist and clipped a crystal butterfly barrette to hold it in place. I swept the bangs to the side and lightly spritz on one of my favorite perfume scents, Al Fairooz.

  The intercom goes off. I gasp, and clutch a hand over my fluttering stomach, and my heart begins to race. Why am I so nervous? It’s not as if this is our first date.

  I take a deep breath and hurry towards the intercom telling the security guard to let him up. I dart to the bathroom to check my hair and makeup. I rush back to the foyer effortlessly in my Louboutin heels as they click loud against the marble floor. My knees are knocking, and hands grow clammy as the doors slide open and poof, like magic, the Adonis materializes, stealing my breath away.

  My heart stops beating as I gaze over his attire and stare into his precious, emerald eyes along with a gorgeous smile. He’s larger than life, the Greek God, Michelangelo’s David. I can’t breathe because, if I do, his cologne will intoxicate me like poison. How the hell am I going to concentrate during dinner with his clients when he looks so damn good?

  At last, my brain connects to my mouth, and the words spill from my lips. “You . . . are . . . breathtaking and drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “You’re too damn sexy to take out,” he says huskily, and his low, seductive voice makes my skin tingle. “If you don’t step into the elevator right now, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

  I burst out laughing. “Give me a moment to get my things.”

  “Damn, woman, what are you trying to do to me? Thank God the jacket is concealing the evidence.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. He helps me with my coat, and we slip into the elevator. He stands close behind me, maybe too close. He blows a warm, gentle breeze into my ear and runs his fingers up and down my spine, making me quiver. He stops and wraps his hands around my waist, caressing my abdomen just inches away from my breast, my breath hitches and my knees go weak. To make things worst, he presses me hard up against his chest, causing my breathing to increase. My eyes roll to the back of my head as I feel the warmth of his body seep through my coat, making me dizzy. I swallow hard and turn to face him.

  “You’re evil, Mr. Grayson.” I poke him in the chest and lick my lips in a seductive way to tease him. I stand on my tiptoes, snuggle my face in the nape of his neck, and slowly leave a trail of kisses down to his throat while my body brushes up against his arousal. I grasp him by the hips and pull him towards me, so he can feel my breast pressed hard to his body. I pull away as the elevator doors open and turn, sashaying out with my chin up in the air. Two can play that game.

  “You’re a wicked woman,” he growls out through panting breaths from behind me, and I feel his heat penetrating beneath his suit. I’m rather proud of myself.

  Joe, his driver, is outside waiting with the limo door open. Michael places his hand on my elbow, escorting me into the vehicle.

  The streets of Manhattan are crowded for a Monday evening. We arrive at the restaurant, which is swarming with people.

  “So who is it that we’re meeting?” I ask.

  “His name is Mr. Li Yung, CEO of Hill Management Group, and his wife is Nicole. I’m hoping he’ll let us design and construct the new resort he plans to build in Singapore.”

  The host brings us to a quiet table located in the corner. Michael, who is such a gentleman, pulls the chair out for me. Just like Danny, just like Danny. The voice taunts me, and I keep shouting, “stop, stop, stop, just stop it,” to myself, pushing the sound out of my head.

  “Are they from Asia originally?” I question, avoiding my subconscious, and paste a smile on.

  “He was born and raised in Hong Kong, and Nicole is American. He took over his father’s company after he passed away two years ago. A few months ago, he purchased a large piece of property to build a luxury resort, and now he’s consulting with several architects.

  “The one with the best innovative design wins. This is all a game, Ariana. Tonight we’ll discuss his visions, and I’ll take his images in the hopes I can draw his dream into a reality.” He takes my hand and kisses it gently, making me quiver.

  Oh God, does he have any idea what he does to me? I’m like a cheese fondue in a melting pot.

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” I wink.

  “Thank you,” He looks up, and he smiles. “Ah, here they are.”

  ***

  Dinner went well, unfortunately not for Michael. I was approached by my fans and signed at least five autographs. From the expression on Michael’s face, he was a tad irritated.

  I can safely say it had to do with two fans in particular. Both men, in their early forties, who happened to pass over their business cards and invited me to a party. I smiled to myself. I don’t enjoy seeing him irritated, but I was flattered.

  Michael and Mr. Yung spoke most of the evening about the plans for the resort, and Nicole and I hit it off great discussing all the places we traveled to and where we stayed, where we went to school and our favorite shows.

  Both Mr. and Mrs. Yung were in their early fifties. Nicole is a petite woman with long brunette hair and big hazel eyes. Li is about an inch shorter than Michael with black hair and dark chocolate brown eyes.

  They were thrilled to be eating with a celebrity. Not that I consider myself as one. I’m a TV travel host, not a movie star and famous singer, like Jennifer Lopez.

  Nonetheless, they were overjoyed and asked for my autograph as well, which I was more than happy to do. Deep down, inside, I hoped this would earn Michael a few brownie points toward him winning the account.

  While we waited for dessert, Nicole and I decide to go to the powder room. When we returned, the dishes were already on the table.

  My mouth begins to water as the aroma of the heavenly chocolate soufflé lingers under my nose. I lift my napkin off the table and place it over my lap, and I get a glimpse of something fluttering down on the floor. I bend down to retrieve the item. It’s a piece of paper. I quickly skim over the note.

  I’m watching you.

  My heart stills and my blood runs cold. Suddenly, I forget how to breathe and get light-headed. My hands begin to tremble, and I immediately shove the disturbing note in my handbag.

  I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. My heart is sporadic, the blood thrusting loud in my ears muffle the sounds around me. The light grows dim. I feel like I’m going to pass out. Oh, God, please not here. Breathe, Ariana, breathe in and out, in and out. I say to myself.

  Nicole notices the expression on my face, or maybe the lack of color. “Dear, are you okay? You look ashen. Is there something I can get you?”

  Michael stares for a moment, his eyes wary, but he keeps his cool. “Ariana, what’s wrong? Nicole’s right; you seem rather pale.”

  “I have to agree with the others. You don’t look well,” Li says.

  I take in another breath, this time deeper. “Yes, I’m fine now. I bent over to pick up my napkin and got up to fast. I started to see black spots before my eyes. Thank you for your concern,” I say to everyone.

  They all nod, and we continue to eat our dessert. Michael glances at me from time to time. He knows something’s up. I can sense his tension and anxiety building up.

  I search around the restaurant, in a distraught state, looking for anyone who may have placed the note and how. The men were sitting at the table. Unless . . . did Michael and Li also get up from the table? A question I’ll need to ask Michael when we’re alone.

  After dessert, we part. Nicole and Li decide the evening is still young and choose to stroll through Manhattan. I, on the other hand, needed to get home.

  Joe is already waiting for us with the door open to the limo. We step in, and I know Michael is going to question me, but to my surprise, the whole trip to my apartment, he never utters a word about my little episode, except for the cards, the two men handed me.

  “May I have the business cards those two mongrels gave you?” Michael asks, agitated. I can see
his broad chest expanding, setting off the warning bells.

  I gasp. “Michael, are you serious?”

  He stares at me with a remote expression. He’s dashing in his suit, and the moonlight over his face highlights his beautiful sculpted cheekbones. “Yes,” he says curtly.

  I retrieve the cards out of my bag and hand them to him. “Don’t think I’m obeying you, or anything of the sort. I find it amusing. I’m curious. What do you plan to do with them?”

  He takes the two cards from my hand and moves over to a hidden compartment in the limo. He pulls out a small steel platter of some sort, along with a lighter. He flicks it, and a small flame ignites. He sets the cards beneath the blazing glow, and they flare up. He places them in a metal tray and watches them burn down to dust.

  I gasp. I’m astounded at what I just witnessed. “I can’t believe you burned them,” I squeak out. “Something is seriously wrong with you.”

  He turns his face stoic. “I told you I’m a territorial man, Ariana.” His hand reaches my face, and he glides the pad of his thumb over my lips. My breath hitches. “I have no tolerance for men hovering over you like a bunch of teenage boys handing you their phone numbers and inviting you out to parties when I am sitting next to you as your companion.” He slides me over to his side and embraces me. “It did not sit well with me, Ariana.” He kisses me and then blankly stares out the window.

  I have no idea what to say. I’m speechless, caught off guard. I should be appalled at his high-handedness, but I’m not. I’m turned on. Holy shit.

  I think back to the disturbing note, which is stashed in my bag. I sigh, and from the corner of my eye, Michael is watching me with a suspicious look. I tap my foot nervously over the floor of the limo until we finally reach my apartment. Thank God.

  “Ariana, is everything okay? You seemed a little tense and distracted earlier, even now. I hope you’re not upset over the cards I burned.”

  “No, not at all, you caught me by surprise. I’m fine. I’m worn out.”

  “No, Ariana. I know you already. Talk to me.”

  “Can we go inside? I’m not comfortable being out here. I feel as if my privacy has been violated.”

  He pulls me to him, his hands on my face. “What happened?” He demands, his eyes intense and pensive.

  “Please.” I shiver.

  He lets out a frustrated breath. “Come.” He holds me close, and we rush out the car, towards the doors and up the elevators.

  “Okay, Ariana, you have my full attention.”

  I remove my coat and hang it up. I take his hand and my bag. We sit. “Before I say anything, did you and Li leave the table while Nicole and I were in the powder room?”

  “Yes, an associate of mine was dining at the other end of the restaurant with his wife, and I introduced them both.”

  I blew out a breath, and I pull out the piece of paper I stashed in my bag. “I found this when I came back from the ladies room with Nicole. It fluttered onto the floor . . . next to my chair. It may have been tucked in my napkin. I haven’t read it, except I did get a glimpse of the greeting.” I hand him the note. My hands are shaking with the rest of my insides. I scoot over closer so I can read along with him.

  He reads it aloud.

  Hey, baby doll, I’m watching you. I know your every move. Don’t be surprised if you hear from me when you go on your trip to Italy. How was your dinner? I miss you so much. I can’t wait to finally have you to myself. Remember this Ariana. I’m never far from your side.

  The blood drains away from my face. He’s never far from my side. I repeat his words in my head. I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. I search around the room, inspecting every nook and crack, the pictures, my curtains, the furniture, thinking, maybe by chance Trent may have missed a bug or video camera.

  He knows too much. My nerves are shot. I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself together or keep my sanity before this maniac breaks me.

  Michael’s skin changes several shades, first pale than a crimson color from anger. His nostrils flare, and his lips press in a hard-line. He reaches for his cell phone with unsteady hands.

  “Trent . . . Ariana and I were out at The Palm this evening. When we were both away from our table, someone planted a note in her napkin . . . . I’ll be here.” He hangs up and looks at me with a serious, stoic expression over his face.

  “Cancel your flight,” he orders, his demeanor passive.

  “No,” I snap, the pompous ass.

  His eyes go wide and begin to grow dark and terrified. “What do you mean no? Ariana, did you not read the letter correctly? Did it not process? Should I read this to you again, so it makes sense to you?” He exclaims waving the piece of paper in the air.

  He’s back, Mr. Bossy, the bulldozer. “Yes,” I hiss out. “I read the note, but I’m not having this ass get the best of me, Michael.” I stand up and pace around my apartment. I grab the locket my parents gave me, wishing they were alive. “I refuse to give him the gratification of knowing that he frightens the hell out of me. If I do, he’ll feel he won. I will not cancel the trip.”

  Michael takes a deep breath and slowly releases it. He rubs his hands over his face and threads his fingers through his hair. He tugs around his neck, removes his tie, and frees two buttons from his shirt. “Trent is on his way; he’s in the area. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  “Do you know what drives me insane, Michael?”

  “Tell me, Ariana.” His soft tone touches my heart.

  I pace again, agitated, waving my hands in the air. I brush my fingers through my hair, and the clip falls to the floor. My hair falls softly past my shoulders. I pick up the barrette and place it on the counter. I try again, and I can understand why men do this. I’m rather soothed by the action.

  “How does he know my every move? I thought Trent went over this apartment. He’s like a disgusting bug lingering somewhere within the cracks of the walls.” I plop myself back on the sofa and remove my shoes. The intercom goes off, and I stand up and walk over to the box to tell security to let Trent up.

  Chapter 17

  The Locket

  Trent charges in like a hurricane, overpowering the room with his broad, expansive solidity. I swear he and Joanne would make a perfect couple. I even witnessed the sparks between the two last night.

  Michael stands up to greet Trent with a handshake and a quick embrace. Trent, all smiles, rushes over to me, picks me up, and enfolds me with one of his famous bear hugs, which suck the air right out of me. He places me down, and his eyes are focused on my neck. I stare at him guarded.

  Trent places his fingers over his lips and mouths the sound, “Shhh” to both of us. He pulls out a pen and pad from his jacket. “So how are you, Ari?” He asks, sounding nonchalant.

  I’m getting nervous and antsy now. I have no idea what’s whirling in his head, and neither does Michael from the facial expressions he’s making. I play along. “Michael and I had dinner with a potential client.”

  Trent is furiously writing, and when he finished, he tears it out of a small spiral pad and hands it to me. I frown at him with confusion, and I do as he instructed. I detach the heart-shaped locket I’ve worn for years and place it in the palm of his hand.

  He inspects the piece carefully. He pries it open. What is he doing?

  Both Michael and I stare at one another, bemused.

  Trent removes a tiny disk the size of a small battery watch and drops it on the counter. He pulls out my meat tenderizer from a kitchen drawer and smashes the disk. “Ariana, someone installed a remote control listening device in your locket.”

  My knees go weak, and I fall on the sofa. “How?” Michael joins me and holds my hand.

  “This is a voice transmitter, which is used for long-distance audio surveillance and triggered by a remote control. Another name for the device is a sleeper transmitter. The standby time is up to four years.

  I gasp. Oh, no. “You’ve lost me. I wear this almost every day. How is it
possible?”

  “Let’s start from the beginning. Who gave you the locket?” Trent asks.

  “I received the locket from my parents’ for my twentieth birthday right before they . . . ” I close my eyes against the memories. “They died,” I whisper.

  Michael squeezes my hand for reassurance.

  “How did they die, Ari?” Trent asks, leaning against the counter.

  “They died in a car accident along with my eighteen-year-old sister, Sophia.” Losing both my parents’ and only sister was devastating. All because the driver thought he was well enough to drive after two drinks. God was he ever wrong, and he survived without even a scratch.

  “Take your time sweetheart,” Michael says,

  “Do you ever remember lending the locket to anyone, or having it cleaned?” Trent asks.

  “Danny, my ex-husband, offered to bring my necklace to a jeweler for cleaning. At first I objected, but he convinced me if I wanted my gift from my parents’ to last, I needed to care for it. So I gave in,” I explain, tapping my foot on the floor.

  I bury my face in my hands, as the images of my poor parents’ and sister’s lifeless bodies burst before me. I stiffen when Michael’s hand gently caresses my back.

  “Relax, Ariana,” he whispers, and my tension begins to ease.

  I shudder as a cold chill washes over me. I close my eyes for a moment, and a warm blanket is being placed over my back. I lift my head to find Michael standing over me. I smile. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Can you answer one more question?” Trent asks.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “What did Danny do for a living?”

  “He owned a software company,” I answer.

  “Was the company sold?” Trent asks.

  “I can’t answer your question since I never cared what happened after I identified his body, but it’s located in Galveston. I can give you his lawyer’s name. Unfortunately, I inherited all of his assets. I told the lawyer to sell everything and give the money to charity.”