Give Me Grace (11 page)

“He’s no one,” she replied, not looking at me as she tried tugging it from my
grasp.

The phone rang out so I let her have it
, but as soon as it stopped ringing, it started again. I watched as she hit the decline button on the screen and put it away. The muffled sound of it ringing again set my teeth on edge. Three times in a row wasn’t
no one.
“You gonna answer it?”

“No,” Grace replied, her voice sharp. She dug her hand through her bag and after a brief moment, the ringing stopped again.

When it started for the fourth time, I growled, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Snatching her bag, I found the offending phone, checked the screen and looked at Grace. “Who’s Dalton, Slim?”

Her nostrils flared ominously, but the anger was countered by the sudden sheen of tears in her eyes. “He’s no one, Casey.”

No one, my fucking ass.
I held up the phone in my palm. “So if he’s no one, you won’t mind me answering the phone and telling him to stop calling you, right?”

“Answer that and I’ll
…”

My brow arched sardonically. “You’ll what, scratch my car? Punch me so hard I’ll be spitting teeth for a week? Enough with the empty threats, Grace, unless you actually plan on following through.”

“We’re here!” Mac barked, interrupting our standoff.

I dragged
my eyes from Grace’s stormy blue ones and glanced out the window. We were running behind, making us the last in a long line of limousines. The red carpet leading into Sydney’s The Star hotel where the event centre was located was starting to empty. Good. It made my job that much easier.

Grace snatched the phone from my hands
, switched it off quickly, and dumped it in her bag. Did she not hear the part where I told her we needed to keep the lines of communication open?

“Turn your phone back on,” I ordered. “If something happens
, I need to be able to contact you.”

“What could possibly happen?”

As the car pulled smoothly to the kerb, a suited man stepped forward and opened the door. Everyone started piling out, Grace and I going last. I put a hand on her arm, halting her so I could go first. Press flashbulbs were going crazy as they photographed Jamieson’s arrival. Evie’s name was called out several times as they started making their way inside. Turning, I ducked my head and held out my hand, grateful when Grace slid her palm easily in mine. I clasped it tight and helped her from the car. She stepped out elegantly, as though she’d done this a thousand times before. Sweeping by me, she hissed from the corner of her mouth, “And something you should know … I don’t deal in empty threats.”

What looked suspiciously like guilt flashed across her face before it was
hidden. My eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Someone from the press gallery called out, “Hey! It’s Grace Paterson! Grace! Over here!”

A wide grin spread across her face as she let go of my hand and continued forward. “Nothing.”

“This way, Grace!”

Grace gave a brief wave and a smile to the crowd and my body tensed. The attention she was getting made it obvious she wasn’t just
a model
—she was a fucking famous one. The hastily pulled together brief I reviewed this afternoon since leaving Grace had indicated she was well-known, but this was a whole other level of attention. I stalked forward, keeping close to her side as I eyed the press with an alert gaze.

“Who designed your outfit, Grace?” someone yelled.

“Grace! Over here!”

Jesus.
It was a fucking circus.

Grace stepped closer to the crowding photographers and microphones as she smiled for photos and answered questions. I stepped with her, staying close.

“Grace! Where’s Dalton tonight? Are the rumours of him and British model Selena true?”

Grace paled, her confident demeanour faltering
, and I wanted to growl at their probing questions. I slipped my hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Is this your new boyfriend?”
someone called out.

Cameras turned my way. Their flash caused white spots to dance in front of my eye
s. I had to blink to clear my vision.

“No comment,” I
barked and dragged her away from every last one of them, moving her swiftly up the red carpet.

Fucking vultures.

As we slipped inside and joined the rest of the crew, I felt rather than heard her sigh of relief. “You okay, Slim?”

“Of course.” She smiled the same smile she g
ave all those photographers and reporters out there—smooth and practiced. I found I didn’t like her using it on me.

“So
… Dalton, huh?”

“So
… Dalton, huh?”

Last night’s events filtered through my
mind as I lay tangled in my sheets. Morning sunshine seeped through the blinds, doing its best to entice me out of my bed and failing miserably. It was—I sat up and checked the time on my phone—almost midday already. That meant I’d slept ten hours straight.

I flopped back on my pillow, dragging out a long yawn that ended with a squeal and a stretch.

“So … Dalton, huh?”

“
Arrrghhhh!” I growled and punched my pillow.
Get out of my head!
Cocky bastard.

Straight after posing that leading question last night, the attendant arrived to usher us to our table, thus saving me from answering. Casey had placed his hand on the small of my back, hovering close as we were led through crowds of people taking their seats. Thinking back, the gesture hadn’t irritated me like I would’ve thought. The warm flutters in my belly told me I
liked it. More than a little. Dalton had never been solicitous that way, but he’d also never forcefully pinned me against the wall and called me a bitch either.

After sitting down at our designated table, Henry on my left and Casey on my right, an attending waiter poured iced water into our glasses and took beverage orders. Five minutes later, the lights dimmed and the host walked on stage. The lighting turned blue and purple and a bright spotlight hit the clear
perspex podium where he began his opening speech. Henry began drumming his fingers on the table, so clearly nervous that my heart did a little flip for him. I grabbed his hand in mine, stilling it. He looked at me and smiled. The gesture was obviously meant to reassure me he was fine, but it came off more like a grimace.

Leaning in so he could hear, I said, “Chill, Henry Bear. I want to say I can’t believe you’re here,
playing at such a huge event, but I can.” My chest swelled with pride for my brother. “Thank you for including me. For having me here. Watching you play this afternoon was incredible, seeing how all your talent and hard work has paid off.” I gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. “You’ve got this.”

Quinn cleared her throat from the seat on the other side of Henry. She inclined her head around him so she look
ed directly at me. “Did you just say ‘you’ve got this?’ Because really, it sounded like you did, and whenever anyone says that it makes me nervous.”

My brows flew up. “Oh. Um
…”

“Nervous?” Travis laughed from his seat beside Quinn. “Don’t you mean aggressive? Because someone saying that is usually preceded by you throwing a chair.”

The entire table erupted in laughter, but I didn’t quite get the joke, and Quinn was the only other person besides me who wasn’t joining in. In fact, she was sitting there with pursed lips. “Perhaps next time I’ll just try the direct approach that Mac usually favours.”

Casey tensed beside me and Travis’s sharp green eyes turn
ed flat and hard as he glared at his wife, making me wonder what that approach was. “You’ll do no such thing.”

The abrupt change in Travis from relaxed to something so incredibly fierce and primal left me dazed. He’d been the epitome of cool since the moment I met him—until now. Quinn raised her brows coolly as I watched the exchange with wide eyes.

“And there’ll be no
next time
,” he added, kicking back in his chair and folding his arms.

“Rein in your man, Quinn,” Mac commanded. “He’s getting out of control.”

Travis turned his glare on his sister. “Are you kidding me?”

Leaning close to Henry, I whispered, “What’s the Mac approach?”

“Guns,” he replied with a shake of his head.

“Guns?” I repeated,
not quite sure I heard him right.

“Tell you later,”
he muttered as everyone started weighing in with an opinion. Voices were getting loud enough for surrounding guests to turn in their seats. Seeing Casey reach for my bag from my peripheral vision distracted me from the escalating altercation. I gave him my full attention. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring me, he rummaged through the contents. I only had a moment to cringe at the thought of a close encounter of the tampon kind before he plucked out my phone and proceeded to switch it on. The screen came to life, prompting my four-digit passcode.

Casey’s finger hovered over the keypad. “What’s the code, Slim?”

“I’m going to tell you
because …?”

He rubbed his hand over his smoothly shaven jaw. My eyes tracked the movement and I realised I wanted the stubble back. It took the edge off his beauty, giving him that rough just-rolled-out-of-bed
look. Conscious of the fact I’d been staring at his jaw for longer than a mere glance, I flicked my eyes upwards and found him watching me. He crooked his finger.

“What?” I blurted out.

Casey simply cocked his head in reply and waited.

What game was he playing now? Keeping up prov
ed almost impossible. Exhaling in a huff, I leaned in, saying a little more quietly, “What?”

“You’re going to tell me b
ecause I take my job seriously,” he replied softly. “Because Jamieson is paying our firm to provide security, and I happen to think they deserve more than a half-assed job. Because I’m trained to keep you safe. Because a seemingly harmless situation can escalate in a matter of moments and you might need me.” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, sending waves of heat through my body and setting off an ache between my thighs. I held back a moan. Why did our every interaction always result in such excessive levels of proximity? It kept throwing my composure off course. “Are those enough reasons for you, Slim…” he pulled back to meet my eyes “…or do you need more?”

I opened my mouth to reply and realised I had nothing. Casey was right, and interfering in the way he did his job would only be immature on my part. It was just … switching on my phone meant dealing with Dalton, and I couldn’t do it. Not tonight. The whole mess was too raw.

“You’re right.” Staring down at my hands, I realised they were shaking. I clenched my fists. “Dalton is my … was,” I corrected, “my boyfriend. He did something really shitty and I’m just not ready to deal with it, or him, just yet.”

“What did he do?”

I shook my head and turned my attention to the stage, indicating I wasn’t going to talk about it. Someone was halfway through singing a song on stage and I blinked with surprise. I hadn’t noticed anything outside of Casey.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him unlock the screen
of my phone, bringing up the passcode prompt again. He jabbed in a sequence of numbers and my phone came to life.

My mouth fell open. “How did
you …?”

“The year you were born. It
was included in your security brief. You shouldn’t make it so easy.” He stood abruptly, my phone in one hand and holding out his other. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” I felt like I’d missed a
few steps in the conversation. And they had a security brief on me? I was mentally trying to backtrack when he took hold of my elbow and hauled me up. I stumbled a little at his haste.

“Grace needs the restroom,” he told the table. “We’ll be back.”

Henry’s shout broke my reverie of last night, making me aware I was clutching the pillow to my chest and rubbing my legs together to ease the ache still there. Grabbing for the sheets that pooled around my bare thighs, I dragged them up and over my head. My brother sounded angry and it was far too early for confrontation of any kind. His shout was accompanied by a fist pounding on my bedroom door and ended with the ominous, “Grace! You better be decent because I’m coming in to kill you!”

The door flung open. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear the sudden
whoosh
, followed by a clang where it caught the doorstop. A giggle bubbled out of me.

“Grace. This isn’t funny. Where are they?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I replied from beneath the sheets.

I squealed when they were ripped away from me. Brushing hair off my face, I watched as they sailed across the room, landing on the floor in a crumpled heap, before returning my attention to Henry.

He stood over me in his sleep shorts—chest heaving and hands on his hips. It felt just like old times. The fact that his next words mentioned the exact same thing only warmed my heart a little. “Jesus, Grace. This is just like old times. I thought having you here would be a great opportunity to get to know you again, but really, you haven’t changed at all, have you?”

Mac stumbled in behind Henry, scratching at her head and scowling. “What’s with all the noise?” She blinked a couple of times
as she looked between Henry and me. Suddenly her eyes went wide, comprehension dawning that Henry wasn’t hogging the shower this morning. She shot out of my room like she was Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote was on her ass. The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut echoed down the hall.

Henry’s lips twitched.

Moments later, Mac came storming back into my room, placing her hands on her hips. “Alright. Listen up, because I’m only going to ask this once. Where are the fucking shower taps?”

I bit my lip, grinning at my victory.

Henry threw up his hands. “They could be anywhere.” Turning for the door, he grumbled, “I’m going to find some pliers.” He loved his long morning showers and was clearly prepared to do anything to get his fix.

When he disappeared out the door, Mac turned to me, her mouth open in what looked like wonder. “You
stole
the shower taps?”

My response was a
nother grin. I slid out of bed, my feet hitting plush cream carpet. Crouching down, I lifted my mattress, showing her the taps that I’d wedged underneath.

“When did you do that?”

“Last night,” I replied, smug. “When you were all stumbling to bed. It only took a minute.” Reaching in, I grabbed them and held them out to her. “Here. You can go first if you like?”

“You
…” Mac looked from the taps in my outstretched hands to my face. “Teach me,” she breathed as she took them, clutching them to her chest like a pair of Manolo Blahniks. “I need to know all your tricks.”

I flopped back on the bed. “I have a few more up my sleeve. Henry will soon regret asking me to stay.”

“Rubbish. Henry needs you here keeping him on his toes.” Mac shuffled over and sat down beside me. “I’ll be honest with you, Grace. I feel like he’s slowly losing his way. Like the bigger the band is getting, the more he’s withdrawing. I don’t know why. I can’t put my finger on what it is, and I admit we’ve all been so busy I’ve let it slide hoping something would change, but it hasn’t. That was why I jumped all over the idea of having you here. I’m not good at all those bullshit heart-to-heart talks. Maybe you can do what I can’t.”

“Oh.” I exhaled at Mac’s admission.
It felt strange that I had no clue what was going on in his life. “I honestly don’t know, Mac. I’ll talk to him while I’m here.”

“Thanks, Grace.” She patted my leg before getting to her feet. “I better get in the shower before Henry finds those pliers.
”

Mac left the room and I picked up my crumpled pile of sheets off the floor. Shaking them out, I put them back on the bed and crawled back underneath them, planning to doze while Mac was in the shower. As soon as I closed my eyes I saw Casey, anger making his eyes sharp as he led me from our table last night. His big
, warm palm clutched me to him as we wound our way through tables before eventually ending up in some dingy, badly lit corridor.