Anywhere You Are (9 page)

His dad was waiting for him near a wrought-iron bench, a few yards away from the restaurant's front door.

Marc strode up to him. “Yes?”

Norton looked him up and down. “You look tired.”

Marc sighed, rapidly losing patience. “You're obviously here on a date, and my friends are waiting. So just tell me what you want and we can both go back to our evenings.”

His dad swallowed. “Fine. I want you to back off Everleigh.”

Marc raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I'm interested in your date?”

“What makes you think that matters?”

“Are you saying you think she'll just come on to me?”

“In a word, yes. She's young, she's hungry, and she'll do anything to get ahead, including me.”

“Delightful,” Marc said, deadpan. He really didn't need to hear that. “Well, you don't need to worry. As they say, it takes two to tango, and I'm not dancing.”
Not with her.

A look of relief washed over his father's face. “Good. Good. I thought maybe you'd try to take her from me—you know—as payback for Kiera.”

“Revenge really isn't my style.”

“Right.” His dad gave a mirthless laugh. “I forgot. This is
you
we're talking about here.”

Jesus, even his own father thought he was made of ice.

“If that'll be all…” Marc began to turn away.

“I've fallen in love with her.”

Marc stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back to his father. “What?”

“We sit on the hospital board together. She's a lawyer. Owns her own firm in New Haven. She's smart. Really smart.”

And she's playing you.
“She's a lot younger than you,” Marc reasoned. “There's what, a thirty-five-year age difference? Do you really think she'll stick by you in sickness and in health? She'll use you up and move on. You said yourself that she's hungry.”

Norton shook his head. “I don't care. I love her.” The look on his face was almost sickening.

“You barely know her.”

“I'm going to marry her.”

Marc simply stared at his father. The man had lost touch with reality, wrapped up in his own quest for youth and power. Nothing he could say or do was going to help.

“It looks like you have it all figured out then.” He inclined his head in a mocking gesture. “Best wishes to you both.”

“Do me a favor—don't mention this to your mother.”

“And Bethamy, too, I presume?”

“Bethamy?” Norton snorted. “She was a pleasant diversion, but I've moved on. You know, you should, too. I know you didn't care about Kiera, or you wouldn't have let her go without a fight. My guess is that you're bored. Or you're even more cold-blooded than I thought you were.”

He shouldn't be surprised how well his dad knew him—after all, they were blood—but it irked him more than he cared to admit.

“As long as we're giving unsolicited advice to each other,” Marc said through clenched teeth, “I'd strongly suggest you get a good pre-nup.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, she's got more to lose than I do.”

Marc doubted that very highly. He was done.

“Conduct your assignations somewhere else. Somewhere I don't have to see you.” Marc turned and without sparing another look at his dad, went back inside.

Jake and Press were at the table, laughing about something. They quieted the moment he slid back into the booth.

“Say what you're going to say and get it over with.” He picked up his beer and took a long swallow.

“Why would I say anything?” Jake said. “We all have fucked-up relationships with our dads.” He looked at Press. “Or had.”

“How is he?” Marc asked Jake.

Jake looked away, then back. “Dad's in a hospice in Fairfield. My brother keeps trying to get me to go over there, but I'm not interested.” He shrugged. “He's a mean son of a bitch who made my life hell. I have no interest in letting him try to make amends now that he's on his deathbed.”

“At least you know who he is,” Press said. “My dad's whole life was a lie.” He gave a careless shrug as if it didn't matter, though Marc knew it hurt him deeply when his dad died two years ago. “I don't have any real answers, but it's something I have to live with.”

Jake turned back to Marc. “So your dad's a dick. He's a saint compared to ours. Though it's hardly a fair comparison,” he finished on a mutter.

“Another toast,” Marc said, raising his glass. “To screwed-up relationships with our fathers.”

“Cheers.”

The three men clinked and drank.

As the lager slid down his throat, Marc realized that once again, Jake and Press had somehow managed to get him back on track. They were the brothers he didn't have—the ones who grounded him, made him feel like a human being again.

Marc tipped his glass back and drained it. “Gentlemen, once again, congratulations.” He threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and rose.

“You're leaving already?” Press asked.

“Dog, remember? And I'm due to fly out to India tomorrow night.”

This was true, but there was something else he wasn't telling them. Grace.

He wanted to see her. See if that kiss they'd shared was a fluke…or something more.

Jesus, the fact that he was even thinking like this probably meant he was beyond tired. He should go see his dog, beg Grace to keep him for another week, and then head back to Manhattan to get some work done before flying out again.

He shrugged on his jacket and picked up his briefcase. “I'm sorry I'm missing the welcome party,” he told Jake and Press. Carolyn had organized a party for the owners—Jake, in particular—to be introduced to the members tomorrow night. “Put on a good show for me.”

“I'll try,” Jake said grimly.

“You'll be fine.” The man might look rough, but he cleaned up well when the situation required. “I'll be back on—” He thought for a moment. “I don't know exactly when I'll be back, but if you need me, call my office. My secretary will know how to reach me.”

Jake nodded. “Now that we have the board stuff taken care of, we should be fine for a while. 'Night, man.”

“Safe travels,” Press said.

“Thanks.”

Without sparing a glance for his father and Everleigh, he left the tavern and made his way to his car.

Cold-blooded.

His father's words burned him up, and that one fact kept him going. Emotion meant he wasn't the iceman his father and everyone else thought he was.

But then again, having those emotions had never been the problem. Revealing those emotions to others? Totally different matter.

Chalk it up to his upbringing. His sisters were older, and they had already left home by the time their mom and dad were going through the worst of it. He'd seen it all—the fights, the accusations, and most of all, his mom's crying. Love hurt, and giving your power to someone else so that person could hurt you just made everything worse.

He'd seen both his mother and his father let it all hang out, wear their emotions on their sleeves, and things hadn't turned out well for them at all.

His dad had followed his libido into one doomed relationship after another, living life like he was a spoiled teenager and heedless to the pain he caused others, while his mother had allowed her ex-husband's bad behavior to eat at her from the inside out.

No wonder he'd turned out like he had, not wanting any part of love and all the messy emotions that went along with it.

Marc put his briefcase in the backseat, then took off his suit jacket and carefully laid it next to his case. Sliding into his sleek sedan, he shut the door. He leaned back against the leather seat and caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror.

Anyone looking at him would think that he had it all. A thriving business. Strong partners. More money than he knew what to do with.

But inside he was a wreck. Something was still missing—he got that. Only problem was he didn't know what it was. Or how to find it.

Later that evening, Marc stood in Grace's warm kitchen. He should have been tired, but he wasn't anymore. Not since joining her here.

As usual, there was something bubbling on the stove that filled the space with a savory aroma. The place was lit with a cheery glow, both from that ridiculous pineapple light fixture and the setting sun.

Best of all was the glow that came from Grace herself. She exuded warmth from her brilliant smile to her bare feet. He eyed her critically, as if he could tease out what it was about her that made him feel so free.

She was wearing a pair of jeans, which she'd topped with a paint-splattered shirt, probably because she'd just come from her studio after creating something fantastic with her hands. Her hair was a mass of soft, dark waves floating down her back. She look like she wasn't wearing a stitch of makeup, and yet she was naturally beautiful in a way most people couldn't come close to imitating.

She'd greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then practically tugged him into her house. He liked her eagerness, even though it was clear it had as much to do with his dog as it did with him. She'd called for Blue almost immediately, and the dog had trotted through the kitchen door only an instant after she'd whistled.

The beast stood there waiting, looking at Grace, not at him.

“Okay, watch this,” Grace said. She turned to Big Blue. “Blue, sit.” The dog sat on command, back legs under his rear, front legs straight and tall, and looked expectantly at Grace. “Good boy,” she said, rubbing his head.

“I've seen this trick before,” Marc quipped.

Grace pressed her lips together in mirth and shook her head. “Not this one. Come on, Big Blue. Stand up.” The dog stood. “Okay. Now you try it. Be firm, not harsh. Annnnnd go.”

“Blue, sit,” Marc said, trying to emulate Grace's tone of voice.

To his surprise, the dog sat.

“Good boy,” Grace said, and for a moment, he wasn't sure whether she was talking to him or the dog. She placed a small brown nub in his hand. “Now reward him,” she said out of the side of her mouth, as if the dog could understand what she was saying and she didn't want him to hear.

“What is it?” Marc asked.

“Beef jerky.”

Marc gave Blue the treat, and the dog gobbled it up.

Grace handed him another piece of jerky. “Now go stand over by the door and tell him to come.”

He did as he was told. “Come, Blue.” Blue came over right away and he gladly gave the dog another piece of jerky for his troubles.

“Great job!” Grace was beaming with pleasure. “Now try ‘stay.' ”

Marc got the dog into a seated position, then tried the new command. Blue sat and stayed, then licked his lips—obviously anticipating some more jerky, which Marc tossed to him. Blue caught it in midair.

“You're a miracle worker,” Marc told Grace. “I don't know how you tamed this beast.”

“Oh, but there's more,” she said, her eyes bright. She called the dog over and got him to sit. Then she held out her hand. “Blue, shake hands.” From his seated position, the dog reached up a massive paw and touched her hand. She grasped it and shook once, then released. “Good boy.” Another head rub and a treat from her pocket.

“I'm impressed.”

“He's really smart and he worked hard. Okay, last one. Ready?” Grace bent down so that their faces were on the same plane. “Blue, nosey nosey.”

The dog touched his nose to Grace's, then sat back and licked his chops. That got him another head pat and a piece of jerky.

“Well done, Big Blue!” Grace said, giving Blue a brisk rub behind the ears. She rose, smiling up at Marc, terribly pleased with herself. “You don't have to do those last two tricks,” she told him. “We were just having some fun. I'll teach him some other ones you might find useful if he stays longer. He
will
get to stay longer, won't he?”

She looked so sweetly hopeful that he almost kissed her right then and there.

Marc had houses, but no home. He had many acquaintances, but few friends—really just Jake and Press. And
this,
here in Eastbridge with Grace, was what he'd been missing. This warmth. This life. An invitation to come in and relax and stay a while. Everything he thought he didn't need and now found inexplicably that he wanted. Badly.

He was jet-lagged and mentally drained. Bone tired. And yet, all he wanted to do was to spend time with this woman.

“Have dinner with me.”

Her lips curled up at the edges. “Sounds nice. I know a place.”

“You said that last time. And I don't want to make you cook.” He glanced over to her stove.

She followed his gaze. “It's vegetable soup. But it'll keep if you want to go out.”

“I insist.”

“All right.” She flicked off the burner, and when she turned back, there was a glint in her eyes. “You'll let me pick the restaurant, though?”

He sighed. “It's either that or get into an argument with you about it, I suppose.”

“You suppose correctly. But don't worry,” she said with a smile. “This place takes dogs, too.”

A short drive and fifteen minutes later, Marc found himself seated at a picnic table on a pier overlooking Long Island Sound. Owing to the fact that it was decently late on a Wednesday night, the crowd had thinned, but there were still a few people hanging out and finishing their drinks. It was casual, low-key, and so unlike what he thought a woman like Grace would go for…at least when he'd first met her. Now, he saw how at home she seemed, her pose relaxed, her expression happy.

And she wasn't wearing those damned sunglasses.

“You've been here before?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Sure,” Grace said. “They're only open in the summers, and they stay open late. The food's great.”

What she didn't say was
and no one recognizes me,
but he knew that must be a big part of it. A place like this wouldn't put on airs. Wouldn't make anyone feel out of place or unwelcome. And neither would the clientele.

Grace leaned down and scratched Blue behind the ears. The dog had taken up residence at her feet and sat quietly, watchful, noting when people came near, relaxing when they moved away. She'd had Blue for four days, and already she had his absolute loyalty.

A server came over almost immediately. “Hey,” he said, not doing a double take at either of them. “You just made it in under the wire. Kitchen's closing in ten minutes, so let me get your order in. Do you know what you want?”

“I'll have the fish and chips, please,” Grace told him.

“One fish and chips.” He turned to Marc. “And for you?”

“The same.” Grace's eyes widened, but she didn't say anything.

“Anything to drink?”

“I'm fine with water.”

“Same.”

Once the waiter was gone, Marc turned back to her. “How have things been?”

“Oh, the usual,” she said blithely, taking a sip of water.

“Tell me.”

“We-ell. I've been doing some more painting. Big Blue likes to join me in the woods,” she said, reaching down and patting his head. “He stays nice and quiet and does a decent job of not scaring off any wildlife.”

“Nice. What else?”

“I have a couple of flower jobs booked up for the next couple of months.” She gave a little laugh. “This must be seriously boring for you to hear. I mean, compared to what you do, jetting all around the world.”

“I like hearing it. Tell me more.”

Grace's gaze met his, and he watched her take a deep breath. “Okay. Another picture of us appeared in the tabloids. I'm sorry,” she said on a wince.

“It's okay,” he found himself saying. “I should have expected that.”

“I kind of did, but I didn't expect what happened next. My mom got wind of it and showed up for a little heart-to-heart.”

“Your mom makes you crazy?” he surmised.

“Certifiable. She's as bad as the paparazzi, and almost as scheming, which kind of puts a damper on the way I live my life. Which is part of the reason why I moved to Eastbridge.”

“Why else?”

She bit her lip. “There was this guy…”

A sharp bite of jealousy lanced through him, though he wasn't sure why. He barely knew Grace, and he certainly had no claim on her. “Your boyfriend?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

That burned, but he forced himself to keep a neutral expression. “Go on.”

“This was a couple of years ago, back when I was on TV. At the time, I not only considered him my boyfriend, but one of my closest friends, too. I'd known him from L.A. since I was a kid, and I thought, well, I thought he got me because we'd known each other for so long. He was part of my inner circle. We'd go everywhere together. Clubs, concerts, whatever…until one really bad night.”

“What happened?”

Grace swallowed hard and looked away. “He betrayed me,” she said, her voice low.

Never mind that he didn't know the guy, he still wanted to grab him by the neck and throttle him for hurting Grace. “How?” he gritted out.

“This is going to sound crazy and it is. Even for me.”

“Try me.”

Grace took a breath. “He'd gotten in thick with some bookies, and to pay his gambling debts, he'd been feeding my life, bit by bit, to the paparazzi. He'd tell them where I was, where I'd be…even who I was with.”

“That's awful.” He couldn't imagine being violated in such a fashion. His whole life, stolen for profit. It made him sick. “How'd you find out?”

“Tabloids are like background noise—always there and you don't pay too much attention to them—but I paid attention to these pics because they were mine. I took them.”

“Did they show you in a compromising position?”
Were they nudes?

She didn't answer his unspoken question, but her face got tight. “I was at a party in the Village. We were all there—me, Crystal, Jimmy, Chauncey. My gang. And Zig. My…boyfriend. There was a killer DJ spinning, and we were young and wild and stupid.”

“What happened?”

“Let's just say that one of my friends had a little too much fun.”

“I'm guessing it wasn't just alcohol in play.”

“Drugs were always around,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “I never used, but lots of my friends did.” She gave a sad little laugh. “I took a lot of drunk selfies that night, but I got some extra stuff on my phone. Stuff I didn't realize I had until later.”

“What was it?” Marc asked, his voice low.

“One of my friends ODing. In one shot, he's in the background, in a corner. In the next, he's passed out on the floor. It wasn't until after the hospital trip and the stomach pump and the days praying at his bedside that I even thought to look, and when I did, I was horrified.”

“Was he okay?”

“Eventually, after a long trip to rehab, but I wasn't. Not for a long time. Those pics were just supposed to be me, goofing around, having fun with my friends, but what they really showed was a much darker picture of where I was heading. And when they got posted to that site, it brought back all those bad memories. So I started watching my back. Then, one day, I put my phone down—just for second—and I saw him swiping it.”

“Caught in the act, hmm?”

Grace nodded. “He tried to deny it, gave me all sorts of excuses, but it was enough for me to get suspicious. When I got another friend to check to see what files had been moved around, it was pretty clear he'd been secretly downloading everything from my cellphone. Crystal confronted him about it and he finally admitted it.” Grace let out a long breath. “Things had been really crazy even before then. I'd seen friends flame out, fade out, lose their minds chasing fame, but that betrayal was the last straw. I stepped back and took a long, hard look at the life I was living and who I truly thought I was.”

“It must have been tough to just walk away.” At the height of her fame.

She leaned back and tossed her head. “It was the easiest thing I ever did,” she told him. “I can't change where I came from. I mean, my parents are still my parents and my family's still bonkers. But I'm doing my best to make my life not as crazy as it has been. I'm healthier. My art is thriving. And I'm able to focus on what I'm passionate about. I don't miss that life. Not even a little.”

He'd never been famous. His mother—from an old New England family—firmly believed that you should be in the paper three times in your life: your birth, your marriage, and your death. It was ingrained in him, and even with all the success Colby Holdings had achieved, he'd managed to skirt most of the press that came along with large real estate deals. Of course, his father was a different matter altogether.

Grace took a deep breath and shook her head. “Let's talk about something happier. Like your trip. How was it?”

“It was okay. I just invested in a property in Phoenix, and I stopped in to make sure the deal's on track and the property is going to be renovated the way I envision. It's good all around. Now my next trip to India? That's a different matter altogether.”

“What's the deal?”

Even thinking about the way things were going in India gave him a headache. He rubbed his temple. “Not that great,” he said. “I'm having a lot of trouble getting the permits I need in Mumbai to do what I want, and the government isn't exactly cooperating.”

“Tough. What are you going to do?”

Marc shrugged. “I don't know. Push harder, I suppose.”

“Is that what you do when things don't go your way? Push harder?” That twinkle was back in her eye. Teasing him again.

He gave her a wry smile. “I typically thrive on adversity, but in this case, there've been more issues than usual to get this project off the ground.”