Of course, it wasn't surprising, really. My skill in judging character was sadly . . . not skillful. That had been proven once. Quite painfully.
Still, I hadn't been prepared for his mocking contempt. And yeah, okay, so my offer probably sounded outrageous to him initially. But I was the one doing him a favor here. I was offering him free money. Or practically free. There was a price—I admitted that. I was asking him to marry for money. I couldn't help cringing at the blunt truth. But I'd made a list, and there were far more "pros" than "cons" for both of us, I thought. Although, arguably, the "cons" were very weighty and could tip any scale, regardless of what you titled it. Despite having tried to present the offer in a very business-like manner, he'd looked at me with such disdain, as if I were yesterday's trash. The fact that I felt like yesterday's trash only made it that much worse.
The more condescension he'd shown me, that faint derision never leaving his expression, the more nervous and ruffled and unsure I'd become. I hated that feeling. I'd known it my whole life. Being scorned felt heartachingly familiar.
And then he'd told me I wasn't his type. As if it mattered. It didn't matter. Not at all. Not one bit. I only needed my money to be his type.
So why had it hurt?
I let out a sigh. He'd said he would call me, but based on his rude dismissal, I wouldn't hold my breath. Well. I'd tried. Another one of my Very Bad Ideas and Grayson Hawthorn had let me know that's exactly what he’d thought of it. In that slightly bored, pleasantly masculine voice of his no less. I felt my lips curve down. So the question was, what was I going to do now? Going back to my father was out of the question. I'd sooner sleep on a street corner. Or at the drop-in center. My heart sank when I thought of the center. What were they going to do now? So much was riding on getting my hands on the money Gram left. I supposed I could pull my car over and choose any number of people off the street to make the same offer I'd made to Grayson Hawthorn. Or place an ad on the Internet like I'd joked about with Kimberly. I could sell my car. It was in my name, one of the few things I'd bought with my own money. But then I wouldn't even have a place to sleep if and when my cash ran out.
I'd just thought . . . well, seeing Grayson Hawthorn at the bank, it seemed like fate. The more I'd thought about it yesterday in my small, lonely hotel room, the more my heart had felt like there was something very right about sharing my gram's money with that man in particular, considering the connection I knew existed between him and my father. Not that I could share that with him, and not that it would do him any good to know anyway. But I could share the money with him—money he desperately needed—and maybe set something right, balance the score in some small measure.
I had to admit his looks had swayed me, too. He looked like every hero in every fairy tale I'd ever dreamed, come to life. And, God, I wanted to believe in heroes again.
But sometimes, I supposed, a girl just had to be her own hero.
Especially when the hero in question turned out to be a dragon.
I knew Grayson Hawthorn had done wrong in his life, but after examining his case particulars, it seemed more like a terrible accident. And regardless, it was a mistake he'd paid for. More than paid for. And now he was still paying in people's perceptions of him. No one would give him a chance, or at least the loan he so desperately needed.
So I'd gone with my gut, decided at the very least to reserve judgment until I'd met him in person, and rushed to his home the next morning before I could completely lose my nerve.