Rohan shifted his gaze to Jameson. “You’ll be signing, too, if you want to play.”
Avery slipped the pen into Jameson’s hand. He turned it in his fingers, taking in every element of the design, committing it to memory.
And then he signed.
CHAPTER 17
GRAYSON
Grayson knew that every problem had solutions, plural. Falling into the trap of assuming there was only one could keep you from seeing the optimal combination. Complex problems were fluid, dynamic.
Gigi was a complex problem.
Having spent the twenty-four hours since he’d dropped her off biding his time and considering all angles, Grayson knew that the most obvious solution was for him to see to it that she lost the key she wore around her neck. No key, no safe-deposit box access, no inconvenient evidence or revelations. But there were other possible courses of action given that Gigi also had no idea which safe-deposit box was her father’s.
Keep an eye on her. Assess the best strategy for stealing her key. Stop her from figuring out what name the box is under. All of those actions required reaching back out. Luckily, the internet made that easy. It was simple enough to find the social media platform on which Gigi Grayson was most active, create an account, and begin to compose a direct message.
@OMGiGi. Grayson stared at the username and debated the best approach. I need to see you again. That was direct, straightforward—but what if she saw it as having romantic undertones? Grayson shuddered. Did the coffee finally wear off? seemed more benign, but could that be seen as flirting, too?
There were some significant downsides to subterfuge.
Have you heard from Kent Trowbridge? Grayson typed the words—no disturbing undertones whatsoever—into the message box and hit Send. While he waited for a reply, he decided to do a bit of research on the man that Gigi had called for help.
The man who had left her at the police station overnight and for much of the following day, seemingly without so much as informing her mother that she was in police custody.
With trademark efficiency, Grayson skimmed the search results. As Gigi had indicated, Kent Trowbridge was indeed a lawyer. A prominent one. Before Grayson could dig any deeper, Gigi returned his message.
Grayson opened it and stared at the screen. She’d sent him… a picture of a cat? A fat orange cat lying on its back with its paws on its face. Chunky lettering on the bottom of the picture spelled out WHO DIS?
Grayson typed back a single word: his first name.
Still going with that, huh? came Gigi’s reply. Before he could start typing again, a barrage of other messages arrived.
@OMGiGi: Ask me about my master plan, “Grayson.”
@OMGiGi: On second thought, I’ll tell you in person.
@OMGiGi: You are coming over, right?
@OMGiGi: My dad would want you to.
Grayson focused on the fact that she had extended the invitation, not on her reference to their father. Before he could accept, she sent a picture of another cat: white, fluffy, yowling.
@OMGiGi: This cat wants you to come over.
@OMGiGi: Fair warning: I have an unlimited supply of cats.
Grayson snorted. I hope you are referring to pictures of cats, he typed back.
@OMGiGi: Perhaps! Perhaps not. Come over and find out.
Grayson felt a jab of guilt, as Xander’s warning came back to him. You’re going to have to lie to her. Sabotage her. Gain her trust and betray her. Gigi’s trust really didn’t seem difficult to gain. Grayson halfway wanted to sit her down and impress upon her that she needed to be more careful.
She never should have gotten into a car with him.
She shouldn’t be inviting him over now.
But the most Grayson could allow himself was two messages, sent in quick succession. Two warnings.
@NonErrata575: You are far too trusting.
@NonErrata575: I have my own reasons for looking for your father.
@OMGiGi: That sounds nefarious! But I don’t care! All that matters is that you’re looking.
Grayson stared at the screen, a muscle in his jaw tensing. It was to his advantage for Gigi to believe they wanted the same thing. It shouldn’t have hurt. You shouldn’t believe in me, he thought, and then, on the off chance that she found nefarious males a little too intriguing, he sent another message for good measure.
@NonErrata575: You should know that I have a girlfriend.
There. That lie should ensure that Gigi Grayson didn’t start to get any unfortunate ideas about the dark and mysterious stranger willing to join her on this search.
In response, Grayson received thirteen pictures of cats.
@OMGigi: By the way, do you want to be Sherlock or Watson?
CHAPTER 18
GRAYSON
Grayson pulled the Ferrari past the open gate onto the long drive leading up to the Grayson mansion. The stark-white stucco design was almost obsessively symmetrical, the terra-cotta tiles on the roof matched exactly to the clay-red bricks that lined the drive.
Grayson slowed as he passed an enormous fountain. He clocked the height to which it sprayed and the bronze sculptures rising out of the water: an eagle and a swan. Stepping out of the Ferrari, Grayson found himself thinking about Sheffield Grayson—and the one and only time they’d met. I’ve built three different companies from the ground up, the man had declared. You don’t achieve what I have achieved without an eye to potential eventualities. Potential risks.
That was what Grayson had been to his father—all that he had been. A risk.
“So I’ve been thinking!” Gigi popped out from behind a palm tree like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You asked about Mr. Trowbridge, right? And you know how I called him when I got arrested and he did pretty much nothing—like, he didn’t even tell my mom?”
Gigi’s tone and the speed with which she talked simultaneously made everything sound like a question and left absolutely no time for a response. “What if he knows about the safe-deposit box? What if he has record of the name my dad used to open it?”
Grayson was certain that Trowbridge had, in fact, done something when Gigi was taken into police custody, because she hadn’t actually been arrested. But right now, he focused on pushing the conversation in another direction. “If your father indeed had a safe-deposit box under a fake name, what makes you think Trowbridge would know that name?”
“I don’t know.” Gigi issued the words like they were a dismissal of Grayson’s query, rather than an admission that she hadn’t thought this through. “My dad was obviously taking precautions.” Gigi lowered her voice. “Maybe it has something to do with the guys in the suits.”
Only show surprise if it’s to your advantage to do so. “What guys in suits?”
“Who’s to say?” Gigi gave an adorable little shrug. “I only saw them once when they came to talk to my mom. I was supposed to be in school, but I’m a firm believer in unschooling and also I had cramps, so…” Another shrug.
“Men in suits came to your home?” Grayson pushed her to focus. “And spoke with your mother.”
“After they left, I heard her crying. I told Savannah, and she said it was probably nothing, but aliens could land on top of the portico and Savannah would still tell me that it was nothing.”
There were a limited number of possibilities for the scenario that Gigi had described with the “men in suits”—none of them good. Note to self, Grayson thought, fire Zabrowski.
“And if aliens did land on the portico,” Gigi continued buoyantly, “do you know who the Grayson family would call? Mr. Trowbridge. So I say we get up close and personal with his files. If we find the name, boom! We go back to the bank and finagle our way into that box. And don’t tell me we can’t because I’m pretty sure you can.”
Steal her key. Subvert her search for the name.
“Assume everything goes according to this plan of yours,” Grayson instructed. “You intend to go back to the bank where you were very recently arrested?” He used a tone designed to make her squirm, but she was, apparently, immune.