in.”
“He has that effect on people.”
“Who is he?”
Charlotte smoothed hands over her black pencil skirt. “Nobody.”
Iris folded her arms. “Really? Well, Nobody has rattled your cage.”
“He has not.”
“Your lips are blue.”
She moistened her lips and offered a smile too brittle to be amiable. “Just go back to the party and enjoy your cake.”
Iris tapped a manicured finger on her forearm. “I think I’ll stay right here and make sure Nobody isn’t a problem.”
Charlotte did not want Iris to meet Grady. Past colliding with present promised disaster. But making an issue could require more explaining down the road. “Eat your cake, Iris. I’ll shout if I need you.”
Plucked brows knotted. “I don’t like it.”
“I know. Thanks. But go. Please.”
“Fine.”
Swallowing the tension in her throat, Charlotte crossed and opened the front door. Grady’s fist was poised in the air ready to knock again. For a moment, he stared at her, stunned into silence. She’d changed—a lot—since the long-ago night he’d put her on the Metro bus to Alexandria. His gaze moved over her, assessing and calculating, before a slow, dangerous smile curved thin lips. “Hello, Grace.”
Blood rushed to Charlotte’s head, making her temples pound. She’d not heard that name in eighteen years. “My name is Charlotte Wellington.”
“Yeah, I saw you on the television last night. Sounds like you tore it up at that trial yesterday. Got to say I was surprised to see you. I always figured you’d have left the area after all these years.”
Tension seared her nerves. “What do you want, Grady?”
If he noticed her unease, he didn’t seem to care as he glanced beyond her into the reception area. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? Looks mighty fancy inside.”
She shifted and blocked his view. “What do you want, Grady?”
His gaze thinned, the pretense of civility melting like ice on a scorching day. What emerged was the hard cold man who had been her stepfather. “You always could piss me off in no seconds flat.”
“Get to the point or leave.”
“I raised you to respect your elders better than that, didn’t I, Grace?”
“You tracked me down after all this time to issue a lesson in good manners? I find that a hard one to swallow.”
He slid gnarled hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaned forward. “Invite me in and make nice, or I swear everyone in this town will know you are not some fancy attorney but a lowlife carnie who did what she had to do to put pennies in her pocket.”
The scents of the carnival—tobacco, cotton candy, popcorn, and grease—wafted off him, and instantly she was transported back to a time when she’d lived her days in fear and want. Despite half a lifetime of creating Charlotte Wellington, Grady could smash her image with a few words.
“Come inside. But do not call me Grace.”
His smile flashed again, quick and razor-sharp. “Now that is more like it ... Ms. Wellington.”
Charlotte stood back and waited for him to enter her reception area. Past and present had merged, and eighteen years’ worth of fear, regrets, and dread came to fruition. “What do you want, Grady?”
He took his time surveying the room, taking in the oil landscape paintings, the Oriental rugs, the sleek mahogany receptionist desk and the gold-embossed sign that read Wellington and James.
“Mighty fancy, baby girl.” He sniffed and shook his head. “Mighty fancy.”
“Don’t call me baby girl.”
“You liked it when I called you that back in the day.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I never liked it, and if you haven’t noticed, back in the day is long gone.”
He shook his head and winked at her. “You can rewrite your past for all your fancy friends, but you and I both know the real story.”
Tension coiled in her belly. “What do you want, Grady?”
“Can’t I just come and see you, baby girl?”
Grady had entered her life when she was eight
“He has that effect on people.”
“Who is he?”
Charlotte smoothed hands over her black pencil skirt. “Nobody.”
Iris folded her arms. “Really? Well, Nobody has rattled your cage.”
“He has not.”
“Your lips are blue.”
She moistened her lips and offered a smile too brittle to be amiable. “Just go back to the party and enjoy your cake.”
Iris tapped a manicured finger on her forearm. “I think I’ll stay right here and make sure Nobody isn’t a problem.”
Charlotte did not want Iris to meet Grady. Past colliding with present promised disaster. But making an issue could require more explaining down the road. “Eat your cake, Iris. I’ll shout if I need you.”
Plucked brows knotted. “I don’t like it.”
“I know. Thanks. But go. Please.”
“Fine.”
Swallowing the tension in her throat, Charlotte crossed and opened the front door. Grady’s fist was poised in the air ready to knock again. For a moment, he stared at her, stunned into silence. She’d changed—a lot—since the long-ago night he’d put her on the Metro bus to Alexandria. His gaze moved over her, assessing and calculating, before a slow, dangerous smile curved thin lips. “Hello, Grace.”
Blood rushed to Charlotte’s head, making her temples pound. She’d not heard that name in eighteen years. “My name is Charlotte Wellington.”
“Yeah, I saw you on the television last night. Sounds like you tore it up at that trial yesterday. Got to say I was surprised to see you. I always figured you’d have left the area after all these years.”
Tension seared her nerves. “What do you want, Grady?”
If he noticed her unease, he didn’t seem to care as he glanced beyond her into the reception area. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? Looks mighty fancy inside.”
She shifted and blocked his view. “What do you want, Grady?”
His gaze thinned, the pretense of civility melting like ice on a scorching day. What emerged was the hard cold man who had been her stepfather. “You always could piss me off in no seconds flat.”
“Get to the point or leave.”
“I raised you to respect your elders better than that, didn’t I, Grace?”
“You tracked me down after all this time to issue a lesson in good manners? I find that a hard one to swallow.”
He slid gnarled hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaned forward. “Invite me in and make nice, or I swear everyone in this town will know you are not some fancy attorney but a lowlife carnie who did what she had to do to put pennies in her pocket.”
The scents of the carnival—tobacco, cotton candy, popcorn, and grease—wafted off him, and instantly she was transported back to a time when she’d lived her days in fear and want. Despite half a lifetime of creating Charlotte Wellington, Grady could smash her image with a few words.
“Come inside. But do not call me Grace.”
His smile flashed again, quick and razor-sharp. “Now that is more like it ... Ms. Wellington.”
Charlotte stood back and waited for him to enter her reception area. Past and present had merged, and eighteen years’ worth of fear, regrets, and dread came to fruition. “What do you want, Grady?”
He took his time surveying the room, taking in the oil landscape paintings, the Oriental rugs, the sleek mahogany receptionist desk and the gold-embossed sign that read Wellington and James.
“Mighty fancy, baby girl.” He sniffed and shook his head. “Mighty fancy.”
“Don’t call me baby girl.”
“You liked it when I called you that back in the day.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I never liked it, and if you haven’t noticed, back in the day is long gone.”
He shook his head and winked at her. “You can rewrite your past for all your fancy friends, but you and I both know the real story.”
Tension coiled in her belly. “What do you want, Grady?”
“Can’t I just come and see you, baby girl?”
Grady had entered her life when she was eight
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