Worth the Risk

  I fight my grin as if I don’t agree with her, when she’s actually goddamn brilliant. So why do I hesitate? Maybe because I don’t want to reinforce Grayson’s belief that I’m a manipulative bitch. This one stunt confirmed everything I’ve tried to tell him I’m not.

  But since when do I care what other people think of me?

  Since I need him in order to be successful at my job in Rissa’s eyes. The same Rissa who is trying to help, but who might just have undermined me, nonetheless.

  Grayson’s eyes flash in my mind. The disdain. The distrust. The intensity.

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “Do you still think he’s the one who can make a face for this contest?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Then don’t question the means, just worry about what’s going to happen when he says yes.”

  “Dare I ask what else you have up your sleeve?”

  “It’s hot out today. I’m wearing a tank top, so how could anything be up my sleeve?”

  “Rissa . . .” I laugh.

  “Let’s just say that every hero needs a celebration. Get your party dress ready.”

  “Sidney Thorton, how may I help you?”

  “This has got to stop.”

  “Excuse me? Who is this?” I draw eyes from some of the staff as I step into the conference room and shut the door behind me. They’re still leery of me, and I’m sure my answering the phone with the panicked annoyance like I just did isn’t going to do me any favors.

  “The man you’re putting articles in the newspaper about to convince him to participate in your silly contest.” Irritation mixed with impatience rakes through his voice.

  “It’s hard to catch your attention. Should I gather it’s working now?” I bite the bullet and take ownership of Rissa’s tactics with little guilt. He hadn’t returned a single one of my calls, texts, or emails, and then Rissa plants a story, and voila, he calls. I’ll take progress any way I can at this point, even if it’s underhanded and makes me feel a tad slimy.

  His sigh is heavy. “It worked the first time. There was no need to do today’s article as well.”

  Today’s article? There’s another one? What am I missing? I scramble to log into my laptop, but it has to power up. “What did I do now?”

  “Don’t be coy.”

  Outside the conference room glass, Rissa is holding her fist to her mouth and fighting back a laugh. Dear God, I’m scared to know what she did this time.

  “I’m not. I’m just simply trying to do my job.”

  “The innocent thing doesn’t work for you any more than the damsel-in-distress thing did. And by the way, I fell for it. For your shaking knees and trembling hands and blatant lies that this wasn’t a setup . . . so just stop while you’re ahead. Stop denying. I know you’re the one behind these anonymous articles. I know you’re the one funding the goddamn party.”

  “What party?” I cough and squeeze my eyes closed, praying that she did not do what I think she did.

  “The one you set up at Hooligan’s to thank me for saving you.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  “Save it, Princess. I’ve already tried to get out of it, but this damn town has caught wind of it, and there’s no way they’re letting me bow out. If I have to suffer through the damn thing, then so do you.”

  The call ends, and I lean back against the wall as Rissa peeks her head through the doorway with a cat-ate-the-canary grin on her face.

  “A party? Are you kidding me?”

  “No one said we had to play fair.” She gives me a wink. “I’ve got the man where you want him. Now it’s your turn to close the deal.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing this when you made it clear that it was my job to—”

  “Part of my job is to teach you how to do things. How to check those boxes. I wouldn’t be a good boss if I didn’t.” She shrugs. “And because after seeing Braden’s new shots, it isn’t fair to all of the other men left for him not to have any competition. Can you say washboard and hung?”

  “Jesus.” I choke over the word and the lift of her eyebrows. “Do you have no shame?”

  “None, but you knew that already.” She looks at her watch abruptly. “Look at the time, I have to go pick up my kids. It’s Friday fun day at my house. See you at the pub tomorrow at seven o’clock.”

  I stare after her as she walks out and I realize I thoroughly underestimated her.

  Thank God she’s on my side.

  “Can I have your attention, please?”

  A man climbs onto the bar top and spreads his arms wide, and just in case I had any doubts about how genetically gifted Grayson was, this man commanding the bar’s attention just wiped them away. He has brown hair, aqua-colored eyes that are almost clear, and a wedding ring on that left hand that glints against the lights. He’s definitely related to Grayson—someway, somehow—and my money is on him being his brother.

  Chants of “Grady! Grady! Grady!” fill the room as he waves his hands to hush everyone. It feels like half of Sunnyville is here to celebrate Grayson and his heroic “rescue” of me. Either that or they’ll take any little reason to celebrate.

  Rissa is on one side of me, Cathy on the other, and in the thirty minutes since I’ve been here, I haven’t been able to move much farther into the room because it is definitely at maximum capacity. Regardless, I feel out of place in my designer clothes in this working-class bar. People glance at me sideways, trying to figure out why I look familiar, but after ten years, memories fade and looks change, so they just can’t quite place me anymore.

  It’s probably for the better. But at the same time, there’s something about the camaraderie among the citizens that is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Neighbors who have known each other since preschool tap the necks of their bottles together. People hug each other as if they are long lost relatives, when in reality, it’s probably only been a week or two since they last saw each other.

  It’s a fascinating dynamic, and as I stand here and take it all in while the crowd quiets, I realize that Rissa gets this. Rissa understood that this dynamic was all it was going to take to force Grayson to show up.

  “In case some of you didn’t know, my brother, Grayson Malone, has fallen into the hero status as of late.” Hoots and hollers sound off around the bar. I glance over to Rissa, whose smile is smug and brown eyes are alive with mischief, and I shake my head. “Ladies, it seems that if you need saving—or maybe even a little mouth-to-mouth—or to be taken to new heights in his mile-high club”—Grady grins as the crowd shouts another round of comments—“he’s your man.”

  “Save me! I need some mouth-to-mouth,” a woman shouts, and laughter rings out in response.

  “I hear there’s a long line, Linda, but Gray’s an equal opportunity kind of guy,” Grady says. Someone tosses something at him, and he catches it. “Not only is my brother going around saving damsels in distress—keep the fainting to a minimum, ladies—he has also been named one of Modern Family’s top twenty hottest dads!”

  The crowd erupts in whistles and catcalls as Grady shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and Rissa’s smile turns knowing. Yeah, she has something else up her sleeve—I know it.

  Grady takes a sip of the beer in his hand and then brings his finger to his lips to quiet the crowd again. “But we aren’t satisfied with him just being in the top twenty, are we?” Disapproving noises reverberate through the crowd, and from where we stand in the back of the bar, there is what looks like an orchestrated shaking of heads in disagreement. “If anyone deserves to be voted to the top, it’s my brother—the hero.” He laughs out the word and shakes his head like this is all a joke. Because it is. I mean, a hero’s party for nothing? “When voting goes live this coming Wednesday, we’re going to vote him into the number one spot, aren’t we?”

  The place goes crazy, and the shouts vibrate in my chest. It’s as if I’m watching a pep rally for the championship game or something.
>
  “Grayson. Grayson. Grayson.” His name rumbles, each syllable punctuated by a clapping of hands.

  “Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the hero himself, my brother, Grayson Malone!”

  If I thought the noise was deafening before, I was wrong, because it almost doubles in volume. A cacophony of cheers and whistles sound off as heads turn to where Grayson must be standing.

  I edge up on my tiptoes, every part of me wanting to see him.

  Every part of me wanting to be seen by him.

  I see a hand rise. I see Grady trying to coax him to join him on the bar. Then the chants of “speech” begin.

  With Grayson’s affinity for downplaying his hero status, I guarantee he wants to kill me about now.

  It’s so very silly that, as I see a hand clasp on to Grayson’s and help to pull him up onto the bar, I suck in my breath.

  He’s breathtaking. It’s sad that’s my first thought when he comes into view. He has on a pair of dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt, and his hair is styled in a messy disarray, which is similar to his brother’s. His cheeks are flushed pink, and that only adds to his appeal. Clearly, he is not a fan of this attention.

  He smiles as he shakes his head at the ruckus. “This really is ridiculous.” He looks around, and somehow his eyes lock on to mine. They hold, and then that grin stalls momentarily before widening as he shakes his head. “I’m far from a hero. I just did what any of you would have done, but it seems someone in particular wants to make a big show of this. And that one person, I’d love to thank for all of this unwanted attention.” He points in my direction. “Ms. Sidney Thorton, ladies and gents.”

  The people turn their attention my way, and a roar goes through the room as I quietly curse him and wish I could blend in with the wall at my back. “If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have this chance to all get together, drink a few beers, and have a good time—so, do me a favor,” he says as his mischievous smile grows wider and his eyes spark with trouble, “make sure you give her a hug tonight and welcome her back to Sunnyville. Or a shot will do. That’s the least you can do to help me thank her.”

  The smug bastard.

  It’s the only thought I can process before hands start patting me on the back as people close in around me. Nice people. Kind people. Oblivious people who have no idea just how unnerving it is for me to have them all be so close.

  I lose sight of Grayson, but he isn’t far from my mind as I curse him at length under my breath for his shitty little retaliation.

  His underhanded way of telling me I’m a snob. That I think I’m too good to shake hands with—or give hugs to—the blue-collared people who make up this town.

  I look for Rissa, hoping she’ll save me. She’s standing just outside the circle of people who look partially familiar, taking a sip of her margarita on the rocks as if she’s a regular here when she isn’t.

  Damn, she’s good.

  “Well, shit, look at that. Uptown Sidney is settling in just fine with us little people.”

  My immediate response is to defend her. To tell Grant to lay off her and protect her as if she were a friend.

  What the fuck’s my problem? I’m in this damn predicament because of her and her influence and I’m going to help her?

  Not a chance in hell.

  I look to where she’s standing, her back against the wall, a drink in her hand. Her heels are high, her skirt is fitted, and goddamn those legs of hers call my eyes every chance they get. The curve of her calves and the hint of her cleavage in the V of her shirt are both subtle but so in my face it’s as if she’s calling to me. My phone has been turned off, battery removed, number disconnected.

  And, yet, it still rings.

  “That’s Sidney Thorton?” Grady chimes in, following the question with a low whistle.

  “Yep.” I tip the bottle of beer to my lips without looking back at her.

  “Well, damn. She’s all grown up,” Grady says it with a swear. Maybe I should remind him of his wife, who would likely have some creative payback for him checking out someone else.

  Not that I can blame him. I’ve been looking her way a lot more than I want to admit. Especially with Grant’s words from the other day rattling around in my mind. The “she’s nothing like Claire,” and the “even if I participate, I’m the one who has something to gain, not her.”

  I still don’t buy it.

  She’s standing there just like everyone else, and yet, there is this air about her that sets her apart. The way she holds her head high, her back straight, her eyes sharp with a distrust that makes no sense. Then someone comes up to give her a hug, and I laugh, knowing how much she probably wants to fucking kill me.

  Turnabout’s fair play, sweetheart.

  I expect her to frown, to be rude and refuse the greeting, but then she smiles. She smiles, and fuck if I can’t take my eyes off her as her expression turns genuine, her laugh rings out, and the people around her hang on her every word. It’s hard to despise someone when, with each look, with each drink, you want to walk across the room and go talk to them.

  An elbow hits my arm and jerks my attention from her. “You’re turning her down, why?” Grady asks as he looks over to his wife and shakes his head before looking back at me.

  “You make it sound as if she asked me out on a date and I said no.” I laugh and take a sip of who knows what number beer I’ve had. “She asked me to be in a contest, not have a night of hot sex with her. That’s all.”

  Hot sex. With Sidney?

  I could probably compartmentalize my feelings for a bit and take that on.

  Jesus. What am I thinking? Too much beer. Too much bullshit. Too much of a buzz to think straight.

  “If she were to ask you out, would you go?” Dylan asks, and I’m already shaking my head no. Grady’s wife should know better.

  Asking someone out and having sex with someone are two completely different roads.

  “She hasn’t asked.”

  “What about a night of hot sex, then?”

  Damn it.

  “Dylan,” I warn.

  “That isn’t a no.” She throws her hands up and laughs as Grady rests an arm over her shoulders, pulls her in closer, and presses a kiss to her temple.

  “No,” I murmur.

  “That’s such crap,” Grant throws in. “Like utter bullshit. Since when would you say no to that?” He tips his beer in Sidney’s direction and lifts his eyebrows.

  I wouldn’t. That’s the plain and simple answer.

  “I’ve got a hundred on him sleeping with her,” Grady says to Grant.

  “Not taking that bet because I’d lose in a heartbeat.” They high five across the table.

  Bastards.

  “She’s too much like Claire.” Another soft response, more to myself than to them. Déjà vu takes me back to another place, another time when I was young and stupid and really thought it didn’t matter where you came from or what you did so long as you were in love.

  I’ve learned.

  “Again, I call bullshit.” Grady snorts.

  “The type who’ll reel you in with her looks . . .” I glance her way when her laugh sounds off in perfect timing with my comment. She’s halfway across the bar, but fuck if I can’t hear her as if she were standing right next to me. “Then leave you high and dry because she’s so damn selfish she doesn’t think of anyone but herself.”

  And goddamn it if pretty boy Vince Garda didn’t just walk up to her and hand her a drink. She smiles, but it’s the look on his face—the one that says he’s a man determined to leave here with her tonight—that has me gritting my teeth and slipping up on what I just said.

  “Whoa. Wait.” Grant throws his arms out in front of him animatedly as his wife, Emerson, tilts her head back and laughs. “Hold up. I thought we were talking about you getting laid. One night. Maybe a few nights—”

  “High and dry means you want more than a few nights with her,” Grady finishes for him. I hat
e when my brothers are in perfect sync like this—reading each other’s minds and finishing each other’s thoughts. I hate it exponentially more when it’s aimed at picking on me. “And honestly, bro, with her, I think you’d prefer low and wet, if you get my drift?”

  “Christ,” I swear as I stand from my seat and the room spins slightly. “You two are a bunch of little old ladies.”

  “Leave him alone,” Dylan pipes in. “It isn’t his fault the woman going to such great lengths to get him to participate in her contest is drop-fucking-dead gorgeous with legs for days and boobs I’d kill to have.”

  “I, for one, like your boobs and legs,” Grady says before kissing her soundly. I roll my eyes.

  “You two are sickening. Both sets of you. Christ, can’t a guy just drink in peace without having to watch you make googly eyes at each other?”

  “We only make googly eyes because we know we’re getting laid when we get home tonight.” Grady glances in Sidney’s direction and then looks back to me. “The question is, are you? Because you’re sitting here making googly eyes at her.”

  I point to the shot of tequila next to my beer and make a show of picking it up and downing it in one fell swoop.

  “Ah, yes. You want to drink in peace,” Grant says and laughs. “Go right ahead and keep drinking in peace because that woman over there manipulated you into a corner that I kind of think you enjoy being shoved into.”

  I glare at Grant and his snarky smile.

  “I can think of where else he wants her to shove him,” Emerson delivers with a look of complete innocence that has me breaking a smile and laughing.

  “Christ, Em.”

  She shrugs. “Well, it’s true, right? Hell, if I were a man, I’d want her. Looks like someone may beat you to it, though.” She nods toward Sidney, and we all turn to find that Vince’s hand is on Sidney’s arm. My fist clenches at the sight. My jaw ticks. Jealousy I don’t want to feel rages.

  The table falls silent, but I don’t notice until I turn my attention back to the four pairs of knowing eyes staring back at me. “I change my bet. A hundred bucks says Gray leaves here tonight with her and gets laid,” Grady says as he slowly slides a hundred-dollar bill across the table as if I can’t see it.