Page 14 of Blackmail of a Billionaire

Grant sipped the drink, tilting back in his chair to eye the lightning as it streaked across the sky. “Well, then you haven’t heard the latest developments. Pour yourself a drink and sit down. Let me enlighten you about the latest Grant Harrington debacle.”

Worthington poured himself a brandy and sank into one of the chairs across from the desk. “Please, sir. I’m all ears.”

Grant heaved a sigh as he spun and leaned against the desk. “I assume you haven’t heard any of the drama.”

“I heard there was a…snafu with your lunch with Mrs. Harrington.”

Grant groaned as he sank his head into his hands. “Oh, Worthington, snafu is hardly the word.”

After another sip of his drink, he dove into the story. “And that’s the minute Julia walked in.”

“How unlucky, though I imagine a simple explanation may suffice.”

Grant slid his eyes closed as thunder rumbled overhead, echoing the chaos in his mind. “I hoped so. Along with a little…present.” He waved the jewelry box in the air.

Worthington tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“She rejected me. Flat out.”

“Did she?”

Grant narrowed his eyes at Worthington as he traced the edge of his glass. “Yes, Worthington, she did. Closed off completely. Lunch was like a choreographed show. She said the right things, she smiled when she should have, but it was so…flat. So unlike her.”

Worthington sipped his drink, allowing Grant to continue. “I thought we had a connection, but…”

“But?”

Grant tossed the velvet box containing the bracelet on the desk. “I was wrong.”

“That’s not like you. Grant Harrington is quite an excellent judge of character.”

“Apparently not when it comes to Julia Stanton.”

“Harrington,” Worthington corrected.

Grant snapped his gaze up at the man. “What?”

“Julia Stanton Harrington. She is married to you.”

The words crushed him more than he realized. She’d married him–for five million dollars. “Yes, she is. But that had nothing to do with emotion or connection. It had to do with money. Probably like all my relationships.”

Worthington polished off the brandy, letting it roll across his tongue before he answered. “I disagree. I think the newest Mrs. Harrington is far less motivated by the money than you are implying.”

Grant sipped his bourbon. “I don’t know how you figure that.”

Worthington wrapped his fingers around the empty glass. “You said she changed after your…incident with Ms. Moreau. That she fled.”

Grant stared into space as the incident replayed in his head, her racing from him and cutting words still striking at him. “With smoke coming out of her heels.”

“Does that not imply that the incident disturbed her? If she had no emotional connection, she would not have left.”

“But I explained.” He lifted the velvet box. “I apologized. It made things worse. She got colder. I could understand her being upset, but saying I owed her nothing and she wanted nothing from me…that seems clear.”

Worthington rose, his eyes trained on the box. “The fact that she rejected your apology when it came tied to a gift only lends more to the notion that she doesn’t want money from you.”

He wiggled his eyebrows as he strode toward the door.

“Then what does she want?” Grant called after him.

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