Page 35 of Charming Deception

“By all means, show him in.”

She does, then shuts the door behind him.

Graysen strides into the middle of my office and frowns as he looks around. He hasn’t been here in a while; usually, we all go to him. He lives in the house that we all grew up in, which still feels like home base to the rest of us. Or at least he did before Granddad died and he moved into his suite at the resort to oversee its completion to an obsessive-compulsive degree.

Besides that, Graysen Vance is notoriously “too busy” for such things as hanging out with other humans, even ones he’s related to.

His thick, dark-brown hair is compulsively neat, his jaw set, and the ability to smile, if he ever had one, seems to have been decommissioned due to its irrelevance. He wears a dark suit and a stiff-collared shirt with a silk tie. As he does every day of his life.

I like to picture Graysen as a baby, in a diaper and tie, holding a briefcase. It makes it easier to deal with him when he gets all holier-than about my life choices.

Which he’s definitely about to do.

“Day forty-four,” he remarks, his storm-cloud-gray eyes meeting mine.

“This is how you greet me now?”

“That’s what it is. Day forty-four of the most important challenge of your life. Or is it?”

“Get to the point, Graysen. You can’t pull off coy. You just look constipated.”

He frowns deeper, which just makes him look more constipated. “Let’s start here. As of last night, there are photos all over the internet of you and Geneviève Blaise.”

“Was that a question?”

“Does it need to be?”

“They’re paparazzi photos, Gray.”

“You’re holding hands, Jamie.”

I stretch back in my chair. “How new are you to this game?”

“You sound like Granddad,” he notes, and there’s some affection in it. “You’re way more like him than you know. Grandma always said so.”

“So?” Seriously, the last thing I want to chat about right now is the man responsible for this actual fucking “game” we’ve been forced to play. “Don’t believe everything you think you see.”

“I will when I see it with my own eyes.”

“Jesus, you’re getting paranoid. You’re sounding more like Mom every day.” It’s not a compliment, and he knows it.

He makes a grumbly noise. “So you aren’t fucking Geneviève?”

I hate to admit it, because it’s really not his business or the wide world’s. But I won’t lie to him. “I was.”

He sighs.

“But not during the challenge. That photo is months old. Someone held it back, timed this little gossip frenzy to coincide with her movie opening. PR knows the truth, and they’re on it.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that you’re no longer involved with her?”

“You’re supposed to believe a brother who’s never lied to you. I’m not the lying kind. I think we can agree that Harlan got all those genes.”

“The challenge is only part of the problem here. Geneviève is also one of our brand ambassadors,” he reminds me. “Which means it’s unethical.”

“My job is to oversee our brands, and the celebrities who endorse them, is it not? I don’t need you micromanaging me.”

“It’s not your job to fuck the celebrities in question. You know how many of our companies have a no-fraternization policy?”

---