Page 81 of Scoring Grey

Iverson: It’s Pandora’s box. We can talk tonight when you get home, but you were right. There is a money trail. Mom wrote two checks to Lucas Balfour for substantial sums. One the year after you were born. The second was the year Adler was born.

My hands shake as I rack my brain, trying to pull together everything we uncovered over the past few weeks and what I know about my family’s past, but nothing makes any sense. Why would my mother give Lucas anything, but specifically the year after I was born? Sherry told me that Virginia’s dream was for Cal and me to marry. Was my mom seeing to it that it didn’t happen? Why would she do that?

Iverson: Mom and Virginia were best friends. She helped Virginia draw up the terms of Cal’s trust, which is set to pay out next month on Cal’s birthday. Oh yeah, and her name is listed as the successor executor.

Time was always running out. Everything that’s happening now was always going to happen, but why? I look toward the stage and the man I love, but my eyes and mind can’t focus. Nothing makes sense. My mother… Cal’s mother… the trust. What am I not seeing? That’s when Lucas’s words from all those years ago come back to haunt me.

“Dear, are you all right? You look like you’re going to be sick,” Sherry says beside me.

All this time, I thought the key to my future was untangling the web of secrets that cursed our pasts. What I didn’t account for is no matter how careful you are, secrets and lies kill relationships. You can run from them, but you can’t outrun them. In the end, they’ll always catch up with you. My heart beats out of sync as my ears begin to ring, and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.

“I have to get out of here.”

23

CALLUM

“And the next piece is a unique, one-of-a-kind painting submitted by Eloise Beck,” the MC of the gala calls the next item for auction to the stage.

“Christ. I should have reviewed the script before tonight,” I mutter to myself as I carry Eloise’s painting onto the stage.

Mr. Bronson isn’t a bad guy, but sometimes he does stuff that makes you question his motives. The man isn’t opposed to a bit of exploitation if it means he makes a buck. Beck is not her surname. She has never used the name Beck. Her father’s name is Grey. I realize the Beck name makes this piece more enticing, but Eloise has gone out of her way to distance herself from the Beck legacy. Not to mention, this painting is coming home with me regardless. Tipper’s name swap only means I’ll be forking up more money to take it home.

After setting the piece on the easel, my eyes naturally float to Eloise, excited to see her reaction when her painting is revealed, but when my eyes settle on her, I don’t see nerves or trepidation. I see distress. She looks like she’s about to break down. What the hell? That’s when I notice Sherry has helped herself to my vacated seat. Shit. This is not happening. Tonight is not going at all like I had planned. I knew I shouldn’t have left Eloise with her. It ran the risk of her hearing things. I wasn’t hiding things from her, per se. It was more like I was waiting for the best time to tell her, and that hadn’t quite come around yet.

I attempt to will her eyes to focus on me, but she’s not seeing me. She’s seeing through me, and I can’t get off this stage quick enough. My hands remove the cloth from the painting with the MC’s prompt and two things happen. The crowd oohs and aahs, and my girl bolts. Fuck. I try to exit the stage as calmly as possible so as not to cause a scene, but the second I’m off the stage, my feet break into a sprint as sheer panic sets in. This isn’t happening. She’s not leaving me.

“Eloise!” I call after her as she hastily makes her way toward the valet stand. She stops but doesn’t turn around. “What are you doing?” I ask as I catch up to her.

“I needed some air.”

“Really?” I pant. “Because it looks like you were running.”

“That’s because I was.”

She still doesn’t turn around, which doesn’t work for me, so I step in front of her. When I look at her, she doesn’t return my gaze. Instead, she looks anywhere but at me. What the actual fuck? Maybe I had it wrong. Maybe Sherry didn’t say anything because out of all the reactions I saw playing out when I told her about our past, this isn’t one of them.

“Are you running from me?”

“Yes… no… I don’t know.” She runs her hands through her hair.

“You promised!” I step toward her. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me. You swore it.”

She takes a step back. “Yeah, well, promises are made to be broken.”

“Are you serious right now?” I demand, my tone unable to hide the outrage building inside. “What the hell is going on, Eloise? We were fine?—”

“Were we?” she booms. Her eyes finally focus on mine, and I see hurt. “You knew. All this time, you knew who I was. From day one, you lied to me.” She throws her arms wide. “All we’ve done is lie to each other. We stood back there tonight and professed that there were no more secrets between us, but Blair was right… there’re always secrets.”

“Did Sherry say something? Is that what this is about?” I reach for her hand. “I can explain?—”

She pulls out of my hold. “It doesn’t matter anymore. None of this matters. I have to get out of here.” She stomps off toward the valet and I follow hot on her heels.

“I’m coming with you.”

“You should stay.”

“The fuck if I’m staying anywhere you’re not. History is not repeating itself. I didn’t chase you before. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

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