Page 42 of Scarlett and the Big Bad Billionaire
Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught me staring.
“Whatcha looking at?” he teased.
“That sculpture there… in the center of the room,” I lied. “What is it?”
“That’s a Modigliani. Very few of his pieces are in private ownership today. Most can only be seen in museums.”
“You know a lot about art,” I begrudgingly admitted.
Clearly, Gray was the right person to help Vivi find new homes for her prized sculptures and paintings, and he seemed to be taking the job very seriously.
He shrugged. “I know a bit. It’s a hobby.”
“Seems like more than a hobby. Vivi told me you designed your tattoos and those of your squad members,” I said. “Why’d you go into security when you left the SEAL teams? Why not become a tattoo artist?”
He laughed as if I’d just told a joke.
“I’m being serious. You’re really, really good. You could maybe even make a living with your art.”
Gray rolled his lips in then out and gave me a half-smile. “Thanks. As for why I haven’t turned it into a full-time gig, first of all… needles.”
He faked a silly, dramatic shudder. “And second, I still wanted to help people. I couldn’t be a SEAL anymore, but as a home security specialist, I can help make the world a safer place on a small-scale individual level. It’s another way of protecting people. Plus, I get to work with my former squad members. Not sure if you remember Wilder? He introduced himself as Wildman the night you met him. He’s the one who started Viridian.”
“I remember him.” A man like Wilder was impossible to forget. “Super-tall, dark-haired athletic guy, right?”
Gray’s brows pulled together in a disgruntled looking V. “Right. He started the company so we could all keep working together as civilians.”
“That’s cool. So… youallretired from the teams then. All at once?”
Gray’s furrowed brow creased more deeply. “Pretty much.”
“Why?”
While he’d been open and animated discussing Vivi’s art collection, he completely shut down. “It’s a long, unpleasant story. I should get back to work.”
His stony face and cold tone of voice caused me to flinch.
It reminded me of my father when he’d been home between deployments, shutting me out, squashing any kind of close connection that might have attempted to blossom between us, like a boot crushing Spring violets underfoot.
“Fine,” I said and went back to my own task of researching non-profits Vivi might want to make endowments to.
Considering her love of art, I was focused on finding some programs that utilized art as therapy for trauma survivors or people with anxiety and depression or opened new doors for disadvantaged kids.
A few minutes later, Gray left the room, muttering a few terse words about something he had to do tonight.
Well, okay then.Clearly, I’d hit on a sore spot when I’d asked about him leaving his service as a SEAL team member.
Now, of course, I was curious. It occurred to me I might be able to get some answers about his past by typing his name into the search engine I’d been using.
Seconds after I did, the screen filled with photos and news articles about an ugly and sensational trial involving Gray and Wilder and the other platoon members I’d known only by their nicknames.
Now his reticence to discuss it made more sense. Apparently, all the guys on the squad had testified against their commander about some incident that had taken place in Iraq several years ago.
From the account of events, it seemed like the SEAL team members had done the right thing. Loyalty was important, but you couldn’t stand by and let an atrocity like that one go unpunished. I mean, the US forces were supposed to be the good guys, right?
The only way that could remain true was to weed out the bad apples and make sure they didn’t get a chance to rot the whole barrel.
None of the guys had spoken to the media, but whatever they’d said in their testimony must have been pretty damning. The platoon leader had been convicted.
