Page 89 of Whiskey Lies

“Want me to come?” Carter offers.

“Nah, I need you here. See if you can find out if Dad’s behind any of this. Or Hanson. I swear it’s one of them.”

“Speaking of Hanson…what’s going on with him and your married friend?”

Shooting daggers at my brother, I grit out, “She’s getting a divorce. Nothing is going on with her and Hanson.”

Carter chuckles and shakes his head. “You are so easy to rile up…I take it you haven’t seen the latest article then.”

I hear the growl come from my throat as I turn to the computer, my temperature rising as I think about the attention that Grace so clearly doesn’t want. I will fucking kill someone if anyone got pictures of her last night. God, what was I thinking stripping her naked in public? Fuck. “What article?” I grunt as I type in my name.

“The one that cited inside sources saying that Grace and Hanson are moving in together.” The relief I should feel at knowing I’m not about to pull up a naked picture of Grace doesn’t come.

Why the fuck does the media have to be so focused on her dating Hanson? And why hasn’t he killed the story yet? And why hasn’t she?

“If there’s nothing else…” I say, looking up at my brother, not wanting to have an audience for my meltdown.

He laughs again. “Message received. Enjoy your trip, Cash. I’ll see you when you get back.”

It’s almost eight when I’m able to leave my office. I’m agitated, wound up, and anxious to see Grace. She’d canceled our lunch, and despite the fact that I wanted to just show up at her office and bring her lunch, I had stuff that I had to deal with before leaving for Nashville tomorrow. But I’m not leaving without seeing her and figuring out how we are dealing with this Hanson situation. Frank was supposed to pick her up and bring her to my office after work, but she never texted him like I told her to.

When I glance at my phone again and find no messages, my skin heats.

Lifting the phone to my ear, I listen to it ring. After three rings, she picks up. “Hey Cash, sorry—”

I cut her off. “Where are you?”

“Uh, I’m at my apartment. I’m going to have to reschedule.”

“Address?”

“Cash, no, another night.”

My patience wanes and I snap, “Give me your address, Grace.”

Her voice sounds resigned when she finally replies, giving me the requested information. It’s selfish that I don’t put any thought into why she canceled, only focusing on my need to be with her. “Open the door when I get there, Grace. I’ll be there soon.” I hang up before she replies, giving her no opportunity to decline.

Pulling up in front of Grace’s address, I’m shocked to find that she lives in a brownstone in a fairly well-to-do area. I got the impression that Grace had a small apartment that she stayed in when she was in the city. Perhaps I underestimated the amount of money a matchmaker made.

Or maybe her husband bought it.

The thought burns in my mind.

What does he do? Did they buy this together?

I find myself going down a rabbit hole of doubt that will do neither Grace nor I any favors. It’s what Cat had been harping upon—the fact that she had this whole life planned with someone else, the fact that she felt so strongly about someone to agree to marry him—that bothers me.

Will I be okay knowing that she felt that for someone else? I’ve never been a romantic person who believes in soulmates or your one special person, but somehow I find myself wishing I could have had that with Grace. Even if we can somehow make this work, I’ll never be the only person she walked down the aisle toward. Does that matter?

“Want me to wait?” Frank asks, likely sensing my nerves as I stare up at Grace’s home.

“No. I’ll be a while. If I need to get home I can call a cab.”

Frank spins around in his seat and stares at me. “I’ll be around if you need me,” he says, and I know he means it as my best friend, not as an act of obligation. I really fucking appreciate the sentiment.

I get out of the car and take the steps two at a time before hitting the buzzer. I’m a little less overwhelmed when I see that the brownstone is separated into condos. She doesn’t own the entire building, just a floor. And maybe she doesn’t own it at all. Maybe this is where she came after the divorce. An apartment she escaped to. The idea settles much easier in my throat as I wait for her to buzz me in. After a few seconds, I hear the lock click and assume Grace is letting me up.

When I get to her door, it feels cold. There’s no wreath on the outside as I would expect from someone like her. No indication whatsoever that a woman as warm as Grace lives here.

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