A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2) Read online

  “Don’t be a dick?” He smiles and we both laugh.

  “I’d hoped that was implied, but yes, let’s spell that out, too, if we need to.”

  “Depending on what you read and who you ask, it’s probably necessary,” Greyson says.

  The smile leaves his face and there goes my heart. Again. Before I can say anything dumb, Scarlett says, “I should probably make a move or Mum is going to come in here and hunt me down. When you’re ready, slip in the back and keep to yourselves so they’ll notice you. It will look more genuine.” She gives Greyson an appraising look then says, “Undo another button on your shirt. This isn’t a job interview.”

  Greyson raises an eyebrow, but he does it. “Better? Any more orders?”

  Scarlett points to a stool next to me. “Sit. Wait another ten minutes or so. Do you want some beef?”

  She doesn’t wait for Greyson to answer, but puts some beef and green beans onto a plate, pops it in the microwave for a minute, and then places the plate and cutlery on the counter. Then she nods like we’ve been talking all along and says, “Here you are. I think you’ll be in the clear once you finish. I’ll go prime the room.”

  Scarlett floats out of the room and Greyson picks up his fork, asking, “What does she mean by prime the room?”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s better not to ask.” I need to keep Greyson talking so I have something to focus on besides the fact we’re about to walk into a room full of my extended family and act like a couple. Which will involve us touching. Maybe even kissing. Christ on a bike. I swallow hard and say, “So how do you want to do this?”

  Greyson shrugs. “Just do what comes naturally, sweetheart. As long as we maintain the boundaries we’ve discussed, I say we wing it.”

  “Wing it?”

  “You know, take it as it comes? Improvise?”

  I nod and take another bite of beef so I don’t have to speak. I know perfectly well what wing it means. I’m just not very good at it in practice. When I finally speak, I say, “I thought we agreed you were calling me Claire.”

  “I never agreed to that. Besides, sweetheart is a term of affection.”

  “Well, right. But like anything, unless there’s real affection behind it, it’s meaningless.” My fork is poised halfway to my mouth.

  “Who says there’s not real affection behind it?” Greyson asks.

  “Um, me.” There might be respect, but not affection.

  “Another condition to our deal then?” Greyson doesn’t add ‘sweetheart’ on the end, but I hear it anyway. “No terms of endearment?”

  “Not unless you mean it.” I bring my fork to my mouth, but before I take a bite, I say, “And don’t think I won’t be able to tell the difference.”

  Greyson grins, shaking his head. “Oh, trust me, Claire, you won’t.”

  I swallow and put my fork down. “But you will and I kind of want to believe you’re decent enough to make the right choice.”

  I wait for Greyson’s flip reply, but it doesn’t come. Instead he nods and I might be mistaken, but the look on his face might just be respect.

  Chapter Six

  It turns out Greyson is much better at this acting thing than I’ve given him credit for. His arm winds around my waist like it belongs there, he laughs at Caleb’s jokes, and I’m pretty sure he just sniffed my hair. Twenty-five minutes in and he’s even got me convinced. And I know this is all for show.

  So when Grandmother and Michael come up to linger on the edge of our little group long enough for Caleb and Scarlett to take the hint and bugger off, I’m not expecting the pinched look on Grandmother’s face when I turn to face her. At all. Her fingertips press into my forearm. “May we speak to you in the library, please?”

  Greyson clasps my side a little more tightly as I nod. He doesn’t drop his arm walking down the hallway, and even after we’ve closed the library door behind us, we’re firmly pressed side-to-side. It feels like solidarity. Especially when Grandmother’s expression hasn’t eased at all and Michael says, “Can you tell me what is the meaning of this?”

  I open my mouth to respond, but before I can speak, Greyson says, “I thought this was the plan?”

  “It was only a few hours ago you completely dismissed the whole idea, so we never discussed the particulars,” Michael says.

  “The particulars?” The corner of Greyson’s mouth turns up, but it’s not a smile. “It’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it? Claire and I preen for the cameras and we leak some strategic shots. The end.”

  “Yes, but we want to control the shots, especially now. You know this. What if one of Claire’s cousins is taking pictures of you on their phone? They’ll end up on social media and that will usurp everything else.” Michael’s nose twitches like he smells something bad. “All it takes is a photo of one of you looking bored and we’ve got a bigger problem.”

  “But if you’re looking to disprove Alexa’s claims, aren’t fan pictures better than anything you can stage?” I ask. “Even if the result is one where we’re both staring into space, it still beats those staged shots. I know this is your area of expertise, not mine, but if Scarlett or Caleb take a video on their phones and send it to Elias Craig, it will be posted within the hour. Done and dusted.”

  It’s Grandmother’s turn to make a face. “Elias Craig is rubbish.”

  “Maybe so, but he’s gold-plated rubbish when it comes to publicity,” Greyson says. He squeezes my waist again. “Claire is right. Going off-book is the only way to get a result.”

  “Greyson, I don’t think –” Michael starts.

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere in the English countryside. It’s not like a photographer would happen to be hanging around. Staged shots actually raise suspicion that this is, in fact, staged.” Greyson’s tone is all business when he shifts his glance to me. “Also, Claire and I discussed compensation. I only feel comfortable with her doing this if she’s getting paid.”

  I clench my toes. Here we go. More money talk.

  Grandmother gives a sharp nod. “Of course. Michael mentioned this as well.”

  Michael turns to me. “Will five thousand pounds suffice?”

  Before I can respond, Greyson says, “Per day.”

  It’s all I can do to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. Five thousand pounds total is pretty ace, but ten or fifteen? I want to say I can’t be bought, but at that rate, I’m pretty sure I can.

  Michael brings a hand to his chin, covering his mouth with his fingertips. For most people, it’s their eyes that give everything away, but not Michael. I have no idea what he’s thinking until he says, “Greyson, consider it done. Claire, if you give me your bank details, I’ll set up the transfer tonight. It will come from my private account to make it less traceable. Not that someone couldn’t connect the dots if they were so inclined, but it will slow the process. You’ll be able to access the money once it clears after the weekend.”

  “I have Claire’s details, Michael,” Grandmother says. She glances from me to Greyson and back again. “We should get back to the family.”

  Grandmother doesn’t phrase this like a question and I don’t answer, watching as Michael offers his arm and she takes it. In one smooth motion, he opens the door and they breeze back into the hallway, shutting it softly behind them.

  Greyson drops his hand and I mumble, “Thank you for that.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” Greyson says. “You are sacrificing your family weekend for me.”

  I have to laugh. “Have you seen my family? It’s not exactly a hardship.”

  “Your grandmother seems…” Greyson pauses.

  “Self-absorbed? Difficult? Prickly?”

  “I was going to say something more along the lines of interesting.” Greyson’s smile is sympathetic.

  “You’d be lying.” I roll my eyes. “But it’s fine. I see her a couple of times a year.”

  “Is that intentional?”

  “The twice a year thing?” Greyson nods and I say, “I do
n’t know if it’s intentional as much as it’s just evolved and it is what it is. My grandmother isn’t exactly the maternal type.”

  “What about your actual mother?”

  The proverbial shoe drops in the beat of silence I leave. I don’t mind answering questions about my mum, but I don’t like the pity that comes with it, so I keep my voice even and flat as I say, “She died when I was little. My grandmother stepped in because she had no choice. But she did her bit as a mum and by the time I came along, she was pretty much over it. She had visions of being the doting grandma on a twice-yearly holiday, not the caretaker of a six-year-old.”

  I steel myself for the inevitable ‘I’m sorry,’ but it doesn’t come. In fact, Greyson says nothing at all. Instead, he pulls me back to his side and rests his cheek on top of my head. It’s an unexpected gesture—one I’d expect from Caleb or Jasper, not some guy I barely know—but it doesn’t feel strange. It feels comforting enough for me to slip my arm around Greyson’s waist for the first time tonight and lean into him.

  He’s solid underneath that fancy suit and my first thought is how different his arm around me feels from Hugh’s. I’ve never been one to go for the rugby guys and even though Greyson’s features are too symmetrical for him to have played such a rough sport, he has the build for it. If Hugh is a pine tree, all long limbs and lean muscle, Greyson is an oak—broad, solid, and sturdy.

  Bloody hell. Am I really comparing Greyson Vaughn to a tree and my ex-boyfriend? I look down to hide the small smile that creeps onto my lips. Yes, I am, but at least he’s coming out ahead on both counts.

  Chapter Seven

  The first thing Greyson does when we go back into the bar is lead me over to Scarlett and says, “I assume you have a cell phone.” She wrinkles her brow at him and he continues. “We need a favor. Please.”

  Scarlett smiles a little, but by the time Greyson outlines his plan, she’s grinning and clapping her hands together. “I’m completely up for it. I’ve always wanted to send something in to Elias Craig because he posts those everyday life tidbits, but I never thought I had anything interesting enough.”

  Scarlett sounds positively giddy and I have to laugh. “Problem solved.”

  “We’ll go get a drink and let you take it from there.” Greyson glances at me, a spark of cockiness in his voice as he says, “Shall we go get drunk so you can take advantage of me?”

  I roll my eyes and Greyson’s hand settles on the small of my back. “Easy there, tiger. Remember our deal.”

  “As if you’d let me forget.” Greyson’s tone is easy despite his words, and he leaves his hand where it is as he leads me towards the bar. He’s very touchy-feely and I can’t help wondering if he’s always like this or if it’s meant to be reassuring. Still, if it’s reassurance, I’ll take it. Especially when we slip onto bar stools and Greyson’s hand settles on my knee. He orders us both a glass of red wine and our fingers brush as he hands it to me. For some reason this feels more intimate than being plastered against him outside the library, but I think it’s because of the uncertainty that flashes across his face before he reaches for his own glass.

  “So we’re just going to sit here and let Scarlett work her magic with her phone?” I ask.

  “Yes, but in a few minutes, I’m going to lean my forehead against yours and look like I’m thinking about kissing you. Then, unless you object, I’ll kiss your cheek.” Greyson leans in as if he’s going to do it now. “Unless you’d prefer to go straight to an actual kiss, in which case I’m happy to oblige.”

  “I’m ignoring that remark.” I catch another whiff of Greyson’s aftershave and say, “Has anyone ever told you that you smell really good?”

  “You certainly haven’t.” Greyson straightens and grins. “Are you flirting with me after all, sweet – Claire?”

  His grin makes me feel bold and I cross my legs, letting my calf rest against his shin. It’s the pose of a couple who knows each other well and as long as I keep the oh-my-God-he’s-Greyson-Vaughn chorus out of my head, I can do this. “Maybe.” I lean in. “Or maybe I’m a better actress than you give me credit for?”

  “I think you’re going back on your own deal.” Greyson glances down at my leg and lets his gaze trail up my leg.

  I rub my calf against his and let my gaze flicker to his lips. “I’d never do that.”

  Except his lips are really full. Kissably full. And they look soft. Like he has a full lip care regimen. People do that. Just not people I’ve ever kissed before.

  “Is this just another marketing evaluation then?” Greyson asks. He grins when I look up. “Because you’re doing it again.”

  “Doing what? Looking smitten? Like I said, maybe I’m a better actress than you give me credit for. We are supposed to be putting it on for the cameras, aren’t we?” Lies, all lies. But I’d rather eat nails than admit I was thinking about Greyson’s lip care regimen. Or admit I was thinking about his lips, period, after I’ve made such a big thing out of our deal. We’re barely an hour in.

  Greyson backs away, confusion flashing across his face. It’s so fleeting I’d miss it if I weren’t looking so damn close, because in the next second he gives me a forced smile and the shutters behind his eyes slam down. “Of course.”

  I feel a pang of regret, but I don’t get to focus on it because he turns on Greyson Vaughn, movie star, like he’s turning on a tap. Gone are the flirting and suggestive remarks, but in their place is something completely unexpected. Innocuous conversation. And casual contact. Over the next couple of hours some part of us is always touching. I place a hand on his arm while he tells me about filming a scene in Star Fleet. He brushes a stray hair behind my ear as I scroll through photos on my phone from last summer at Castle Calder. We’re talking about the London Tube when Scarlett slips her hand around my back and whispers, “It’s done. I sent three photos.”

  Greyson drops his hand from my knee. “Are they up yet?”

  Scarlett shakes her head. “Not that I’ve seen, but it’s Friday night, don’t forget.”

  “It’s Friday night in the UK, which is prime time in L.A. We’ll check later.” Greyson bites his lip and says, “So what did you get?”

  “I think you’ll have to wait and see.” Scarlett grins. “But you two look quite loved up. Very, very convincing.”

  “Seriously, Claire Bear. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Caleb says, leaning over my shoulder from behind.

  I didn’t either. But I’m not going to say that. I’m also not going to say that for a while I forgot Greyson was, well, Greyson. For a while, he seemed like a guy who was genuinely interested in me. And vice versa.

  I need to stop that train of thought before it even leaves the station. I take Greyson’s hand and as I tangle my fingers with his, say to Caleb, “There’s a lot about me you don’t know. Ask my friend, Mr. Vaughn.”

  If Caleb replies, I don’t hear him. In fact, I don’t hear anything except the thumping of my heart in my chest when I look up at Greyson, his hand limp in mine. The look on his face can only be described as panic-stricken and I realize we’re in that scene from Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts tells Richard Gere she has a rule about no kissing on the mouth. Except with Greyson Vaughn it’s holding hands?

  I let go of his hand faster than if he’d pinched me. I don’t need to think about what it means; his face, his visible relief, says it all. He takes a sip of wine and turns his attention to Scarlett like nothing’s happened. I see him talking, but it’s his body language I pay attention to. He’s been acting all night, I know that, but now his shoulders are stiff, his foot jiggles on the rung of the barstool and his fingers grip the stem of his wineglass so hard it looks like it could break.

  I gnaw at the inside of my lip, already cataloguing the last few minutes in my head. Maybe that’s why #VaughnGayle lasted as long as it did? I mean, how genuine can a relationship under the microscope actually be? Maybe a fake relationship is no big deal for Greyson because it beats the risks and expectations of
a real one? Judging by his reaction, it seems possible. Plausible, even.

  Fucking hell. I take a gulp of my too-warm glass of wine. A few hours with someone I barely know doesn’t qualify me to start making assumptions about them or their relationships. And the last thing I need to do right now is start analyzing Greyson’s past relationships. Nope. Not part of the deal. In any way.

  Obviously, I need to go to bed. My day started stupid early and eighteen hours in, I’m done. I push back my barstool and wince as it scrapes the floor. Scarlett will tease me for bailing, but it’s a small price to pay.

  Greyson glances over and sets his wine down. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m great. I just need to go to bed.” I glance up at the clock behind the bar. It’s 11:10. “I turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

  “Where’s your glass slipper?” Caleb asks. “I mean, you’ve had a tall, dark, and handsome American draped across your shoulders all night, so you’ve got the prince angle covered.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be considered much of a prince.” Greyson laughs. It’s self-deprecating, but there’s a grain of truth in his tone, which is unexpected. And humbling. And nice. And possibly something I’m making up completely because I want him to be humble and nice underneath that swagger.

  Shine a light, that’s a sure sign I need to go to bed.

  “You’re on board with tall, dark, and handsome, though?” Scarlett asks him, narrowing her eyes as she tries to suppress a smile.

  “Wouldn’t you be?” Greyson laughs again and this time everyone joins in, except me.

  I slip off my barstool. “And on that note, I’m off to dream of sweeping coal or something.”

  “Come on. I’ll walk you up.” Greyson stands up too, his hand meeting the small of my back. It’s too warm through the thin fabric of my dress, but before I can move away he leans forward and his lips brush my cheek.

  My hand flies to my face, covering the skin he kissed. It was a kiss, wasn’t it? A totally unnecessary, no-cameras-in-sight kiss that has my heart pounding.