London Tides: A Novel (The MacDonald Family Trilogy Book 2) (12 page)

But that was another life. She straightened abruptly and turned to him. “Dinner?”

“Sure. Dinner.” He followed her back to the kitchen, pausing to turn on the stereo on the way to the dinner table. Grace lifted the lids on the containers of rice and stew as he came up behind her.

“Smells wonderful. What is it?”

“My famous tikka masala.”

Ian took the serving spoon from her hand. “You don’t pull punches, do you? I’ve been to every Indian restaurant in London trying to find something this good and failed miserably.”

“It’s the cardamom. Most restaurants don’t use enough.” She watched him as he served their food. In a simple T-shirt and track-suit bottoms, his hair wet from the shower, he looked worlds away from the executive in the bespoke tuxedo. This was the Ian she remembered—casual, relaxed, smiling. Almost unbearably handsome. That didn’t change with his wardrobe.

“You and Jamie used to drive me mad, trying to deconstruct every dish when we ate out.”

“I remember. He was worse than me by far, but he was usually right.”

Ian smiled. Then his expression grew serious. “I think I owe you an apology, Grace. I know how much you love your work. I know how hard it must be to leave it behind.” He hesitated. “I also know people suffering from traumatic stress have an even more difficult time adjusting to a normal life.”

She combed her fingers through her hair, bowing her head against the acute prick of embarrassment. “You’ve been reading mental-health websites.”

“Grace, I care about you—”

“I know. But just like you don’t want to be my consolation prize, I don’t want to be your rehabilitation project. Whatever my issues are, they aren’t
me.
I’m not a victim. My decision to leave the field has been a long time in coming. Even Jean-Auguste always warned me about staying too long.” She held out her wrist to display the detailed green dragon that encircled it. “His favorite quote is ‘He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself—’”

“‘And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.’ It’s Nietzsche. You think your work has changed you?”

“I know it’s changed me,” Grace said softly. “You can’t see all the suffering and violence and hatred without wondering if there’s still good in the world. Most of my colleagues see evil as proof that God couldn’t exist. But despite all the bad, there are still people who help others when their safety, their very lives are at risk. When I see that, I know without a doubt he has to exist. I think without God, the good that remains couldn’t survive.”

Ian reached for her hand across the table and brushed his thumb over her tattoo. “If you can still see the good, why fear the dragon?”

“Because I realized Jean-Auguste is right. Every day the abyss looks back a little longer.” She held his eyes, willed him to understand that even as she mourned her old life, she was embracing something better, something that wouldn’t chip away at her belief in hope and happiness.

Something that, deep down, she wanted to share with him.

He released her hand, the absence coming sharp like a physical pain. But he simply circled round to the chair beside her and took her face in his hands. “I know you are a not a victim, Grace. You are a strong, caring, talented woman.”

The way he was looking at her made her chest seize. She reached for humor out of reflex. “You forgot beautiful.”

A smile flickered across his lips and put a new light into his eyes. “Oh no, I didn’t forget beautiful.” He brushed the lightest kiss across her lips. “Or sexy.” Another kiss at the corner of her mouth. “Or tempting.” He pulled back long enough to stare into her eyes, his intensity making her breath hitch and her insides twist with longing.

Without a doubt, she still loved him. And for the first time since her return, she believed there was a chance he could love her again too. She tipped her head to his forehead, breathing him in, embracing the hope that there might be something to salvage from the wreck of their past. And then he was kissing her again, while the stew cooled on the table and the years between them slipped away.

Chapter Thirteen

He was late to work for the first time in years.

Last night he and Grace had finally gotten back to their supper when it became clear how little it would take to reignite the flicker of desire into a full-fledged bonfire. Their reunion was too new and too fragile to endure the temptation. Instead they had stayed up late, music turned on low while they talked with her feet in his lap, as if no time had passed. Then he’d insisted on seeing her home, which led to a rather lengthy good-bye in the hall outside Asha’s flat.

All only tangentially related to his lateness, except that he’d been too distracted to set his alarm. He’d slept through his morning outing and woken at half eight, with just time enough to throw on clothes, comb his hair, and hail a taxi, which had been a mistake considering the London morning traffic. The Tube would have been faster.

Fortunately his morning schedule was relatively clear, allowing him to begin calling Ms. Grey’s references personally. Of all the candidates he’d seen the previous week, she remained the most qualified and the most stable. Still, there was an element of danger in hiring because of Jamie’s celebrity status. It was Ian’s job to fully vet anyone who would have any contact with Jamie, their family, or his finances. But every supervisor he spoke with said the same thing. Ms. Grey was dependable, logical, and dedicated to her work in a way that bordered on obsessive. A creative problem solver, good with people, the type that should have been well on her way to an executive position. What had happened to make her leave a managerial position at one of London’s largest firms without a reference?

He certainly wouldn’t get a straight answer from the firm itself. Instead he sorted through his contacts. He didn’t know anyone at Walker and Brown, but he had gone to university with the vice president of the independent auditing firm that worked with them and every other major financial-services company in London.

“Ian!” Alexander picked up on the second ring in his syncopated London accent. “Long time, mate. How are you?”

“Good. Yourself? Finally made VP, I hear.”

“Long time in coming, that. You calling for business or just to catch up?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could get me some information on a potential hire. Abigail Grey, most recently at Walker and Brown. She left about six months ago and won’t say why.”

“Grey, right. Senior financial examiner. Sharp woman. I worked with her on the last two audits, but I hadn’t realized she left. Want me to see what I can find out?”

“If you would.” Ian paused. “Heard you got married recently. How’s married life treating you the second time round?”

“Good. Hoping this time it will stick, you know? The hours aren’t exactly conducive to romance. What about you?”

Ian let himself smile a little. “Dating someone.”

“Past time you settled down. We’re getting old.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that. Let me know what you find out.”

Ian hung up, then began to go through his overflowing email in-box. His mobile phone beeped beside him. A text message from Grace.

Lunch today? Miss you already. (Lame, I know.)

He grinned and texted back:
Wish I could. Dinner later?

A few seconds later, her reply:
Asha’s working late. Come by and I’ll cook.

That was something to look forward to. Grace clearly knew his weakness for her cooking.

He went back to his in-box with slightly more enthusiasm. The weekend’s new mail was about finished when his direct line rang.

“Ian, Alexander here. I talked to my friend at Walker. No one really knows what happened. Abigail Grey was a private woman.”

“Surely there were rumors.”

“Rumors, yes. Sounds like she’s a single mother and her daughter has health problems, so she definitely didn’t leave by choice.”

“So …”

Alexander hesitated. “No one is saying anything, but no female executive has lasted in that department more than two years. Everyone has quit or been transferred. Ms. Grey lasted more than twice that time.”

Definitely suspicious, and it hinted at some sort of harassment. Just because there were laws against these things didn’t mean they still didn’t happen. “Nothing to indicate impropriety or criminal behavior or anything like that?”

“Not remotely. Everyone suspects she was driven out.”

“Fair enough. Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, mate. Nice to talk.”

Ian hung up the phone. His instincts said she was the right hire, and this information seemed to confirm it. He hesitated over her CV before he picked up the phone and dialed her. She answered on the third ring.

“Ms. Grey, I’d like to offer you the job. I’m emailing you a formal offer letter now, but I’d like to have you start as soon as possible.”

“May I review the offer and get back to you?”

“Of course.” She was cautious, and Ian couldn’t blame her. “I’ll look forward to your decision.”

Which was an understatement, considering she was the only candidate who had a chance of lasting more than a week. Maybe people assumed working for the company of a celebrity chef would be glamorous, when in reality, it was mostly boring, dry business details. Clearly Ms. Grey hadn’t gone into finance for the excitement.

He sent off the letter, then turned to another stack of paperwork, hoping his offer had been aggressive enough to snag her. Alexander was right. They were getting old, and his workaholic tendencies weren’t conducive to maintaining a relationship. He would do what it took not to lose Grace again, and that included getting help in the office.

Once the workday was over, he resisted the urge to skip his workout and forced himself through a grueling weight circuit that made him wish he’d gone straight to see Grace after all. By the time he made it to Asha’s place, he could barely contain his anticipation.

She let him up when he buzzed at the intercom, but he found the door on the latch when he reached the flat. Cautiously he entered.

The low pulsing thrum of electric bass filled the interior as music poured from a small set of speakers in the living room. He paused at the edge of the kitchen, a smile twitching his lips as he watched Grace stir something at the stove while she sang along with “Bullet the Blue Sky.”

“U2, huh?”

She glanced over her shoulder with a mischievous expression that melted his insides. “They’re Irish. Which automatically makes them brilliant.”

He stepped up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. She shivered as he dropped small kisses from her ear to her shoulder. “Hold that thought,” she said. “The risotto’s almost done.”

He leaned against the counter while she added grated parmesan and gave it a final stir. “There. Mushroom risotto with sautéed shrimp.”

He stepped closer. “Am I allowed now?”

“No.” She stretched up on tiptoes to snatch a light kiss and then darted out of reach. “Risotto is only good while it’s hot. Take a seat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He watched her while she served their food, every bit as comfortable in the kitchen as she was with a camera. “You know, a man could get used to this.”

“Don’t get
too
used to it. I’m not exactly the domestic type.”

“You could at least let me dream.” He dug into the risotto—a touch gummy but still delicious—and asked, “What did you do today?”

“Very little, actually. Had breakfast with Asha and spent the afternoon with Melvin at the gallery.”

“Lady of leisure.”

“Indeed. It was nice. What about you?”

“I found an assistant. Assuming she accepts my offer.”

“Oh? Is she pretty?”

“She’s very professional.” Ian studied her. Was Grace jealous? That was completely unlike her. Then she broke into a grin and he relaxed.

“Just having a laugh. And I’m sure she’s pretty, but I also know that you are far too serious to notice those things.”

“Am I?” He grabbed the support rail beneath the seat of her chair and dragged it over to him to put her lips within reach. Only when she wrapped an arm around his neck to steady herself did he draw back. “Because I noticed that you’ve gone shopping, and you look pretty fantastic in those jeans.”

Pink tinged her cheeks, but she held his eye. “Risotto, remember? Getting cold.”

“Right.” He hid his smile when she scooted her chair to its proper place. “I do love risotto. It’s a little labor intensive for a weeknight, isn’t it?”

“I needed a distraction. I’ve got an interview tomorrow.”

“With CAF? When did that happen?”

“I finally dug up the business card and called Kenneth DeVries today. He wants to see me tomorrow morning.”

“So you’re really doing it.” Even though it was just a preliminary interview, the decision had significance, especially coming on the heels of their tumultuous weekend.

“I’m not entirely sure CAF is the right fit for me, but staying in London? Yes. I’m giving it a go.” She looked at him, breath held, and he realized she wanted his approval, an acknowledgment of the decision she was making.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it hard. “They’d be lucky to have you. If they’re smart, they’ll make as good a case for the organization as you will for yourself. And it doesn’t hurt to be in a relationship with a member of the board of directors.”

She laughed, her green eyes sparkling in a way that made his chest clench. “Is that what this is? A relationship?”

“What do you think?” He lifted her hand and kissed her palm, gratified by the sudden quickening of her breath.

“I think someone is trying to wheedle seconds from me.”

“Well, if you’re offering …”

Grace laughed and took his bowl back to the range. “Any tips for tomorrow?”

“Grace, you’re a shoo-in. You impressed everyone at the benefit—and don’t think winning over their wives doesn’t work in your favor. All you have to do is reiterate what you already told them, and I suspect the job is yours.”

She nodded, but the way she worried her lower lip was a sign of anxiety. Surely a simple job interview didn’t make her nervous. Maybe she wasn’t sure CAF was the right place for her.

It was far easier to believe her nervousness centered on the job rather than on him.