Devoured: A Novel(29)

6:02.

“I’ve left some clothes in the closet, for my return, so don’t give them to Goodwill, okay.” It’s my best attempt to lighten the dark mood that hovers over the dining room table and a poor attempt at that.

Gram smiles, genuinely, and the corners of her blue eyes crinkle. God, Kylie was right about one thing—there is nothing that’s not worth seeing my grandmother face light up that way.

“So you’ll certainly be back then,” she replies, taking a sip of her black coffee. I can’t mistake the relief in her voice or how her face seems less strained once her smile fades.

“There’s nothing that can stop me. And then we’ll fix things.”

She laughs. “If determination could win this thing we would be set, sweetheart.”

That’s something else that I’ll have to work on while I’m with Lucas—coming up with what to tell Gram when I suddenly show up with the deed to her house and, quite literally, save the day. I nearly groan out loud because it means I’ll have to tell Gram more lies and dig myself deeper into holes I prefer not to sink my shovel into.

6:37.

“Determination and hope have won wars,” I say and Gram just smiles, granting me one of those looks she gave me when I was younger and I came up with wistful dreams. While my mom shot them down, my grandmother nurtured it. Even if she didn’t believe something was possible, she never let me know that.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

More than you’ll ever know.

6:45.

?



The cab driver seems skeptical about taking me to an address that’s in Green Hills, the ritzy part of Nashville, especially since Gram tells me to have a safe flight right in front of him. I tell him I’ve got to make a stop to visit a friend, and that they’ll take me to the airport, though I don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself to him. The long driveway to the palatial corner lot mansion is gated, but Lucas quickly answers the intercom.

“It’s me,” I say, blushing when the cab driver gives me a knowing look in the rearview mirror. A second later, the gate buzzes and the driver pulls forward.

The home itself is stunning—three stories and all brick, with a long, high fence encompassing the back yard. Over the years, I’ve retained very little information from the days I spent helping my grandfather in the office of his construction business, but I know enough to definitively say this house is Euro style.

And probably worth more than I’ll make in my entire life, save for the house Lucas has promised me, but then again that’s not really mine.

I’m almost reluctant to let go of the $40 the cab driver collects from me—my bank account is just that pathetic—but I take a deep breath, reassure myself again that it’s only money. For some reason, when words like that come from me, they don’t have nearly the same effect as when Lucas says them so flippantly.

It’s 8:04 when I ring the doorbell. To my surprise, Lucas’s attorney opens the door—the male lawyer. I wonder if Boobs McBeal is inside the house, too, but I hope like crazy she’s not. I’m not in the mood to witness her jutting her breasts out toward Lucas first thing this morning.

“I’m Court Holder and you must be Ms. Jensen,” he says pleasantly, taking my hand into his as soon as he closes and locks the door behind us. As he activates the security system on the wall behind him, I decide that his name has got to be the most kickass lawyer’s name I’ve ever heard in my life. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

My body freezes in place. What exactly has Court Holder heard about me? The idea of Lucas revealing details about me to his attorney is enough to make me sweat. I mutter my mantra over and over again in my head to keep from turning around and saying screw this.

It has to all be worth this.

“Nice to know Lucas—I mean, Mr. Wolfe—talks up all his help,” I reply through a clenched smile.

Court chuckles, reaching out his hands to take my suitcase. My fingertips brush across his palms as we make the exchange. His hands are smooth and his fingers are neatly manicured, the opposite of Lucas’s calloused hands. Placing my Coach suitcase with its worn, brown leather piping at the foot of the stairs, Court tells me that the couple who comes to clean every afternoon will take it in the room Lucas designates to me. Then, motioning me to follow him, he ushers me through the house.

“This contract is ready for your signature,” he explains, and I bob my head in understanding. “You will, of course, agree to take over Ms. Wolfe-Martin’s duties until she returns and then I’ll assist Mr. Wolfe in initiating the transaction to return Mrs. Previn’s home. The contract is extremely . . . simple.” But another word hangs in the air, and silently, I mutter it.