IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(31)

“Of course,” Wells told him. “My attorneys will be happy to work with you on that. Any questions should be resolved in favor of Dr. Newell.”

Several members of the Grange team sucked in a breath at that. Two began murmuring to one another, casting furtive glances at Wells.

Something had seriously changed here and I still didn’t understand what it was. “Can someone please explain what’s going on?”

“He’s accepting your mother’s terms,” James told me.

I met Wells’s eyes. There was something there. That hunger again. The one I’d seen the previous morning. It made something inside me burn, my skin flushing. “Why?” I asked him.

It took him a moment to answer. “Because this deal is critical to Grange BioMed’s future, and I don’t want to risk losing this technology.”

For some reason, the answer disappointed me.

“There is a condition, however,” Wells added.

“Of course there is,” James sighed, rolling his eyes.

Wells ignored him, keeping his focus on me. “We’ll go over the new arrangements through lunch today, and then this afternoon, while the attorneys hash out the rest of the fine print, I would like to spend some time getting to know you, Conor. If this deal goes through, our company will be working closely with your family to get this tech to market in a reasonable time frame, and it’s important we start that relationship off on the best foot possible.”

It was the last thing I expected to hear him say. He wanted to spend the afternoon with me? Like, just the two of us? My pulse kicked up a notch even while my stomach twisted with nerves.

I glanced at James. He’d already started flipping through the stack of documents Deb had placed in front of him. He had a look of incredulity on his face.

“What do I do?” I asked him in a low voice.

His answer was simple. “You say yes.”





My brain was still reeling after lunch when I found myself in the dim hush of a town car sitting next to Wells Grange as the city crowds moved around us. The back seat was spacious, but still it felt too small, as though I could shift ever so slightly and accidentally brush against him. His smell dominated the space between us, that mix of masculine cologne and his own warm body. It made it difficult to concentrate.

Wells cleared his throat. “What would you like to do?” he asked. “Anything in particular you’d care to see while you’re in New York?”

I stared at him. “What, like a tourist thing? The Statue of Liberty or something like that?”

He shrugged, shifting the soft-looking wool of his formal coat across his shoulders. The black coat made his eyes look even bluer, if that was possible. “Or museum or art gallery, perhaps. Whatever strikes your fancy.”

I was inclined to be annoyed with him. Had it not been for his abrupt change of plan, my brain wouldn’t be wildly scrambling to make sense of the man beside me. I’d gone into the meeting this morning with a game plan, a strategy to win the best terms for my mother possible. And now it was irrelevant. Because I’d won. Somehow, inexplicably, he’d agreed to my mother’s price. But why? What had caused the sudden shift?

And why ask to spend the afternoon with me? A part of me wondered if this might be some sort of trap, a way to maneuver me into position where he could ultimately take advantage of me and my mother. If it was, I didn’t plan to make it easy for him. He’d succeeded in throwing me off whatever game I may have had going into this. I intended to return the favor.

I struggled to come up with the very last thing I could imagine Wells Grange wanting to do. My eyes drifted over him, from the polished shoes to the perfectly pressed pants to the cufflinks glittering at his wrists. He looked every bit the quintessential New Yorker, born to money and prestige and power.

“Carriage ride in Central Park,” I blurted.

It wasn’t really true, but his reaction to the cheesy suggestion was worth the lie. He stared at me like I’d just requested a private showing of the pope performing popular hip-hop moves. Naked.

“A what? A carriage ride through…” He couldn’t even bring himself to finish.

I opened my eyes wider, trying to appear innocent and earnest. When in reality I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “I’ve always wanted to take one.”

He tightened his jaw. “Of course. Hank, Columbus Circle please.”

The car turned slowly through the next intersection, driving past the throngs of people making their way toward Times Square. I couldn’t even picture Wells Grange among the hoi polloi. God forbid someone accidentally step on his two-thousand-dollar Berluti shoes. Not that I knew what those were, but James had mentioned his boyfriend wanting a similar pair despite having a closet full of them at home.

“Will you be warm enough?” Wells asked, raising a brow at my own coat.

“Just because it’s from JC Penny doesn’t mean it won’t keep me plenty warm,” I said defensively, wrapping my own black dress coat around me and trying not to look like a moron.

Wells’s face softened. “I was more worried about you not having a scarf or gloves.”

I refused to acknowledge the thoughtfulness of that statement. “The carriages have blankets, right? I’ll be fine.”

His nose wrinkled. “Those blankets have been used by god knows how many strangers since being washed dozens of years ago.”