The Hawthorne Legacy (The Inheritance Games #2)(5)

“For the record,” Alisa told me as she exited the car, “the firm is more than capable of handling your father.”

And that was the nice thing about being the sole client of a multi-billion-dollar law firm.

“Are you okay?” Alisa pressed. She wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. More likely she was trying to assess whether I would be a liability tonight.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

That voice—low and smooth—came from an elevator behind me. For the first time in seven days, I turned to look directly at Grayson Hawthorne. He had pale hair and ice-gray eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to count as weapons. Two weeks ago, I would have said that he was the most self-assured, self-righteous, arrogant jerk I’d ever met.

I wasn’t sure what to say about Grayson Hawthorne now.

“Why,” he repeated crisply, stepping out of the elevator, “would Avery be anything other than fine?”

“Deadbeat dad made an appearance outside,” I muttered. “It’s fine.”

Grayson stared at me, his eyes piercing mine, then turned to Oren. “Is he a threat?”

I’ll always protect you, he’d sworn. But this… us… It can’t happen, Avery.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” I told Grayson sharply. “When it comes to Ricky, I’m an expert at protecting myself.” I stalked past Grayson, into the elevator he’d stepped out of a moment earlier.

The trick to being abandoned was to never let yourself long for anyone who left.

A minute later, when the elevator doors opened into the owner’s suite, I stepped out, Alisa to one side and Oren to the other, and I didn’t so much as look back at Grayson. Since he’d taken the elevator down to meet me, he’d obviously already been up here, probably schmoozing. Without me.

“Avery. You made it.” Zara Hawthorne-Calligaris wore a string of delicate pearls around her neck. There was something about her sharp-edged smile that made me feel like she could probably kill a man with those pearls if she were so inclined. “I wasn’t sure you would be putting in an appearance tonight.”

And you were ready to hold court in my absence, I concluded. I thought about what Alisa had said—about allies and power players and the influence that could be bought with a ticket to this suite.

As Jameson would say, Game on.





CHAPTER 4


The owner’s suite had a perfect view of the fifty-yard line, but an hour before kickoff, no one was looking at the field. The suite extended back and widened, and the farther you got from the seats, the more it looked like an upscale bar or club. Tonight, I was the entertainment—an oddity, a curiosity, a paper doll dressed up just so. For what felt like an eternity, I shook hands, posed for photographers, and pretended to understand football jokes. I managed not to gawk at a pop star, a former vice president, and a tech giant who probably made more money in the time it took him to urinate than most people made in a lifetime.

My brain pretty much stopped functioning when I heard the phrase “Her Highness” and realized there was actual royalty in attendance.

Alisa must have sensed that I was reaching my limit. “It’s almost time for kickoff,” she said, laying one hand lightly on my shoulder—probably to keep me from fleeing. “Let’s get you in your seat.”

I made it until halftime, then bolted for real. Grayson intercepted me. Wordlessly, he nodded to one side and then started walking, confident that I would follow.

Despite myself, I did. What I found was a second elevator.

“This one goes up,” he told me. Going anywhere with Grayson Hawthorne was probably a mistake, but given that the alternative was more mingling, I decided to take my chances.

The two of us rode the elevator up in silence. The door opened to a small room with five seats, all empty. The view of the field was even better than it was below.

“My grandfather could only mingle in the suite for so long before he got fed up and came up here,” Grayson told me. “My brothers and I were the only ones allowed to join him.”

I sat and stared out at the stadium. There were so many people in the crowd. The energy, the chaos, the sheer volume of it was overwhelming. But in here, it was silent.

“I thought you might come to the game with Jameson.” Grayson made no move to sit, like he didn’t trust himself too close to me. “The two of you have been spending a lot of time together.”

That irritated me, for reasons I couldn’t even explain. “Your brother and I have a bet going.”

“What kind of bet?”

I had no intention of answering, but when I let my eyes travel toward his, I couldn’t resist saying the one thing guaranteed to get a reaction. “Toby is alive.”

To someone else, Grayson’s reaction might not have been noticeable, but I saw the jolt go through him. His gray eyes were glued to me now. “Pardon me?”

“Your uncle is alive and gets his jollies by pretending to be a homeless man in New Castle, Connecticut.” I probably could have been a little more delicate.

Grayson came closer. He deigned to sit next to me, tension visible in his arms as he folded his hands together between his knees. “What, precisely, are you talking about, Avery?”

I wasn’t used to hearing him call me by my first name. It was too late to take back what I’d said. “I saw a picture of Toby in your nan’s locket.” I closed my eyes, flashing back to that moment. “I recognized him. He told me that his name was Harry. We played chess in the park every week for more than a year.” I opened my eyes again. “Jameson and I aren’t sure what the story is there—yet. We have a bet going about who finds out first.”