Sexy Six Read online

  “So, do you think you can help me?”

  “Already on it. Should have a lead for you by tomorrow morning at the latest.” Shaw sits back and crosses his arms in satisfaction.

  “That was fast.”

  “I started working on this when Mathis called me. So far, I’ve requested the guest list, actual attendees, and full vendor roster. If Grace was there, we’ll find her,” he assures me confidently.

  “I hate to sound like Captain Obvious, but have you searched for her online?” Mathis takes out his phone and starts to type something.

  “Nothing there. She has no digital footprint—no Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, snapchat, Tumblr—nothing. I’ve looked.”

  Mathis’s eyes snap to mine in surprise.

  “What? Told you I’d been curious about her. I search every few months.” I shrug. I also lie. I’ve searched every single week in hopes that something, any clue as to what happened to her, would pop up.

  I’ll keep that tidbit to myself. No need to tell them I’ve been hung up on this woman for years.

  “Nick.” Shaw sits up, dropping his hands to his desk as his face grows serious. “Is there something you’re not telling us here? This seems a little deeper than a crush.”

  “Like I said, curiosity.”

  His eyes pierce into mine, and a few beads of sweat roll down my back. As my big brother, he’s always been able to read my thoughts, but I hold his stare, trying to remain cool.

  There’s a flash of understanding in his eyes, but instead of questioning me further, he looks at Mathis then to his computer.

  “My calendar is clear for the rest of the afternoon. The first round is on you.” He points to me. “It’s the least you can do for that bullshit the other night.”

  I chuckle as images of his face flash through my mind. “It’s your fault for being such an easy target.”

  I expect some sort of irritated comeback, but he shakes his head as he packs up his computer.

  “I can’t wait to meet Grace Monroe. If she’s still single, maybe she’d like to meet Darren Jackson. He’ll be in town in two weeks.”

  There’s his comeback.

  My humor fades as a growl rumbles from my chest. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  I don’t find anything amusing when they both roar in laughter.

  I bolt awake at the sound of Shaw’s ringtone. My eyes refuse to focus as I dig around for my phone. By the time I locate it, my brain hurts and my head is pounding from the noise.

  “What?” I barely croak, still unsure of where I am. One thing is for certain; I’m not in my bed.

  “You alive?” Shaw fucking chirps in my ear.

  “No,” is all I can force out. “I’m not even sure where I am.”

  “Damn.” He whistles, the sound sending my head spinning. “Maybe I shouldn’t have left you two at the bar.”

  “Jesus, keep it down.” There are a few seconds where all I hear is the clicking of his typing.

  “Listen, you’re at Mathis’s condo. He said he dragged you into his guest room last night.”

  I’m finally able to crack open one eye and recognize the room in my brother’s place. “That’s good.”

  “Well, it’s about to get better. Grab some coffee and call me right back. You have five minutes.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “You’re going to need coffee. Mathis is already at the hospital, so you have the place to yourself. Five minutes. Move your ass!” He hangs up before I can tell him to screw off.

  I hardly ever drink heavily during the season because it fucks with me too much. But with the reappearance of Grace, last night I decided to break my own rule and drank more than I’d like to admit. Jack Daniels pounds through my head, staying with me every step as I make my way to the bathroom and splash water on my face. My eyes finally clear, and I cringe at my reflection.

  Wrinkled clothes, bloodshot eyes, and hair standing straight on top of my head. What a fucking winner.

  I finish in the bathroom and head to Mathis’ kitchen, grateful for the simplicity of his coffee maker.

  In exactly five minutes, Shaw calls back as I sink onto the couch.

  “You feeling better?”

  “Getting there.” I take my first sip and lean back. “Want to tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

  “Mathis said his iPad is on the coffee table. Can you find it and log into your email?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you this morning? Did you wake up with extra bossiness? If you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on, I’m hanging up and turning off my phone.”

  “Get into your email, Nick, now.” His tone changes, and I suddenly know what this is about.

  “You found her.”

  He’s quiet as I grab the iPad and log into my email. The instant I open his message, my heartbeat speeds. Grace’s beautiful face appears on the screen.

  “It’s her. This is Grace.” I tell him what he most likely already knows.

  “Figured… Jesus, Nick, I can totally see it now. She’s stunning, and the eyes…”

  Tinges of jealousy prickle my skin. “Watch it, Shaw.”

  “Whoa, I’m obviously not a threat, but I can appreciate this woman’s beauty. She’s exactly as you described her.”

  “Yeah, she is. How’d you find her?”

  “The information came through early this morning. You obviously haven’t used Google in your searches, or you’d have found her, too. Grace Monroe is part owner of Monroe Gallery in South Beach. The gallery provided all the pieces and artwork for the event the other night.”

  “That explains why she was there.”

  “Monroe Gallery is owned by her and her brother, Logan Monroe. He started the process of opening the gallery eighteen months ago and has since made quite a name for himself in the art community. Grace joined him here a few months ago.”

  Months? She’s been in Miami for months? Why didn’t she contact me? Maybe she’s not alone or she’s married. Maybe she’s involved in a serious relationship. The little sip of coffee starts to roll in my stomach.

  I realize I’m being completely irrational. Two years is a long time. How stupid am I? What exactly was I expecting here?

  “If she still goes by Monroe, I’d guess she’s not married.” Shaw answers my unspoken question. “You were right about her not having a social footprint. She’s nowhere online except her biography on the gallery’s website, which was only added last week.”

  A week… Google… If I’d have just looked.

  I click on the Monroe Gallery website and find her. It’s the same picture Shaw attached to his email with a brief bio on her, written by a PR Group in what appears to be a press release.

  Grace Monroe graduated with a Masters in Art History this past spring. While she strives to understand the business aspect, she admits her passion lies within the Art World. Her flare for contemporary work has made its mark in the area as she specifically seeks local artists. In the short time she’s resided in Miami, Grace has made a reputation for herself among the artist community with her own work displayed in the Monroe Gallery.

  Grace, along with her brother and business partner, Logan, have a deep-rooted love for the Arts and have made it a mission to bring exposure to all local artists, regardless of their specialty. For more information…

  The rest of the article lists the contact information for Monroe Gallery and displays a few pictures of the building.

  “Impressive,” is all I can say.

  “It really is. This gallery has a stellar reputation, which is a challenge in this area. Art galleries are common, but Monroe is landing more and more special events around the city. That’s another thing I wanted to mention.”

  “What?”

  “I called the Foundation Coordinator this morning. According to her, Logan Monroe fought hard for the opportunity to land the event.”

  “Is that odd?”

  “No, but I have a feeling it wasn’t a coincidence you saw h
er that night.”

  “Are you saying?” My heartbeat speeds again, thinking maybe, just maybe…

  “It’s a gut feeling.”

  “I’m going to the gallery.” I close the iPad and stand, ready to get the hell out of here. Knowing she’s close erases the looming hangover from last night’s overconsumption.

  “Already taken care of. You have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine a.m. I tried for later this afternoon, but she’s out today.”

  “Damn, tomorrow’s a full day of practice and videos.” My mood sinks.

  “I’ve handled that, too. I took the liberty of sending a message to your coaches that you’re researching a charity project, and you’ll be late tomorrow.”

  “You lied to my coaches?” I ask, surprised.

  “I stretched the truth. There’s a huge difference.”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

  “One more thing, I made your appointment under the name Mr. DeSeis. Didn’t want to alert her that you’re coming in.”

  “What the fuck is that? DeSez?”

  “No, you dumbass, D-E S-E-I-S is how you spell it. The Seis means six in Spanish.”

  “Do I even want to know where you came up with that shit?”

  “I was trying to keep your identity secret. Not like I could say Mr. Bennett. If she remembers anything about you, that would be a dead giveaway.”

  “Good call, but couldn’t you have thought of something more easily pronounced?”

  “I thought it was clever on the fly. Show some gratitude.”

  “You’re right. Thanks.” The name grows on me a little.

  “Want me to dig a little deeper, see what I can find out before tomorrow?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands at his question. This is where there’s a fine line between being my brother and being my lawyer. He’s programmed to go into protection mode. I’d bet he’s ready to run a total background check on her now that he knows where she works. He’d likely request her and Logan’s business permits and tax records to build an entire profile on her life the last few years.

  Remembering the small amount of time I spent with Grace, she was a bit shy. She deserves her privacy.

  “No, I’m going into this blind. Let me talk to her. Like I said, she may not even remember me.”

  “Okay, Nick, I’ll put my agent role on hold for now. As your big brother, though, I’m going to tell you something. This woman made an impression on you that obviously stuck. I’d bet you did the same to her. Good luck.”

  We hang up, and I drop back to the sofa, opening the iPad again. Pathetically, I read the bio three more times before doing a search to find anything I can on Monroe Gallery.

  Then I start the countdown of the hours before I see Grace again… and can find out exactly what happened to her.

  Chapter 3

  Grace

  There’s an unusual buzz in the air as I walk around the gallery to ensure everything is perfectly in place. Logan is impeccable in his business and development sense, but when it comes to the actual art, he lacks the fine-tuning skills for display.

  For example, he’s placed one of our new glass-blown vases in the corner where its beauty isn’t portrayed as it could be. I shake my head as I find a more appropriate spot for it in the middle of the storefront window where the colors sparkle in the natural sunlight.

  One day, I’m going to design extravagant pieces like this and sell them all over the world.

  As each day passes, it seems everything is falling into place. Art isn’t only a passion of mine; it’s a piece of me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to create beautiful things. It’s hard to explain to people, but I think my family finally understands it’s what makes me truly tick. It brings me happiness, and most of all, Logan is one hundred percent on board. No longer is he teasing me about being a dreamer; he’s now helping me make these dreams come true.

  I do one more inspection of the front room before going to get ready for my appointment. Logan said this could be a big time client who has several interests in both finding pieces for his home and his office. I don’t know much more except he must have money because Logan insisted that I needed to ‘be ready for anything’.

  Usually, I’m a tad bit nervous with client meetings, but this morning, the butterflies are in overdrive as I check my hair and makeup one more time in the small bathroom.

  The soft sound of the wind chimes I hung out front indicate someone’s here.

  I smooth my sundress once more and plaster on a smile, ready to impress this client.

  “Welcome to Monroe Gallery.” I walk to the front room and stop dead in my tracks, the rest of my words dying in my mouth.

  Nicolas Bennett is standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets with his signature boyish grin. Seeing him the other night from a distance didn’t do him justice. Now, being this close, it all comes rushing back.

  Slight stubble covers his face, but I can still make out the small dimple in his cheek and cleft in his chin. He’s even more handsome than I remembered. His eyes meet mine, and I suck in a deep breath. The look triggers a memory, his blue-green eyes shining so brightly they glow.

  “Nick…”

  “Grace.” My name on his lips sounds the same as the millions of times I’ve played it over and over in my head.

  To this day, I still have his messages saved from when I left school without an explanation. The thought sends a burning pain to my chest, and I bite my tongue to try to keep my emotions under control.

  He sees it, his eyes flaring as he takes a step toward me, his hands coming out of his pockets. Without thinking, I rush to him, throwing my arms around his shoulders and hugging him.

  His arms wrap tightly around my waist, and his head sinks into my neck. “God, Grace, it’s so good to see you.”

  “You too,” I mumble into his shirt and inhale. Cologne, laundry detergent, and something new. Something even more masculine.

  He keeps me close, as if knowing I need a second to compose myself. When I know I’m not going to cry, I step back and drop my arms to my sides.

  “This is a surprise.” I try to hide the tremble in my voice.

  “A good surprise, I hope,” he says softly.

  “Of course, it’s a good surprise,” I rush to say then remember my appointment. “But I have an appointment showing up any minute.”

  His grin grows wide, making my heart flutter again. “I’m already here.”

  “Wait? You’re Mr. DeSeis?” I narrow my eyes in suspicion.

  “Guilty,” he admits, laughing. “But in all honesty, it was my agent who set up the appointment under Mr. DeSeis.”

  “Shaw did that? Why?”

  “I guess he thought it would be funny. Seis is six in Spanish. Six happens to be my nickname on the field.”

  Anyone who knows football knows he’s referred to as Sexy Six. The nickname has been around for a while now, but I don’t dare let him know I’m aware. It was a great choice for Shaw, and pretty funny.

  “Are you looking for artwork?” I change the subject.

  “No, I’m looking for you.”

  His words send a jolt to my system. “Me?” comes out in a squeak.

  “Yes, you. I caught sight of you for a split second the other night. Then you were gone.”

  My face starts to heat, and I look down to avoid his stare.

  “Why’d you run?”

  Humiliation slams into me at the way I left the event. I’m a grown businesswoman now. What was I thinking, running away like that? I knew he saw me, but I figured he didn’t remember me.

  “I… I…” My brain refuses to produce a good excuse, so I close my mouth and twist the ring on my finger.

  “Hey.” His hand moves under my chin and gently raises it so I’m looking at him.

  “I didn’t know if you’d remember me, and I was in shock seeing you. It was a reflex to leave immediately.” Admitting the truth sounds pathetic, and I bite my tongue again
to quit talking.

  “Remember you? I’ve never forgotten you.”

  Sincerity is written all over his face. “I’ve never forgotten you, either,” I blurt out without thinking.

  His grin from earlier returns, and he drops his hand from my chin only to grab my hand. “I’m glad to hear that, Sweet Grace, because I came prepared to catch up.” He kisses my knuckles, lowers my hand, and walks out the door.

  I stand frozen as I watch him through the front windows. He opens the door to the black SUV parked out front and takes out a drink carrier. I recognize the logo as the coffee shop down the street where Logan and I visit almost daily.

  Nick comes back in, pointing to the drinks. “I brought morning cocktails.”

  “Cocktails, huh?”

  “Is there somewhere we can sit?”

  I can’t stop the tear that spills down my cheek before I can swipe it away.

  “I’m sorry, Grace. It was stupid of me to assume you’d—“

  “No! Nick, I love it! Standing here with you, in my gallery, after all these years, I think I’m just in shock. Come with me.” I motion to the back and use the ten steps to get myself together.

  When we get to the break room, he sits quietly, setting the drinks out. “The owner happened to take pity on me and made your favorite when I told her I was meeting you this morning.”

  I sit and take a sip of the raspberry mint tea. “Oh my God, this is so good.”

  “She said you loved it.”

  “She would know. I’ve become an addict since moving to Miami.” I giggle. “This tea is right up there with wine on my daily consumption list.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” He winks and sits back. “How have you been, Grace?”

  That’s a loaded question, laced with curiosity. To most people, it’s a common conversation starter, but to me, it’s an opening to tell him what happened in college. Instead of delving into the details and ruining the mood, I decide to skim over the details.

  “I’ve been okay. I had a rough few years, but I was able to go back and finish school. Now, I’m living the dream of owning a gallery with my brother.”

  “It’s a great place, from what I see and hear. You two have an excellent reputation.”