Born in Ice
Page 66
Brianna saw the gorgeous red suit first, the glint of gold at the lapel and at the ears. Then the short, sleek blond hair, the quick flashing smile before the woman was enveloped by Gray’s enthusiastic embrace.
“Good to see you, beautiful.”
“My favorite globe trotter.” Her voice was husky, with a hint of gravel.
Arlene Winston was tiny, barely topping five feet, and athletically trim from her thrice weekly workouts. Gray had said she was a grandmother, but her face was almost unlined, the tawny eyes sharp in contrast to the soft complexion and pixie features. With her arm still around Gray’s waist, she held out a hand to Brianna.
“And you’re Brianna. Welcome to New York. Has our boy been showing you a good time?”
“He has, yes. It’s a wonderful city. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Winston.”
“Arlene.” She cupped Brianna’s hand briefly between the two of hers, patted. However friendly the gesture, Brianna wasn’t unaware of the quick and thorough measuring. Gray simply stood back beaming.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“She certainly is. Let’s sit. I hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered champagne. A little celebration.”
“The Brits?” Gray asked, settling.
“There is that.” She smiled as their glasses were filled from the bottle of spring water already on the table. “Do you want to get this business out of the way now, or wait until after lunch?”
“Let’s get it out of the way.”
Obliging, Arlene dismissed the waiter, then reached into her briefcase and took out a file of faxes. “Here’s the British deal.”
“What a woman,” Gray said and winked at her.
“The other foreign offers are in there—and the audio. We’ve just started to pitch to the movie people. And I have your contract.” She shifted, letting Gray look over the papers while she smiled at Brianna. “Gray tells me you’re an incredible cook.”
“He likes to eat.”
“Doesn’t he though? You run a B and B, delightfully from what I hear. Blackthorn, it’s called.”
“Blackthorn Cottage, yes. It’s not a large place.”
“Homey, I imagine.” Arlene studied Brianna over her water glass. “And quiet.”
“Quiet, certainly. People come to the west for the scenery.”
“Which, I’m told, is quite spectacular. I’ve never been to Ireland, but Gray’s certainly whetted my curiosity. How many people can you manage?”
“Oh, I’ve four guest rooms, so it varies depending on the size of families. Eight’s comfortable, but I sometimes have twelve or more with children.”
“And you cook for them all, run the place by yourself?”
“It’s a bit like running a family,” Brianna explained. “Most people stay only a night or two, going on their way.”
Casually Arlene drew Brianna out, weighing each word, every inflection, judging. Gray was more than a client to her, much more. An interesting woman, she decided. Reserved, a bit nervous. Obviously capable, she mused, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the cloth as she pumped Brianna for details of the countryside.
Neat as a pin, she observed, well mannered, and . . . ah . . . she watched Brianna’s gaze wander—just for a fraction—and rest on Gray. And saw what she wanted to see.
Brianna looked back, saw Arlene’s lifted brows, and struggled not to blush. “Grayson said you have grandchildren.”
“I certainly do. And after a glass of champagne, I’m likely to drag out all their pictures.”
“I’d love to see them. Really. My sister just had a baby.” Everything about her warmed, her eyes, her voice. “I’ve pictures of my own.”
“Arlene.” Gray looked up from the file, focused again. “You’re a queen among agents.
“And don’t you forget it.” She handed him a pen even as she signaled for the wine and the menus. “Sign the contracts, Gray, and let’s celebrate.”
Brianna calculated that she had sipped more champagne since meeting Grayson than she had in the whole of her life before him. While she toyed with a glass, she studied the menu and tried not to wince over the prices.
“We have drinks with Rosalie late this afternoon,” Gray was saying, referring to the meeting scheduled with his editor, “then the premiere. You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Arlene assured him. “I’ll have the chicken,” she added, passing her menu to the hovering waiter. “Now,” she continued after their orders were placed. “Tell me how the book’s going.”
“It’s going well. Incredibly well. I’ve never had anything fall into place like this. I’ve nearly got the first draft finished.”
“So quickly?”
“It’s streaming out.” His gaze rested on Brianna. “Almost like magic. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. It’s a magical place, Ireland.”
“He works hard,” Brianna put in. “Sometimes he doesn’t come out of his room for days at a time. And it doesn’t do to disturb him. He’ll snap at you like a terrier.”
“And do you snap back?” Arlene wanted to know.
“Not usually.” Brianna smiled as Gray covered her hand with his own. “I’m used to that sort of behavior with my sister.”
“Oh, yes, the artist. You’d have experience with the artistic temperament.”
“I do, indeed,” Brianna said with a laugh. “Creative people have a more difficult time than the rest of us, I think. Gray needs to keep the door of his world closed while he’s in it.”
“Isn’t she perfect?”
“I believe she is,” Arlene said complacently.
A patient woman, she waited until after the meal before making her next move. “Will you have dessert, Brianna?”
“I couldn’t, thank you.”
“Gray will. Never gains an ounce,” she said with a shake of her head. “You order something sinful, Gray. Brianna and I will go into the ladies’ room where we can talk about you in private.”
When Arlene rose, Brianna had little choice but to follow suit. She cast one confused glance at Gray over her shoulder as they walked away.
“Good to see you, beautiful.”
“My favorite globe trotter.” Her voice was husky, with a hint of gravel.
Arlene Winston was tiny, barely topping five feet, and athletically trim from her thrice weekly workouts. Gray had said she was a grandmother, but her face was almost unlined, the tawny eyes sharp in contrast to the soft complexion and pixie features. With her arm still around Gray’s waist, she held out a hand to Brianna.
“And you’re Brianna. Welcome to New York. Has our boy been showing you a good time?”
“He has, yes. It’s a wonderful city. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Winston.”
“Arlene.” She cupped Brianna’s hand briefly between the two of hers, patted. However friendly the gesture, Brianna wasn’t unaware of the quick and thorough measuring. Gray simply stood back beaming.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“She certainly is. Let’s sit. I hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered champagne. A little celebration.”
“The Brits?” Gray asked, settling.
“There is that.” She smiled as their glasses were filled from the bottle of spring water already on the table. “Do you want to get this business out of the way now, or wait until after lunch?”
“Let’s get it out of the way.”
Obliging, Arlene dismissed the waiter, then reached into her briefcase and took out a file of faxes. “Here’s the British deal.”
“What a woman,” Gray said and winked at her.
“The other foreign offers are in there—and the audio. We’ve just started to pitch to the movie people. And I have your contract.” She shifted, letting Gray look over the papers while she smiled at Brianna. “Gray tells me you’re an incredible cook.”
“He likes to eat.”
“Doesn’t he though? You run a B and B, delightfully from what I hear. Blackthorn, it’s called.”
“Blackthorn Cottage, yes. It’s not a large place.”
“Homey, I imagine.” Arlene studied Brianna over her water glass. “And quiet.”
“Quiet, certainly. People come to the west for the scenery.”
“Which, I’m told, is quite spectacular. I’ve never been to Ireland, but Gray’s certainly whetted my curiosity. How many people can you manage?”
“Oh, I’ve four guest rooms, so it varies depending on the size of families. Eight’s comfortable, but I sometimes have twelve or more with children.”
“And you cook for them all, run the place by yourself?”
“It’s a bit like running a family,” Brianna explained. “Most people stay only a night or two, going on their way.”
Casually Arlene drew Brianna out, weighing each word, every inflection, judging. Gray was more than a client to her, much more. An interesting woman, she decided. Reserved, a bit nervous. Obviously capable, she mused, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the cloth as she pumped Brianna for details of the countryside.
Neat as a pin, she observed, well mannered, and . . . ah . . . she watched Brianna’s gaze wander—just for a fraction—and rest on Gray. And saw what she wanted to see.
Brianna looked back, saw Arlene’s lifted brows, and struggled not to blush. “Grayson said you have grandchildren.”
“I certainly do. And after a glass of champagne, I’m likely to drag out all their pictures.”
“I’d love to see them. Really. My sister just had a baby.” Everything about her warmed, her eyes, her voice. “I’ve pictures of my own.”
“Arlene.” Gray looked up from the file, focused again. “You’re a queen among agents.
“And don’t you forget it.” She handed him a pen even as she signaled for the wine and the menus. “Sign the contracts, Gray, and let’s celebrate.”
Brianna calculated that she had sipped more champagne since meeting Grayson than she had in the whole of her life before him. While she toyed with a glass, she studied the menu and tried not to wince over the prices.
“We have drinks with Rosalie late this afternoon,” Gray was saying, referring to the meeting scheduled with his editor, “then the premiere. You’re going, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Arlene assured him. “I’ll have the chicken,” she added, passing her menu to the hovering waiter. “Now,” she continued after their orders were placed. “Tell me how the book’s going.”
“It’s going well. Incredibly well. I’ve never had anything fall into place like this. I’ve nearly got the first draft finished.”
“So quickly?”
“It’s streaming out.” His gaze rested on Brianna. “Almost like magic. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. It’s a magical place, Ireland.”
“He works hard,” Brianna put in. “Sometimes he doesn’t come out of his room for days at a time. And it doesn’t do to disturb him. He’ll snap at you like a terrier.”
“And do you snap back?” Arlene wanted to know.
“Not usually.” Brianna smiled as Gray covered her hand with his own. “I’m used to that sort of behavior with my sister.”
“Oh, yes, the artist. You’d have experience with the artistic temperament.”
“I do, indeed,” Brianna said with a laugh. “Creative people have a more difficult time than the rest of us, I think. Gray needs to keep the door of his world closed while he’s in it.”
“Isn’t she perfect?”
“I believe she is,” Arlene said complacently.
A patient woman, she waited until after the meal before making her next move. “Will you have dessert, Brianna?”
“I couldn’t, thank you.”
“Gray will. Never gains an ounce,” she said with a shake of her head. “You order something sinful, Gray. Brianna and I will go into the ladies’ room where we can talk about you in private.”
When Arlene rose, Brianna had little choice but to follow suit. She cast one confused glance at Gray over her shoulder as they walked away.
