It seemed that Chloe was right. He had lost his painting mojo. Which left him with no outlet for the tumultuous emotions that swirled around inside him. Although being arrested had released some of his anger. In fact he felt pretty good at the moment, much better than he’d felt in months.
“Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect Beaumont,” he said.
“I didn’t say you were perfect. I said you were nice. Now you’re just as grumpy and mean as I am. And let me tell you, it’s not very becoming.”
He grinned. “I don’t think anyone can be as grumpy and mean as you are—”
“Mr. Beaumont!”
Grayson turned to see Deacon’s executive assistant, Kelly, weaving her way through the crowd. She wore the standard purple and gray that all employees wore, but Kelly always accessorized with her favorite cartoon cat, Hello Kitty. Today a headband printed with the little white cats held back her long black hair.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Jason and I were coming back from my doctor’s appointment when we noticed the crowd.”
A crowd that was getting bigger. People were jostling each other for a front-row position. Something that Grayson wasn’t real thrilled about. Deacon didn’t like bad press, and one of his brothers getting arrested wouldn’t look good on the cover of a tabloid. Which was why Grayson was so relieved when Kelly’s husband, Jason, appeared. As one of French Kiss’s most competent lawyers, he immediately assessed the situation and took charge.
“I’m Mr. Beaumont’s attorney,” he said to one of the police officers. “I’d like to know what he’s being charged with.”
That seemed to get the officer’s attention. His eyes widened, and he pointed a finger at Grayson, speaking in an overly loud voice. “He really is a Beaumont? But what woman would want to wear panties he designed?”
“Just about half of the female population,” Kelly piped up. “The Romeo Collection is our most popular line.”
After only a moment’s pause, he quickly took Grayson’s handcuffs off. Unfortunately, it was too late. The crowd had been alerted to his identity. Phones appeared and started clicking. If he had been Deacon, he would’ve given an eloquent speech and made it clear that it had all been a misunderstanding. If he’d been Nash, he’d have flashed a charming smile and said something amusing. But Grayson had never been good at eloquent speeches or charm. So he just stood there as the cell phones snapped. Although he was taking the attention much better than Chloe. She had turned away and was cowering next to the police cruiser.
Once Grayson’s hands were released, he spoke to the officer. “Take her handcuffs off. She didn’t steal the bouquet. She delivered it to my office.”
“She gave you flowers?” Jason asked. “And here I thought the scruffy look you’ve been sporting since you got back from France would turn women off.” He flashed a grin. “Obviously I was wrong.”
“They weren’t for me.” Grayson watched the officer take the handcuffs off Chloe and felt a little annoyed at the red marks the cuffs had left on her wrists. “They’re for Deacon and Olivia.”
“Speaking of your brother,” Kelly said, “he just called and wants to know why you’re not answering your phone. I think he’s a little worried that you won’t be able to handle things while he and Olivia are on parental leave and Nash is on his honeymoon.”
Grayson didn’t blame his brother for being worried. He was more than a little worried himself. While Deacon and Nash were completely involved in the business, Grayson had always been more wrapped up in his art. He didn’t have a clue how to be a boss. Let alone run a company. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. Deacon needed to be home with his new son. And Nash needed to be with his new wife. Which meant that Grayson needed to pull his head out of his ass and quit hanging out in his studio. Even if he could paint, he didn’t have time to. Nor did he have time to drive his new sports car or deal with Chloe McAlister.
Although once she had her handcuffs off, she didn’t waste any time making her getaway. Without one word of goodbye, she hurried down the street with a hand shielding her face.
“Hey”—the other police officer came around the cruiser—“why did you let her go?”
His partner shot Grayson an annoyed look. “It turns out that this guy is a Beaumont and the girl did deliver his flowers. Which is something he should’ve mentioned to begin with.”
The other policeman didn’t seem to be as put out by the misinformation. In fact he immediately became apologetic. Of course, Grayson hadn’t elbowed him in the eye. “So sorry about the misunderstanding, sir.” He waved a hand at the building behind them. “I love your lingerie—I mean I love your lingerie on women. I bought some for my girlfriend, and she looked hot.”
Instead of replying, Grayson continued to watch Chloe as she made her way up the steep street. What had made her change her mind about posing for him? She didn’t like him. She had never liked him. It had been hell getting her to sign a release for the picture French Kiss had used for the catalog. She’d finally given in when he’d offered her a boatload of money. And maybe that was why she was back. She needed money. Although that didn’t seem likely. If she needed money, all she had to do was ask her friends Eden and Madison. They would gladly give her whatever she wanted. Of course, Nash had once offered her money, and Chloe had turned him down flat. So maybe she was too stubborn to ask for help.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
The question had him looking at the officer. Not only did he look interested but so did Kelly and Jason. No one at French Kiss, besides Grayson and Nash, knew she was the model who had graced the cover of the summer swimsuit catalog. Chloe had insisted her name not be released.
“No,” he said. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not even a friend.”
The officer nodded. “I’d keep it that way if I was you. When I looked her up on my in-car computer, I didn’t find a thing—no tickets, driver’s license, vehicle registration, rental agreement, or credit cards. Nothing. And with the way she shied away from the cameras, I’d say that Chloe McAlister isn’t her real name.”
CHAPTER THREE
Chloe didn’t waste any time putting some distance between herself and the snapping cell phone cameras. She could only hope that no one had gotten a good picture of her. Not that it would make a difference now. In a few weeks, she’d be long gone. And the years of looking over her shoulder would be only a bad memory. No one would think to look for her in England.
Chloe didn’t believe in fate, but it had certainly seemed like the stars were aligned when an Englishwoman stopped by the Fisherman’s Wharf stand where Chloe sold flowers to tourists and struck up a conversation about lavender. They’d talked for a good hour, and for some reason, Chloe had done something she never did: She’d talked about the past. Not the bad parts, but the time she’d spent in her grandparents’ flower gardens and how they had taught her all about annuals, biennials, and perennials. What flowers needed full sun and what flowers needed little. Using tea or coffee grounds in the soil to acidify, and eggshells for valuable nutrients. At the end of the conversation, the woman had given Chloe a card and offered her a job at a gardening nursery she owned outside London. All Chloe had to do was get there.