Page 32 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Twenty-Three

Sanctuary

“ H ere it is,” Grimm says as we enter a fifth-floor loft in the heart of Tribeca. “Sanctuary. For now, anyway.”

The place is stunning, yet not ostentatious. Walls of windows provide natural light, even with the blinds closed as they are now. “A courtesy for me?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Also, just for comfort,” he says. “The afternoon sun can be brutal.”

I glance toward him. “Thanks.”

He inclines his head like it’s no big deal. Except to me, it is.

The living area is decorated in shades of gray and deep blue, with comfortable furniture, baskets of blankets, and coffee table books that seem to exist only for that specific purpose.

I glance toward Grimm. “Whose place is this?” I ask. “A friend?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

“Sorry, I forgot. You’re not a person who has actual friends.”

He gives me a sharp look, which I return with my brightest cover model smile.

A smile I hope conveys that while the sex was freaking amazing, I’m still pissed about the bullshit back at the hotel, and if he thinks I’m just going to be the complacent little pseudo-hostage, he has another think coming.

At the same time, he’s right. I made a deal. So I’m sticking to my end like glue. He says jump, I jump. He says jump his bones, I’ll do that, too. I’ll even like it. So there.

But that doesn’t mean I like him .

In fact, our little spat at the hotel was probably a good thing. I’d let myself forget that he’s a Grimm, and I shouldn’t have. I know better than most not to ever take a Grimm at face value.

“It’s mine,” he says, surprising me. “For now, at least.”

“Oh. Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, my father must have access to property records and?—”

“It’s not in my name. And with the tangle of paperwork, he won’t find it.” He meets my eyes, and for the first time since our earlier tiff, there’s warmth beneath the icy blue. “You’re safe with me, Princess. That much, I promise.”

“Oh.” My throat is suddenly too thick for any other words to get through. “Thanks.”

He nods, then waves for me to join him for the grand tour.

Considering his resources and reputation for living a life of excess, it’s not very large.

The open style living area is big enough to be comfortable, but small enough to be intimate.

The kitchen is airy and well-lit, and when I check the fridge and cabinets, I see that they’re both already stocked.

“I have a service,” he says, leading me further into the apartment. “Two bedrooms. Technically, three, but one is my office.

He steers me into the master bedroom—all dark wood highlighted by a red and black theme.

The room across the hall is the repurposed bedroom now used as his office.

It’s leanly furnished, with the focal point being a desk, a chair, and a computer displaying a screensaver of the letters RSC in a decorative font floating and twirling on the screen. And, surprisingly, a VR headset.

One entire wall is cabinetry. Another is entirely windows, and the last supports bookshelves filled with a mixture of fiction and every coding and computer-related book imaginable.

“I never asked what exactly you do,” I say, with a nod to the computer books. “You don’t work for Grimm International, and you told me that day at the shoot that you deal in information. So what exactly does RSC stand for?”

“I’m in cybersecurity,” he says. “I catch hackers, consult with corporations and governments. That kind of thing. And it stands for Rebecca Strait Cyberwerx.”

“For your mom,” I say softly. “That’s a lovely idea.”

He shrugs. “I often wonder, if someone had hacked into Victor’s networks back then, would they have seen her murderer working on his plan?”

“That was a long time ago,” I say, my heart aching for him. “I don’t think the tech was there yet.”

“Maybe not. But maybe RSC can help someone else. That’s the goal, anyway.”

“Using your superpower for good? How surprising.”

He matches my grin, then looks me up and down. “I’m usually bad,” he says. “I have to mix it up every once in a while. Otherwise, I’ll end up Karma’s bitch.”

The laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Yeah. I get that.”

For a weird and wonderful moment, we just look at each other. Then he clears his throat. “Thus ends the tour.”

“Really? What about the other bedroom?”

“You don’t need to see it. You’ll be sleeping with me.”

Despite my earlier irritation, a little frisson of pleasure races up my back. And why shouldn’t it? I’m rather enjoying sex with Liam Grimm. Besides, if every TV show and movie I’ve ever seen is right, men are much more manageable if they’re getting laid regularly.

In the interest of dealing with the man, I suppose I can handle a few more encounters under the sheets. Or on top. Or wherever he wants, for that matter.

“Something funny?”

“Nope,” I say, fighting my smile.

He shoots me a narrow glance, but there’s that tell-tale twitch in his lips. Whatever had prompted his harshness this morning seems to be fading. But at least now I know to keep an eye out for Mr. Hyde.

“Can I see it anyway?” I ask, nodding at the second bedroom door. I don’t know why I want to. I guess I’m just trying to gather all the information I can about this man.

“Oh, this is adorable,” I say when he opens the door.

The room is flooded with natural light, and the bed is made up with yellow linens.

Vases of silk flowers are scattered about, giving the room extra charm.

Best of all, there’s a desk with a small workstation.

If Grimm will give me access to a computer, I can sneak away to Elysium from time to time.

At the very least, I can amuse myself by surfing the Internet.

We finish the tour of the place in the kitchen, where we sit sipping coffee and eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies he’d ordered from a store just one block away.

“I couldn’t live here,” I say.

His eyes widen. “Really? You don’t like the place?”

“Are you kidding? It’s fabulous. But I’d have to buy new clothes every week because these cookies are seriously dangerous.”

“I think that’s why the developers turned the entire fourth floor into a fitness center.”

“Smart move,” I say, snagging another cookie. “Speaking of having to buy new clothes…”

I trail off, indicating the leggings and tee that is on the verge of becoming my signature outfit.

“There should be clothes that fit in your room.”

“My room?”

“You’ll still sleep with me,” he says, in a tone that broaches no arguments. “But the second bedroom can be your private area. Nap, watch television, whatever you want.”

“I want a computer,” I say, and he surprises me by agreeing immediately.

“I should have told you there’s a laptop in the bottom desk drawer in the yellow room. The password for the guest WiFi is Rebecca.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I hesitate, then decide to take the plunge. “Why are there clothes I can wear in that room? Did you —I mean, did you have someone buy outfits for me?”

“They belong to Maya.” There’s something about his tone. Casual, but with a hint of curtness, like it’s someone he doesn’t want to talk about.

I, however, do. “Who?”

“Maya Lane. A friend. She lives here part-time, and I’m sure she won’t mind if you borrow a few things.”

“Right,” I say. Because I have no idea what else to say. Is she just a friend? Or is she a girlfriend kind of friend?

And why do I even care? It’s not like I have the right to ask or even to wonder. I mean, yes, Grimm and I have sex—but that’s because of our arrangement. Not a relationship.

Except I do care. And I hate that I do.

I tell myself to chill even as I search for answers in the set of his jaw or the way he’s pouring coffee. But there are no clues to be found.

I swallow a sigh, then look toward Grimm with what I hope translates as calm indifference. “I assume she’s out of town?”

“Overseas. She’s been living in London for the last few months.”

“Oh,” I say, mentally checking the Just Friends box. “How exciting for her.”

His brow creases. “Are you okay?”

It’s only when he asks that I realize I’m wincing. Not because I’m spinning out about Maya, but because my head is pounding.

“Thanks for pointing that out,” I say, after telling him about the state of my head. “It’s been hurting on and off since I ditched the pills. On the upside, I haven’t noticed my hands shaking in the last few hours, and light doesn’t bother me as much anymore.”

Considering what Dr. Chen described, I’ve gotten off lucky. And because I learned at a young age how to shut down my outside and live on my inside, I’m better than most at ignoring—or enduring—pain.

That doesn’t mean I like it.

He opens a cabinet and comes back with a bottle of ibuprofen, and I gratefully slam back three of the things.

“We’ll ask Dr. Chen if she can give you something to take the edge off. Not a narcotic,” he says quickly, warding off the protest I was about to toss at him. “Just something stronger than what I have on hand.”

I shrug. I don’t want drugs if I can avoid them. I’ve had more than my share in my life. “When will we hear from her?” I ask. “The labs were expediting my blood work, right?”

“I wasn’t going to mention it until we were certain, but she’s hoping she’ll have results today. I’m just waiting on her text.”

“Really?” Considering I’m about to learn what horrible compounds my father was shoving into me, the news makes me remarkably chipper.

“Is it horrible that I almost hope he pumped the worst of the worst into me? That he’s got some secret lab already set up somewhere, and he’s working on some horror movie-type drug to steal memories?”

I smile at the thought, then pick up another cookie before adding, “Then, when Dr. Chen finds it, I’ll be the magic bullet that takes my father out, along with his whole perverse enterprise.”

He nods, then draws in a long breath before releasing it.

“What? You disapprove of my glee? You’re not feeling sorry for him, are you?”