Chapter 7 No.7

A black Maybach was waiting at the curb.

The driver opened the rear door.

Lila came running out of the store. She was breathless.

"Grafton! Wait!"

She ran up to the car.

"My Uber app isn't working because my card is locked," she pleaded. "Can you drop me off? Please?"

Grafton was already transferring himself from the wheelchair to the car seat. He did it with practiced struggle, hiding his strength.

He settled into the leather seat.

He looked at Lila standing on the sidewalk.

"My car doesn't carry strays," he said.

"I'm Francesca's best friend!" Lila cried. She looked at Francesca. "Tell him, Fran!"

Francesca stood by the open door.

She looked at the woman who had slept with her fiancé. Who had used her for money for years.

"We were friends," Francesca said softly. "But I think we need some space."

She got into the car.

She pulled the door shut.

Thud.

The sound of the closing door cut off Lila's protests instantly.

The car pulled away.

Through the tinted glass, Francesca watched Lila stomp her foot and scream at the empty street.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Inside the car, it was quiet. The air conditioning hummed.

Grafton stretched his legs out. He didn't need to pretend in here. The windows were blacked out.

His knee brushed against hers.

Francesca pulled her leg back. "Don't."

"Why?" Grafton asked. "No one can see."

He reached over. He took her hand.

His thumb rubbed the back of her knuckles. It was a slow, deliberate circle.

"You did well back there," he said. "You almost looked like a Faulkner."

"I just hate being played," she said.

"Then why marry Julian?" Grafton asked. "He's been playing you since the day you met."

"You know why," she said. "The merger. The money."

"If you stick with me," Grafton said, his voice dropping an octave, "you won't need to marry him to get the money."

Francesca looked at him. His eyes were intense.

"And be what?" she asked. "Your puppet with voting rights? A signature on a proxy form? That's not a secure position, it's a gilded cage."

Grafton didn't answer. He just squeezed her hand.

The car turned.

Francesca looked out the window. They weren't heading toward the Faulkner estate.

They were heading toward the Upper East Side.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Your apartment," Grafton said.

Francesca panicked. "No. You can't. Julian might come by."

"Let him," Grafton said.

"He doesn't know!" she hissed. "He doesn't know you can walk. He doesn't know about... this."

"Maybe it's time he learned," Grafton said.

The car stopped in front of her building.

"Grafton, please," she begged.

He looked at her. He saw the genuine fear in her eyes.

He sighed.

"Fine," he said. "But I'm hungry. And I'm not eating hospital food."