Grayson Hall Novels & Stories

I forgot to eat breakfast earlier because I was in a rush and now I suddenly feel so fucking hungry. There weren’t too many people when I entered the Mystic Grill. I just ordered beef steak for me and pork spareribs for my mate. After taking the orders, I immediately exited the Mystic Grill and then got back in my car and drove back to the pack house. While I was in the middle of the drive, my cellphone suddenly rang so I immediately took it out of my pocket while my eyes were still focused on the road. I didn't even look at the callers' ID to know who was calling me and I answered it immediately.

Grayson wore a black T-shirt tapered around his defined muscles which combined with the gray sweatpants he had on. His veiny hands played over the keyboard with rehearsed ease as his gaze slipped to what he was doing. Scarlet leaned against the doorway. “You’re home.” Her voice was laced with surprise. He usually worked late at the office, long after she had returned. He lifted his eyes toward her for a brief moment before resuming to his screen. “Yeah.” His tone had nothing unusual or particularly telling about it. While he was not cold, he also was not very warm. Just Grayson.

The sound of footsteps made her pause. Grayson entered without knocking. At fifty-one, he was tall and broad, his iron-gray hair cut short and sharp. His hawk-like features made him look exactly like what he was; a man who could bend the world as he pleased. He wore a tailored black coat over a dark shirt, and his presence instantly filled the room. “Mr. Grayson,” Cassandra said, straightening. Her voice stayed cool and professional. “The auction is tomorrow. Viewing hours ended at six.” “I know,” he replied, his voice low and rough.

*** The marble lobby of Grayson Holdings had never seen such theater. It was late afternoon when Jaxon Lee arrived, his sunglasses lowered just enough to catch the camera flashes. Flanked by publicists and investors like a celebrity returning from exile, he strolled through the revolving glass doors as though he owned the building. But it wasn’t the architecture he was here to reclaim. Savannah stepped out of the elevator and froze. He grinned like a dare. “Miss me?” Before she could speak, he closed the distance. Cameras clicked like insect wings as he cupped her face, pulled her toward him, and kissed her.

Does he think that I owe him something? I don’t. I’m grateful, but that’s as far as it goes. His nails dig into my cheek. His thumb swipes across my lip. So much anger. His life is going just fine. He’s back at the top of his game. Amanda gave me the highlights from the last few games. Greyson has been on fire, leaving everything on the ice. He’s been interviewed for the local paper a few times. There’s been a feature in the New York Times, along with a smiling photo of him and his father, who attended one of them.

Following the only route in this place that I know, I skip down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where I remembered seeing a back door. Instead, I see Grayson. What is doing in here still? He stands with his back to me, doing something at the sink. And the only thing he wears, are a pair of black dish washing gloves. One brief eye full of a very firm, smooth butt has me screaming and ducking for cover behind the bench. "Lexia?" I hear Grayson say into the air, as I press myself as close to the bench as physics allow. He can't see me. I can't see him...What the hell did I just see?

He must be downstairs helping prep everything. I roll back over to try and get a few more minutes of sleep, but I can hear everything. Then there is a knock on the door. I huff and get out of bed and open it to find all the Lunas walking with mimosas. Wheeled in behind them is a rack of clothes and a man with pink hair. “Haley, this is Grayson. He is the best stylist I know,” says Jessica. “Hello darling, my you are just glowing. I think I have the perfect dress for you and I know just how to do your hair,” says Grayson as he circles me.

"I see what you're doing there. Don't even think for a second that you'll be able to escape me that easily." Yvette Macklemore, Yve, a total sweet heart. Your classic black rainbow lollipop, with a bit of sourness: sweet, and feisty - just his type o' gal –light caramel skin, black hair with pink highlights at the sides, 5feet6, who still argues that she's still the tallest of them both. She can be too fucking cheerful, it's nauseating. McCleron made certainty to avoid her in public, with enough fortification to tune her out long enough when they are together.

"Aiya my elders, I haven't seen you for a long time, I am only offering my greetings, seems like I am not welcomed here." "Yes, you are not!" "Oh my goodness, I am so heartbroken!" Ashton said, putting on a dramatic expression. Maya could not take it anymore and pinched him hard on his arm. "Can you get down to business already? I am damn tired!" She mind-linked with him. "But it seems like you have gotten old. After all that time, you haven't found my grandfather’s real killer, he must be disappointed in you!" Ashton said. Kelly who had already returned to his senses, had a bad feeling when he heard Ashton.

Grayson didn't let him keep it. He stepped forward once, twice, until Lennon had to tip his head back to hold eye contact. Up close he smelled like cedar and something musky. “You were late,” Grayson said, almost softly. “I… Sorry, traffic.” That was a lie. Grayson's gaze dipped to Lennon's mouth, then lower, lingering on the faint red mark peeking above his collar. When he spoke again, his voice was... deeper. “Traffic,” he repeated in an almost amused tone. “Interesting.”