Entangled

Chapter Three

Greg’s legs pumped furiously beneath him as he raced on the treadmill, each stride sending a jolt through his already aching muscles. Sweat streamed down his face, his body covered in sweat, the burning in his calves and the pounding of his heart, all of which, did not seem to matter to him. He however welcomed this exhaustion; it helped keep his mind off his encounter the previous night. But it was a fruitless struggle, he couldn’t shake off the image of the young woman who he had met.

His pace quickened as his body instinctively responded to the mental image of her with nothing but silk. When she stood before him in her cute dress, he began to have thoughts of her without them. There was something about her—her soft features that screamed innocence, her doe eyes that drew whoever looked into them, that all seemed alluring to him. She was not Gracie Terrell, perhaps a sister, he mused as his feet pounded the treadmill belt. They could both be in the scheme of robbing people of their money with their good looks. The thought of that made him angry, and he increased his pace.

After a while, Greg mopped his face with a towel and turned off the machine. He was going to find Gracie, wherever she was hiding, and make her wish she had never met his father, but first, he had to prepare for breakfast he had with his mother.

Breakfast with his mother had always been a routine affair, he had to make time once a month to have breakfast with his mother. They would talk lazily about him and his failed relationships, his mother would try to set him up with a date, and he would turn her down. So he hoped that this breakfast would be different, he still had not decided on telling his mother about him finding Gracie, but he knew she would also be making plans to find out about the woman who had stolen her husband’s fortunes.

Dressed in casual jeans paired with a black T-shirt, he drove to his parents’ house. It was a forty-minute drive from his apartment.

As he stepped into the grand entrance of the house, a familiar feeling overwhelmed him. He was welcomed into the house by a staff with a warm familiarity he was accustomed to. The polished floors, the artifacts that decorated the house, the lingering scent of vanilla that reminded him of his childhood, when his nanny Sandy, already late, made him pies and cookies – all of it brought back bitter-sweet memories.

“Your mother is in the dining hall.” The staff– a stout rounded man, who had welcomed him said.

This was his second visit to the house this month, quite different from his routine; the first time being when the will was read. As he walked further into the house, he heard voices echoing through the halls. Voices he guessed belonged to his mother and some guests. He walked into the dining hall and his guess was right. His mother sat at the head of the table dressed in an impeccable peach dress paired with pearls that hung around her neck, talking animatedly with an older lady he only recognized from the TV interviews– one of those women classified as a Stepford wife. She was the wife of David Trent, a presidential candidate, she looked as though she had spent all her life working on her physical features, with a face layered with tons of makeup. Beside her was a young skinny blonde woman, the type of woman he was usually attracted to, the type that he pictured Gracie Terrell to look like.

“Oh! Greg, you are here.” His mother acknowledged, and the other two turned to look at him.

“Come.” His mother gestured to the older lady “Meet Elizabeth Trent.” Then to the other “And her daughter, Leah.”

“Nice meeting you.” He pulled out a seat on the far end of the table.

“That’s too far.” She pointed to the empty seat beside Leah, as the two ladies sat each on her side. “Sit here.”

He wanted to very much object, but the look on her face gave no room for such. So he sat beside the blonde who seemed very pleased to have him close.

The conversation rallied around idle topics, the older women talked lightheartedly about trips, fashion and people, while Leah –not so subtly, kept rubbing her thighs against his, whenever she wanted to reach out for something on the table. Normally he would not mind the attention, he would have welcomed the flattery, taken her upstairs and f****d all senses off her needy body but weirdly he felt disgusted and repulsed by her actions. He wanted to very much leave the scene, but he knew his mother would not approve of such. So he sat there, painstakingly enduring her touch, wondering why no one else noticed.

His mind however wandered to Gracie Terrell. He had a plan, it was a very simple one; show up at her workplace by Monday and find out who the hell she was. But first he needed to have a meeting with his lawyer, to discuss and address the properties willed to her, which was by all rights his. He needed clarity , and to explore every legal avenue possible to get back what was his.

“…I’m throwing a charity ball.” Elizabeth’s voice broke him out of his daze. “And I was hoping you, Greg, could show up.”

“Yeah sure.” He muttered absentmindedly, barely registering his own words.

“Would you RSVP for a plus one?” Leah asked, her tone sweetly suggestive as she batted her eyelashes. She leaned forward and he caught a glimpse of her boobs threatening to spill out of her dress.

“What?” He asked, his brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard.

“Yeah, I forgot to add, you would need a plus one.” Elizabeth said with a coy smile, “And Leah here is single.”

“Umm.. let’s see how it goes.” He replied.

He knew what game they were playing–the match making game –and he wasn’t going to let them win. And even if he wanted to go with a plus one, he was so sure that it wouldn’t be Leah. The girl from the last night crossed his mind briefly. Then he pushed back his chair, the chair scraping against the floor in a screeching sound, earning a sharp look from his mother. “I have some where to be.” He said curtly to ladies.

His mother had a scowl, but he ignored it and reached down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” He said softly, and without looking back, he strode out of the house.