Mind Code (Coded Connections Duet #2)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Grey

My eyes are immediately drawn to the imposing mansion before us when I step out of the taxi.

Regret washes over me as I realize how woefully unprepared we are. Our clothes, wrinkled from the ten-hour flight, suddenly seem laughably inadequate. I glance down at my rumpled shirt, inwardly cursing myself for insisting we come straight here instead of freshening up at a hotel first.

What was I even thinking?

I needed to see her. That’s what.

It’s late morning in London, and the journey here felt like an eternity. When the tracker pinned her here, I wanted to sprint to the airport, but Oliver, bless him, kept his cool, handling the logistics of our impromptu trip with his usual efficiency.

We needed to tell our bosses that we’d be working on Jamie remotely for a while. And we needed time to gather everything to keep trying to find even a hint of who hurt and stole from Amelia.

This trip, though a bit of a splurge of the money we’d set aside for our future company, was a necessary expense. We’re more than willing to spend it if it meant increasing our chances of getting Amelia back.

I’m grateful for Oliver’s level-headedness, even as I’m kicking myself for my impulsiveness.

Four days.

She’s been back in her mother’s clutches for four days. Just because we fucked up.

Like I tried to tell Grandpa and Morgan, I’m not sorry for watching her, only for how she found out, which is a point we’re still unsure about. And for how I let her literally slip from my arms. None of that matters now because we’re going to fix it.

The taxi speeds away, leaving us stranded on the pebble-stone driveway. We must look absolutely ridiculous, like disheveled tourists who’ve stumbled into the wrong neighborhood.

Misha clutches a sad-looking bouquet of flowers purchased from the airport kiosk. He has dark circles under his eyes and his usually bouncy curls are flattened on one side from sleeping against the plane window. Poor guy looks like he’s been through the wringer.

And Oliver looks like he might be sick right here on the sidewalk as he asks, “This is her house?” His expression is tinged with disbelief and a hint of awe.

“Looks like it,” I reply, trying to mask my own discomfort and growing anxiety. I’m beginning to wonder if coming here was a colossal mistake.

But Amelia is in there, undoubtedly feeling way more uncomfortable than I— we —ever could.

If nothing else, we’re going to break her out of that golden cage.

We approach the door, our footsteps crunching on the immaculate cobblestones, but before we can knock, it swings open. A butler, straight out of a Downton Abbey episode with his impeccable black attire and pristine white gloves, greets us.

Holy shit, they have a butler.

“How can I help you, sirs?” he inquires politely, his British accent crisp.

“We would like to see Amelia,” I say, trying to sound confident but hearing the slight waver in my voice.

“What may I tell Miss Stanley it concerns?” the butler asks, his expression betraying nothing.

“You, Miss Stanley, are one of the lucky few who are allowed to call me Grey.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

“It reminds me too much of home.”

Princess.

How did we let her end up back here?

Misha, ever the people person, pipes up, “Hey, it’s nice to meet you. We’re her friends from… work, and we’d like to visit her.” His charm seems slightly dulled by exhaustion, but he manages a winning smile, nonetheless.

As if summoned by our presence, Amelia approaches behind the butler, accompanied by a taller guy who looks just like her. She catches my gaze and freezes, her mouth opening in a gasp.

I’m here, baby.

We’re here.

She’s stunning in a navy dress that accentuates her stormy blue eyes, now without her glasses, her long brown hair falling in soft waves and pearls adorning her delicate neck.

She’s the picture of perfection, a vision that takes my breath away, but there’s an unmistakable sadness in her eyes that doesn’t belong there .

I’m so sorry.

The contrast between this polished version of her and our nerdy-but-happy version hurts my heart. The man beside her, who must be her brother, notices her reaction and turns.

“It’s them?” he asks, and when she nods, his smile quickly morphs into a frown as he approaches the door.

“Amelia,” I whisper, but her brother blocks my view as he positions himself next to the butler, creating a human barrier between us.

“What do you want here?” he demands, his tone cold and unwelcoming, laced with a posh British accent that matches Amelia’s.

I try to keep my tone neutral, though my heart is racing. “Do we know each other?”

He could at least introduce himself so I could confirm who we’re up against.

“No, we don’t, and I’d like to keep it that way. The same counts for my sister,” he replies sharply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Ah, I am right.

“August!” Amelia’s voice snaps from behind him, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration evident in her tone.

August continues, undeterred by his sister’s outburst. “You can just turn around and go back to being strangers. She’s better off with you leaving her alone.”

Frustration bubbles to the surface, and I retort, “Oh, you mean as alone as you left her when you didn’t write her back for weeks?”

“Grey, play it cool, man,” Misha mutters from behind me, but I already regret my words, knowing they’ll only make the situation worse .

“This has to be a bad dream,” Amelia mutters, but I still can’t see her.

Shit. This isn’t how any of us wanted this to go.

Oliver steps forward, his face pleading, “Amelia, please, can we talk?”

There’s no response from her, just August scowling at us, well, mostly at me. I meet his gaze, matching his intensity, refusing to back down. If there’s something I’m good at, it’s scowling.

Misha tries next, his tone filled with remorse, “Amelia, please. We know we fucked up, okay? Let us explain. Tell us what we can do to make things right?”

August’s patience is clearly wearing thin. “I think you did enough. Now leave,” he says, his disdain for us evident.

The butler interjects, cutting through the tension. “Mr. Stanley, do you want me to call the police? I guess such a scene will not be to the liking of Mrs. Stanley.”

August nods, pulling out his phone. “Good idea, James,” he says, his finger hovering over the screen.

Fuck, how long do you go to prison for stalking in the UK?

“No, God. Auggie, stop.” Amelia grabs the phone from her brother before she pulls him back by his upper arm, stepping in front of him before addressing the butler. “James, thank you, but we don’t need your services here anymore. They are about to leave.”

She looks at me with a challenge I’m eager to accept as James leaves, but then another man appears at the door and roughly grabs Amelia by the shoulder, pulling her back.

What the fuck?

My fists clench involuntarily as he positions her beside August, and I have to resist the urge to call him out for manhandling her. In the corner of my eye, I see Oliver take a step forward, but I can’t take my attention away from the new situation at hand. It already takes every ounce of self-control not to intervene.

“What is this commotion about?” the newcomer demands, his stern and authoritative presence commanding attention.

I take in his appearance—tall, impeccably suited, with brown hair peppered gray at the temples and piercing blue eyes—and realize this must be Amelia’s father. He exudes an air of wealth and status, looking like an older version of August. The family resemblance is undeniable, but where August’s features hold some warmth, this man’s face is all cold authority.

Recognizing that my previous approach isn’t working, I decide to change tactics. “Mr. Stanley, it’s nice to meet you,” I say, putting on my most polite tone. I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “We’re Amelia’s coworkers from Seattle. We’re here for a conference and wanted to visit your daughter.”

I can practically feel Misha and Oliver’s surprised gazes boring into the side of my head.

Yeah, well, I’m surprised too.

I pray they’ll play along, but they stay silent, which is even better. Even August huffs but doesn’t contradict me. It’s clear he’s protective of Amelia, even if he’s not showing it in the best way. The tension in the air is palpable, and I find myself holding my breath.

Amelia speaks up, her voice tight. “Yes, and they were just leaving.” I hear the strain in her words, her barely concealed plea for us to go.

It breaks my heart to hear her sound so defeated.

Her father shoots her a disapproving look as if scolding her for merely opening her mouth. I feel a fresh wave of anger at his treatment of her, but I push it down.

Now isn’t the time for confrontation .

Mr. Stanley turns his attention back to us, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Colleagues at that tech company? Are you speaking at this conference? What’s your name?”

I get the distinct impression he’s sizing me up, determining if I’m successful enough to warrant his time. His eyes rake over me, taking in every detail of my appearance. I raise my chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.

“Grey Donovan, sir,” I respond, ignoring Amelia’s scowl at my use of the honorific.

I need to play this right.

“And this is Misha Niarchos and Oliver Harwood. We’re working on a project that will soon revolutionize tech. But unfortunately, I can’t brag about it yet.”

Mr. Stanley’s eyes narrow slightly. For a moment, I think I’ve messed up. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for his response. Then he asks, “ Grey Donovan? Are you related to the Grey Donovan who was a professor of law at Harvard?”

I freeze, unsure if this connection is good or bad. A million thoughts race through my mind in an instant.

Should I downplay the connection?

Embrace it?

Fuck it.

“That’s my grandfather.”

“Is he now…” I’m completely taken aback by Mr. Stanley’s sudden transformation. His face lights up with genuine enthusiasm, catching me entirely off guard. It’s as if someone flipped a switch, revealing a whole different person. “Wonderful,” he exclaims, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Did you know that, August? This is the grandson of my favorite law professor. I told you often about him when you were at Harvard, remember?”

I glance at August, and the sight nearly makes me wince. He looks like he’s just swallowed a lemon whole, his jaw clenching so tightly I worry for his teeth. “Yes, I remember, Father,” he manages to grind out.

Mr. Stanley, oblivious to his son’s discomfort, turns back to me with an almost boyish excitement. “Your grandfather is the only reason I was able to graduate summa cum laude. He was the best teacher I’ve ever had. I’m still working with some of his techniques. Is he still alive?”

I fucking hope so.

I’ll have to thank Morgan again for agreeing to work for him. It’s only thanks to her that we were able to up and leave Seattle like that.

“He is,” I reply, still reeling from this unexpected turn of events. “He’s taking it slow these days, but he’s well.”

“Amazing. How small the world is.” Mr. Stanley nods, seeming to hang on my every word. “How long are you going to be here for this conference?”

I catch sight of Misha and Oliver’s faces out of the corner of my eye. They look absolutely flabbergasted, their jaws practically on the floor.

Thinking on my feet, I cobble together a response. “About a week,” I say, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. “But we came earlier to see Amelia and maybe wanted to stay longer to immerse in the British lifestyle. You know, really soak it all in.”

Soak it all in?

Grey, you sound like an idiot.

“Which hotel are you at?” Mr. Stanley inquires, leaning forward with interest.

“We actually haven’t booked anything yet,” I admit, trying to sound nonchalant. “Taking part in this conference was rather spontaneous.”

“Perfect. Then you’re going to stay here,” Mr. Stanley declares as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You can join us this week for dinner and tea, and I can regale you with tales about your grandfather. Maybe we can even arrange a call. I would love to thank him once more.”

“I-I…” I stammer, momentarily stunned by the offer, my brain short-circuiting.

Before I can cobble together a coherent response, August hisses urgently, “Father, they want to go to a hotel. They for sure don’t want to sleep in a stranger’s house.”

My eyes dart to Amelia, and my heart plummets. She looks absolutely ghastly, her face a sickly shade of pale.

Nothing left of the blush I love so much.

“They wanted to get to know the British way of life, nothing better than to stay with Brits,” Mr. Stanley declares, leaving no room for argument. “Also, our rooms are better than the hotels in the city. They can stay with us as long as they want.”

“And what if they’re not welcome?” Amelia’s words, barely above a whisper, hit me like a punch to the gut.

You don’t want us anymore?

Is it that bad?

Mr. Stanley’s face contorts with disdain as he looks at his daughter. “Amelia Charlotte, did you forget your manners over the last two years?” he snaps, his words dripping with disapproval. Then, as if flipping a switch again, he turns to me with a relaxed, pleasant expression that’s almost more unsettling than his anger. “I’m going to tell the housekeeper to get the rooms ready for you.”

“Her name is Bernadette. She’s worked for you for the last twenty years,” Amelia murmurs under her breath.

August stares at her in shock. This behavior seems out of character for her, even to me, and I’ve never seen her around her parents. I’ve seen glimpses of sass beneath her shy exterior, flashes of spirit that hinted at a hidden fire, but this… this is pure disdain, and August’s reaction makes me think she has never shown it this openly before .

“What was that?” Mr. Stanley growls.

“Nothing, Father,” Amelia replies, her voice hollow, devoid of the spark that had momentarily flared to life.

I want to intervene, to tell them it’s fine and that we’ll go to a hotel. Anything to get him off her back. But I know this might be our only chance to get close to Amelia, to make things right.

Even if it looks like it could get her in trouble, I can’t pass up this opportunity. And if she does get into trouble, we’ll get her out. I’ll carry her out myself if I have to, damn the consequences. But first, we need to get close.

To fix everything we broke.

Swallowing my reservations, I force a smile. “Thank you so much for the offer.” As I speak, I catch Amelia’s eye, trying to convey without words that we’re here for her. That we won’t let her face this alone. “We would love to stay.”

Whether she understands or even wants our support remains to be seen, but I’m determined to try.

As we walk up the stairs, Mr. Stanley bellows for the butler, and in a flash, two of them materialize to whisk away our luggage.

A maid approaches Misha, her eyes fixed on the flowers he’s clutching, seeming unimpressed.

“They’re for Amelia,” Misha protests weakly as she pulls them from his grasp.

The maid ignores him completely, brushing past to stand in front of Amelia instead, whose voice comes out flat and emotionless, instructing, “Put them in water, please.” The maid nods curtly and vanishes with the bouquet, leaving behind a deflated Misha.

“Please, make yourselves at home. Get refreshed,” Mr. Stanley says as we walk into deeper into the entrance hall, his tone cordial but distant. “My wife is hosting a high tea early this afternoon. We’d be delighted if you’d join us as our guests.” With those words, he strides away, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor.

I notice August eyeing Amelia. The siblings seem to communicate silently, and after a few glances, August nods before following his father, calling out, “Father, a word.”

As Amelia turns to leave, I grab her wrist without thinking. She pulls away immediately as if my touch burns her, and I let go.

My chest tightens, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. “Princess…”

Her eyes narrow, stormy and cold. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“What do I look at you like?” I challenge.

Like I love you?

Like I’m horrified I’ve lost you?

“Like a gloating prat,” she retorts, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

God, I love her.

She turns on her heel and ascends the stairs. Her short skirt rides up as she takes two stairs at a time, revealing a glimpse of the Amelia I know beneath this polished exterior.

Despite everything, I grin as she disappears from view, my eyes lingering on the spot where she vanished.

One of the butlers clears his throat, startling me out of my reverie. “Gentlemen, please follow me.”

We’re led up the same stairs Amelia just climbed, and I wonder where her room is.

Is it close by? Will I be able to sneak a moment alone with her later?

Misha’s voice breaks through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality as he mocks me. “ Immerse the British lifestyle. Soak it all in. Really, bro? ”

“Fuck off,” I snap, caught between irritation and amusement.

“This is insane,” Oliver mutters, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“It is,” Misha agrees, sounding equally bewildered. “And I have no idea what to think about it.”

I try to sound more confident than I feel, squaring my shoulders. “We have a foot in the door,” I say, trying to reassure them and myself. “Now we have to play this right.”

Oliver shoots me a worried glance, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of her father liking you,” he says softly. “I don’t think Amelia is either.”

Me neither.

“We’ll call Grandpa as soon as he’s awake.” I check my watch, calculating the time difference. “See what he thinks of his old student.”

And whether being under Mr. Stanley’s roof will help us get Amelia back or make things even worse.