“What did she say?” I’m a little too excited now.
“She said she thought you were probably too old and would never be able to keep up with her,” she laughs out.
I feel like I’ve just been doused with a bucket of cold water. “Why the hell would you tell me that, Al?”
She laughs harder now. “Because she thinks you’re sexy, Griffin! You just have to show her that you’re not work, work, work all the time—that you can cut loose and have fun. You do that, and you’ll have her eating out of the palm of your hand.”
I lean back as I mull over her words. Cut loose. Be more fun. I can do that. “Thanks, Al,” I say, hanging up. I can’t help but wonder if what she said has any truth to it. Would El accept a date from me if I asked?
I shake my head clear. This is ridiculous. She’s in her early twenties. I’m in my thirties. She’s wild and free and still trying to decide what to do with her life. I’m set in my ways, spend all my time at work, and do little to nothing outside of my quiet life of work and home. But that’s only because I’ve let myself slow down and relax.
I haven’t always been this way. I used to be fun. Candice and I used to hit all the hotspots in town. We’d drink until dawn. We had sex in dark alleys, noisy bathrooms, and back seats of limos. When she broke my heart, I let myself go. I quit trying to have fun and started focusing on how to better protect myself. Somehow, I managed to age myself fifty years overnight.
When a headache starts to form, I turn off the lights and go to bed.
On Saturday morning, I head to my quiet office. Only a handful of people work over the weekend, so I find myself alone in my office, looking at layout styles for the magazine. I grab my phone and call El.
“Hello?” she answers, sounding chipper.
Just hearing her voice makes my heart pound. “Are you busy? I’m at the office trying to choose a layout for the first magazine, and I can’t pick.”
“No, I can come in.”
“Great. Thank you,” I breathe out.
“No worries,” she replies. “I’ll be there in a little over an hour.” She hangs up without a goodbye.
I let the phone fall from my hands as I look up and see a reflection of myself. I seem so stiff. Without wasting another second, I stand and rush outside, then head down the street to a clothing store.
“Can I help you?” the saleswoman asks as I enter.
“I need casual clothes,” I say, nearly breathless. I have plenty of jeans and ratty t-shirts at the house, but I don’t have time to run back and dig them out before she arrives.
What kind of guy goes into work on a Saturday dressed in a suit? I need to show her that I can kick back and cut loose—that I’m not work, work, work all the time like Alison said.
The woman quickly leads me to the men’s section, and I grab a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. I head into the dressing room and put it all on, then stand back and look at myself in the mirror. I look more at ease and laid back—younger in a way—until my gaze lands on my dress shoes. I scoff and roll my eyes.
“Boots. I need boots,” I mumble as I start stripping.
I change back into my suit and swing by the shoe department, finding a pair of black boots that match my new laid-back look. I quickly pay for it all, then head back to my office to change. I laugh as I’m putting my suit into the garment bag I keep in my office. I never thought I’d be taking off an expensive suit to change into an outfit that costs less than one of my custom-made sports coats, but here I am. I stand back and look myself over once again. A laugh escapes my lips.
What the fuck am I doing? This is absurd. I shake my head, take off the clothes, and put my suit back on. If El could feel something for me, dressing like a frat boy isn’t going to make her realize it. She needs to see the man I am. I work hard, I take myself seriously, and I’m not a twenty-something-year-old kid who’s just looking to hook up and have fun.
I’m pouring a cup of coffee when she walks in. “Good morning,” she says, shrugging out of her jacket.
“Morning. Thanks for coming by. Would you like some coffee?”
“Sure,” she answers, moving to sit on the sofa and look at the layout options.
I pour another cup and take both back to the sofa.
“Are these the choices?”
I nod as I hand her a cup. “They are. This is the exterior. Obviously, these are just samples.”
She takes a sip and sets her cup down on the table. “Do you have the cover image?”
I let out a long breath as I stand and move to my desk. I set my cup down, then dig through the drawers, looking for the photos.
She gets up and walks over, standing behind me and looking over my shoulder. Having her this close makes my stomach tighten.
“It’s between these two.” The first one is a picture of our Maui location. It shows the beach, the hotel, and dozens of happy guests relaxing on the sand. The second is the front of the building of our California location. The picture shows guests coming in and out, a door greeter with a big smile, and our shuttle parked under the awning.
“I’m not feeling either of these,” she states, looking over the two options.
“No?”
“No. When I see this one of the beach, I’m overwhelmed by all of the people. Nobody wants to go on vacation and deal with that many people. They want quiet, relaxing.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” I ask, pointing at option number two.
“It’s boring. I mean, I bet every hotel in the country has used an image like that. It’s like, ‘See our happy guests and employees?’” I look up to see her roll her eyes.
I laugh. “Okay, smarty-pants, you pick one.” I reach into my desk and pull out the stack I decided against; maybe she’ll see something I didn’t.
I drop them on my desk and she places her left hand on my right shoulder as she uses her right hand to flip through the photos. I’m so wrapped up in the sensation of her hand on me that I can’t even think about the photos.
“Oh, what about this one?”
She pulls me from my thoughts and I look at the photo. It’s a balcony shot. There’s a beautiful view just past the balcony. The table is set with a decadent breakfast, and there are massage tables set up off to the side, surrounded by flowers and candles.
“This is exactly the photo you want to use.”
I look up at her, studying her expression.
“Do you trust me?”
I hold up my hands. “If you think this is it, then this is it.”
She giggles. “Then you could use this,” she says, reaching across my desk for the masthead mockup with the hotel name on it. When she picks it up to place it on top of the photo, she knocks over my coffee. It spills and runs across the glass desk, pouring into my lap.
“Oh, shit!” She quickly turns to grab tissues while I stand up. She spins back around and starts wiping the tissues across my crotch, trying to dry up the spill.
“I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy sometimes!” she says, vigorously wiping up the coffee.
With each swipe of the tissue, my dick twitches. I quickly grab her hands and gently push them away. “It’s fine. You don’t have to do that.”
Suddenly, she knows exactly what she was doing and she lets out a loud laugh with a snort. She covers her mouth as her face turns red. “I didn’t mean to…I mean, I’m so sorry.”
I clear my throat and scratch my nose to hold off the smile that’s trying to take over. “It’s fine, really. I have some other clothes here. I’ll just go change.” I step past her into my office bathroom.
When I close the door between us, I hang my head and laugh, while at the same time, talking myself down. My dick is aching now that she’s brushed against it. I turn the water on and cup my hands beneath the faucet, splashing my face. The cold water helps shock me back to reality. I grab a few paper towels and dry my face before stepping out of my suit and putting on my new clothes. I stand back and look at myself in t
he mirror. I feel awkward and out of place, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. My suit is stained and can’t be worn, so this will have to do.
With a deep breath, I prepare to walk out and show her this “new me.”
Chapter Nine
Janelle
I cannot fucking believe I did that! Not only did I spill coffee all over my boss, but I then rubbed his dick trying to clean it up. God, shoot me now! As soon as he leaves to change clothes, I pull out my cell phone and call Alison.
“Hey, sis. What’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe what I did!”
She laughs, already knowing it has to be good. “What?”
“I spilled coffee all over Griffin’s lap, then tried to clean it up. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I felt him get hard,” I whisper-yell.
She dies laughing. “Only you,” she says before laughing some more.
“Why did you have to tell me he liked me? Now I’m a fucking mess around him. I’m trying to act cool like I don’t know, but I know and it’s making me nervous.”
The bathroom door opens and he walks out in a pair of dark-wash jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. The sleeves on the shirt hug his big biceps, and the material stretches across his hard chest. His blond hair is a mess from pulling his shirt over his head, but it makes him look younger and sexy. I already found him hot dressed in a suit with his hair neatly styled, but now I find myself squeezing my thighs together to hold off the tingle starting to form between them.
“Gotta go,” I clip out, ending the call. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe out, my eyes closing to hold off the embarrassment that washes over me. “I hope I didn’t ruin your suit.”
He laughs and waves his hand through the air, dismissing the thought. “It’s not a problem, El. It’s Saturday. I shouldn’t be in a suit anyway. Now, what do you say we go grab some lunch? Maybe clearing our heads will get us back in the game.”
My mouth drops open and I nod like an idiot. “Okay.”
He leads me out of his office to his car parked in the underground garage. He opens the passenger-side door and I slide into the cool leather seat. The smell of him has soaked into the interior, and it surrounds me, making my head swim.
My eyes drift closed as I relax into the seat, letting his smell settle over me while I think about how hard he got when I brushed against him.
The sound of his door opening pulls me from my thoughts and I tense with his presence. “Anyplace special you want to go?” he asks, looking up at me as he presses the start button ignition.
“Uh, no. I’m down for whatever,” I answer, nervously. Now that we’re in such a confined space—alone and together—my heart rate picks up and I can feel beads of sweat on my brow.
He turns the car over. “Well, I’m afraid my usual places won’t let me in dressed like this. How about we go back to my place?” He’s cool, calm, and collected.
“Yo-your place?” I stammer.
His lips turn up into a grin. “Yeah, my chef prepares quick meals we can just heat up. But don’t call them leftovers. I learned my lesson,” he jokes.
I nod and swallow down my fear. “Yeah, okay. Sure, why not?”
“All right. My place it is,” he says, shifting into drive and hitting the gas.
He drives a few miles out of downtown and pulls up to a big mansion with a brick wall and iron gates at the entrance. He stops, puts in his code, and the gates open, allowing us through. The brick driveway is long and winding, and when we get to the end, there’s a big circle drive with a massive fountain in the center. He comes to a stop directly in front of the doors, and he turns off the car.
“Here we are,” he says, stepping out.
I’m in awe as I look at the massive house and perfect landscaping. I unclip my seatbelt, but before I can reach for the handle, he’s opening my door. I step out, eyes locked on the brick mansion.
“This is amazing,” I mumble as he reaches for my hand and pulls me up the few steps to the door.
“Thank you.” He unlocks the door and walks inside, holding it open for me.
The inside is just as amazing out the outside. It’s all picture-perfect: the crown molding, the chandelier in the center, and the massive staircase on either side of the room that meets in the middle of the second story. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life—not outside of movies that is.
“The kitchen is this way.” He pushes through a swinging door and we walk into a kitchen fit for any five-star restaurant. He opens a refrigerator with a glass front and begins pulling out various containers. “We have chicken, steak, pasta, or shrimp. What’ll it be?”
I lean against the marble island. “Chicken is good.”
“Chicken it is.” He pulls out a couple different containers and points to the wine fridge. “Will you pick out a bottle of wine?”
“I know nothing about wine, but sure.” I grab the first bottle my hand touches and he slides me two wine glasses.
“If you’d like, head out to the patio and I’ll bring everything out after I warm it up.”
I smile and take the glasses and bottle of wine. Stepping out of the kitchen, I look to my right, where I find a set of glass doors. I push through and find a stone patio. There’s a table with two chairs, a huge pool and hot tub, and a section with a built-in fireplace surrounded by pillow-laden chairs.
I remove the cork from the already-open bottle and pour two glasses. Picking up my wine, I take a sip and wander around the edge of the pool, looking down into the clear water, completely amazed that people actually live like this. I mean, he isn’t some famous actor or musician, yet he lives like a king. I laugh when I think about how my whole apartment would fit into his kitchen.
Minutes later, Griffin comes out with two plates. I walk over and take my seat and can’t help but exclaim, “This looks amazing!” The chicken breast is grilled to perfection and there’s a crisp green side salad.
“It tastes even better,” he assures me, taking his seat and picking up his knife and fork.
I slice the chicken and place it on top of the salad. When I take the first bite, a soft moan escapes my lips. “Oh my God! This is delicious!”
He laughs around the food in his mouth. “Michael, my chef, is the best. He wants to open his own restaurant someday, but I might not let him go,” he jokes.
I laugh. “I wouldn’t blame you. It’s like eating out without having to go out! Much better than the mac and cheese I have for dinner every night.”
“Every night?” he asks, brows raised with surprise.
I laugh at his expression. “Well, not every night, but most nights. I’m a college student, remember?”
“You can have dinner with me anytime,” he offers.
“Be careful, I might take you up on that.”
“I wouldn’t mind, El. But I have a feeling Chase might.”
I look up and our eyes lock. I can see the nervousness on his face. “Chase and I aren’t together.”
“You looked pretty together when he was giving you flowers the other day.”
I nod and pick up my wine. “We were talking. That is, until I found out he’s engaged. I think he was just trying to use me to get to you. He needs this internship to turn into a job.”
He nods once. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” Griffin whispers, not looking up, but instead looking at his plate as he moves his food around.
“I was angry, but not hurt. I’m sure there’s someone out there who’s better for me—someone who understands me.”
He looks up at me now and his Adam’s apple bobs. “You were too good for him anyway. You need someone stronger than him—someone who’s a leader and can appreciate your successes as much as his own.” He picks up his glass of wine and takes a sip, all the while watching me.
I swallow down the fear that’s now pumping through me. “Any idea who that could be?” I ask, my hands nearly shaking as I wait for his answer.
He lets out a quiet laugh as his eyes pull awa
y from mine. “You want me to say it, don’t you?” He glances back up at me, and the tension between us thickens.
“Say what?” I ask, unsure if I’m ready to hear the words I’ve been wondering about all day.
“That I have been treating you differently from the rest of the group. That I find you smart, and sexy, and talented. That from the moment my eyes landed on you, I’ve done nothing but picture the moment we finally come together.” He picks up his wine glass and swallows it all down. All the while, I can do nothing but sit frozen in place—and watch.
He sets down his glass and stands, holding out his hand.
I look from his hand, to his eyes, and back, wondering if I should take it. I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do. Yes, he’s good-looking, but he’s my boss—at least for the next several weeks. But he’s also older than I am. He dates women who have money and power and social status. I’m nobody. Could he really be interested in me, or is he just looking for an easy piece of ass?
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
I place my hand in his, and he pulls me to my feet. My chest presses against his and his eyes meet mine.
“I know I’m older than the guys you usually date, but give me a chance, El. The man you’ve come to know since we met—that’s not all of me. It’s just the small piece I allow myself to show people.”
Slowly, he leans in and presses his mouth to mine for a soft, slow kiss. This feeling of shock washes over me—he is my boss after all. But slowly, something happens and I melt into him. His hands find my lower back, and they pull me closer. My chest is smashed against his, and I can feel his heart racing as fast as mine. A tingle forms in my stomach, and it makes every muscle tighten.
My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as I deepen the kiss, wanting to test the waters. He responds to me immediately by walking me backward until my back presses against the wall. His hand move upward, cupping my cheek as his tongue dances with my own. A soft moan escapes my mouth, and it only fuels him. He picks me up against him, and my legs wrap around his hips. The hardness in his jeans presses against my aching clit as he pins me to the wall. As our mouths move in sync, his hips grind against mine, and his hands tour my body, but still only touch me innocently: my sides, my hips, my thighs. He never pushes the boundaries of touching a place that’s craving him.
Baby Mistake: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance Page 6