I don’t dress up for him anymore. I don’t expect him to take me on dates because every time he plans something I turn it down or I hate where we end up going.
I can’t lie.
I am a horrible wife.
I care more for myself than anyone else, but there is a reason things are this way now. I cared once, a little too much, and it was only me who hurt in the end. Not Griffin. He didn’t endure that pain. He couldn’t have possibly understood why it’d made me so cold.
I guess I should apologize.
Unstrapping my workout armband and puling out my cellphone, I give him a call. The phone rings several times until it reaches his voicemail. I don’t bother leaving one. He’ll call back. He always does.
Tucking the phone back into the armband, I grab my bottle of water, take a swift swig, and then I push off the bench, heading east to finish my run home.
When I get home, Griffin is nowhere in sight. His car is gone, the greasy breakfast still on the table. “Arianna!” I call.
She appears in no time. “Yes, Mrs. Boyd?” Ugh. I hate when she calls me that.
“Where did Griffin take off to?”
“Oh, he went into work. I think someone important is here to see him.”
“Who could be so important that he’d go in on his only day off this month?” The question is rhetorical but Arianna shrugs in response anyway.
I look from her to the food again. Griffin didn’t even touch his plate. I know it’s his on the end of the table. The mess he creates, just slapping everything on top of it, letting his food touch. I can’t stand it.
“Well, clean this mess please,” I sigh. “I’m going to get in the shower.”
“Yes ma’am.” She drops the duster in her hand and sits it in the corner, immediately attending to the leftover breakfast and dirty dishes.
I take a shower and freshen up, applying a light spritz of perfume, rubbing deodorant under my arms, and then dressing in a light sundress. It’s when I’m in the study reading a novel for over an hour when I realize Griffin still hasn’t called me back.
This is rare. He usually calls back in no time, no matter how busy he is. He doesn’t like to keep me waiting. I lift my phone to check the time. It’s nearing three in the afternoon. Blowing a breath, I climb off of the recliner, go to the bedroom, and lay in bed, deciding to take a quick nap.
I don’t know when my husband will return and quite honestly I don’t care anymore. He loves to work more than be around me, I’m sure. I’m the same way. He claims he tries so hard, bringing me flowers and chocolate that he knows damn well will only sit in the junk food pantry in the kitchen.
He’ll buy the wrong kind of easels or the worst kind of paintbrushes. Mom hates that I’m so hard on him. She says I shouldn’t be because at least he tries. She only tells me that because my father, her husband, doesn’t try at all with her anymore.
Well, to me, Griffin doesn’t try hard enough. He needs to learn what I like and what I want, instead of inconsiderately guessing.
Honestly, I’d much rather paint, draw, and shop than be in this home. Just the thought of being here makes my skin crawl sometimes.
I should be worried about what could have Griffin held up, but I’m not. We’ve been distant for years, but one thing I know for sure is that he will never sleep with anyone else.
He will never have an affair because there is too much on the line for us. His job is too important and the person he works for expects him never to fail. They expect perfection and in our own little fantasy, we are a perfectly happy couple.
We are happily married.
Happily in love.
That’s what they think.
But it’s bullshit.
THREE
Angelina
* * *
Lunch didn’t work out, however I did get Mr. Boyd to join me for dinner.
Neil took off to handle some business, catching the soonest flight home.
We’d spent nearly six hours cooped up in Mr. Boyd’s office, waiting for Quarter to return the calls. Around 6:35 PM, Mr. Boyd’s telephone rang and he sat up straight, looking at me before staring at the telephone.
I urged him to pick up with a bob of my head and insistent eyes. He was just as nervous.
Never had it taken so long for someone to agree to join us. It was usually an easy kill, but Quarter had taken a toll on both of our minds.
Mr. Boyd answered, going on with a, “Yes. Of course. Are you sure?” And when I saw that bright smile sweep across his lips, I knew. I knew we had it. I beamed, bouncing out of my chair and clasping my hands, way to eager for answers.
“We’re in?” I asked, way too ecstatically.
Mr. Boyd lifted a finger, but a smile still graced his lips.
“Of course. That’s perfect. I can fly out Sunday morning. Thanks, Chris. See you soon.”
He didn’t have to tell me we had the deal. By the way his whiskey eyes sparkled and his mouth played cute tricks of a smile, I knew. And I bounced. “Holy shit. We got it? We got it!”
Mr. Boyd nodded, stepping around his desk. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Shit, I have to admit, I didn’t think we did. They were too damn hesitant.”
“No—no, you did great! Really great! Like I said, we couldn’t have done this without you, Mr. Boyd. Without your skills we wouldn’t have closed that deal.”
“You think so?” He raked thick fingers through his bronze tresses. I got the sense that it’d been quite some time since he received a compliment, better yet any kind of words to stroke his ego. “I don’t know what it was about them. I read over the papers over a dozen times, my speeches to them were clear. I made nothing seem questionable. For a while I thought it was me that might’ve fucked up.”
No.” I grinned. “If anything it was probably Neil’s impatient ass.” We laughed. “Don’t worry. You did a fantastic job.”
I stepped back, chewing on the corner of my bottom lip.
I wobbled on my heels a bit, looking around the office as Mr. Boyd sat on the edge of his desk, facing me. He looked me over. He’d done this six times today. Yes, I counted. How could I not?
He is such a beautiful man. With silky bronze hair, cut and styled neatly, beautiful amber-whiskey eyes, and a wicked smile that made me want to quit my job just so I could drop my panties for him.
“So, I wasn’t kidding about that drink thing. I told you if this deal went through drinks would be on me. Maybe we can do dinner and drinks?”
Mr. Boyd sat up straight, his head going into a slight tilt. “You don’t have a flight to catch?”
“I do, but I can always catch a later one. Come on!” I said, reaching for his hands. “We should celebrate this deal! And then rub it in Neil’s face over the drinks! It’ll be fun!” I squeezed his hands, wiggling my brows.
He dropped his head, fighting the most childlike smile I’d ever seen from a man. “Ahh… I don’t know, Miss. Clark. I should get home. I wasn’t even supposed to come into work today.”
I dropped his hands, remembering that he also had a life outside of working.
Unlike me, he had a spouse. He had a place he could truly call home. I traveled a lot. I never settled into one place for longer than a year.
As soon as my leases were over, I’d move elsewhere. I loved the idea of fresh, new things. I loved tasting things I’d never had—devouring whatever I could get my hands on.
“Oh, right. Shoot, I completely forgot.” I waved a hand. “You’re right.” I laughed with unease, stepping back.
Mr. Boyd folded his arms, looking me over again. His eyes locked on me, and for a moment I caught sincerity running deep in them.
“You know what?” He pushed off the desk and went for his cellphone. He packed his briefcase, tucked his cellphone into his pocket, and then walked back around the desk. He stopped only inches away from me, looking down with a soft smile. “Let’s go grab some dinner. We deserve it after today, right?”
“You sure?” I asked.
I grinned, picking up my purse and folders and then walking out. Mr. Boyd trailed behind me, so close I could smell his cologne. Strong. Earthy. Sweet. As he locked the door behind him, I said, “I would hate to get you into trouble with your wife. If you have somewhere to be you should really go.”
He laughed at that statement. “I’m sure my wife is busy doing other things. Things that are far more important than waiting up for me.”
He turned, locking eyes with me. “This is still business, I assure you.” His face was stern. Serious. “We have future plans to discuss with Quarter. I know a great restaurant right off the shore. Great scenery, wonderful seafood. And no, this will not be your treat.” He winked at me, and then he walked by to get to the elevator. “You do like seafood, right?”
I spun on my heels, watching him walk away. God, he was perfect.
That ass in those tailored pants.
His hair so smooth all I wanted to do was run my fingers through it.
How his wife couldn’t be waiting for him to get back home confused the hell out of me.
Mr. Boyd had it all, and I don’t just mean on the exterior. I was sure he had the package of a lifetime. I could see the outline of it whenever he walked, how it bulged against his zipper.
He looked back, expecting an answer with quirked brows.
“You kidding?” I breathed. “I love seafood.” I caught up with him at the elevator doors and grinned.
I grinned because I was certain Mr. Boyd never got too close with the people he worked with—not outside of work.
But tonight was different. He was fed up with his home life. I could tell it was bothering him.
He wasn’t happy and, strangely, I wanted to fix that.
If a few drinks over dinner could help, then so be it. Drinks and dinner it was.
So here we are, chatting, drinking, eating, and laughing about how rattled we were about cutting it so close with Quarter.
Mr. Boyd—well, Griffin as he’d prefer me to call him—has had three or four beers now and is a bit bubbly.
He sticks his fork into his shrimp linguini, peering towards the sunset. “No joke, that was wild. Three weeks to make that one stick. I couldn’t focus on anything else outside of it.” He leans in, like he’s about to share a secret. “Do you know how much money we are going to make from this?”
“Oh, so much,” I say, before taking a sip of my wine. “They were playing hard to get. Don’t worry, it happens.”
“Hmm… I haven’t chased after anyone in a while. It’s probably why I got so caught up and frustrated about it.”
“Oh really?” I ask. “You should be chasing that woman of yours, silly.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “No, see, nothing I do is ever good enough for Colette.”
Colette. So that’s her name. “Well, what exactly do you do?” I inquire.
He lifts a hand, about to run a countdown on his manicured fingers. “Don’t even get me started. There are the times I buy her flowers, surprise her with new shoes, chocolate, a spa pass for a full day. And you know what she does? She flips shit. She’s all, ‘I hate flowers, Griffin. They die and wither’. Or, ‘I don’t like the spas you choose, they don’t care for their clients.’ Or worse, ‘I’m not eating the chocolate. Too many empty calories. Too many carbs. My salsa competition is next month, honey. Salsaaaaa!’” I bust out in a laugh and that brings a smile to his lips.
“She’ll have no problem taking the shoes though. If she denied the shoes I’m certain I would declare her insane—an alien maybe, because every woman loves shoes, right?”
“That’s true,” I laugh.
He shakes his head, picking up his beer and taking a swig. “She’s ridiculous, Angelina. I’m not exaggerating here. I try, I really do, but it’s never enough for her. Never.”
I watch the sadness wash over him, and I feel so sorry for him because a man that doesn’t care and doesn’t try wouldn’t get so upset about his wife being unappreciative.
He’d just move on, worry about himself like Scott does to his wife Elsa.
Most men in situations like Griffin Boyd only worry about one thing: themselves. They don’t care if their wife is happy and if she isn’t he’ll find someone else that is and treat her to whatever.
But Griffin cares.
He tries.
I can tell.
See, I grew up with a manwhore-ish twin brother. He brought girls home like they were goody bags from a birthday party, getting a taste here and there simply because he had money to boost his ego.
If he liked what he tried, he’d go for another taste, and if he didn’t… well, he’d just ditch her.
Perhaps that was why I was still single. Because I figured most men in the stock business were like Scott. Cheaters and liars. I mean, why marry if you’re just going to break the vows over and over again?
But Griffin… well… he’s different. He loves his wife. I can see it as plain as day.
I can tell he’s never cheated on her or even considered the possibility, even if she does seem a bit selfish and inconsiderate of him.
Griffin blows a sigh and looks at me.
“That doesn’t seem like much fun,” I murmur.
“Oh, it’s not. Trust me. But it’s been this way for years. I don’t expect much to change now.”
I study his face, notice how he avoids my eyes and focuses on the corners of the label around his beer bottle.
After downing my glass of wine, I drop my elbows on the table, folding my fingers and leveling them beneath my chin. “I know it’s none of my business,” I start as the breeze picks up, “but why are you still with her if you’re so unhappy?”
He lifts his head to look at me and blinks once. Twice. Then he releases his beer bottle, sitting back in his seat and spreading his legs.
I drop my gaze, focusing on that large bulge I know works wonders before swinging my eyes back up to meet his again.
His brown holds my blue, and then he sighs, looking down at his hands. “Because… I still care about her. And she’s gone through a lot. I just want to see her smile again.” He huffs a laugh, as if a thought just occurred to him. “Now that I think about it, maybe it has been a chase for me lately. A chase to get her to be happy again.”
I want to ask why she isn’t happy anymore, but I’m sure it’s too personal.
I don’t know Griffin very well, but the more and more we talk, the more he seems like a close friend. A great one. Maybe he will tell me some other time.
“You shouldn’t have to chase your wife like that. It takes two to make it work.”
“Yeah, well…” He lifts his bottle and tips it a bit, letting the contents reach the rim but not too much to let it spill over. “She’s a big girl, and I’m a grown man. The way I see it, it is what it is now.”
My brows shift upward, and I sort of shrug as I sit back. “I don’t get it.”
I search for the waiter. I need another glass of wine. I don’t want our time to end yet.
Isn’t that weird? Not wanting my time with a married man to end? I mean, hello? He does have a wife to get home to, even though she doesn’t exactly appreciate him.
She’s out of her mind. I don’t know the full story, but there is no reason at all not to want a man like Griffin Boyd at home from work every single day.
His love just seems so… so… unconditional.
A song by Carlos Santana drifts through the speakers of the balcony, slicing through my thoughts, and I perk up, smiling broadly as I look at Griffin and forget all about ordering that glass of wine.
“What?” he asks, taking note of my sudden eagerness.
I stand, reaching for his hands and tugging on them. “I love this song. Come on. Loosen up. Come dance with me.”
I flash a sweet smile and he chuckles, head shaking before it
drops.
“I—I can’t, Angelina. I would love to, but—” he flips his wrist to check his watch, “—I should really be getting home.”
“I understand, and I promise to let you go if you share this one dance with me. Just one.” I release his hand, waving one finger and showcasing a grin. “One dance won’t harm anything. What is it? Two left feet?”
He laughs. It’s bashful. Sweet. “Nah. I’m actually pretty good at dancing.”
“Well, then what are we holding back for? Now that you’ve told me that you definitely can’t sit this one out. Come on!”
I tug hard until he gives in and says, “Alright, alright. Just one dance, Miss Clark.”
“Just call me Angelina,” I say, gripping his hands and leading the way to an empty spot on the balcony.
“Alright. Angelina.” He smirks, and heat fills my veins.
The area on the balcony is all clear. We’ve been out here for a little over two hours.
This little seafood restaurant is bound to be closing soon, but I don’t care. Until I have this dance with Boyd, nothing else matters.
When we meet at the center of the floor, he clasps one of my hands in his, a hand at my waist, eyes holding mine. A faint smile touches the corners of his sculpted pink lips, and in no time, he steps back and spins me in a full circle.
I gasp as I’m given a whirl, giggling when I land in his arms again.
“Someone wasn’t ready,” he murmurs.
“You didn’t give me much time to prepare,” I respond.
He shakes with silent laughter, and we start a light cha-cha-cha dance, one that involves lots of twirling, dipping, and holding.
I grin with each drop, laughing as my wavy, chocolate hair falls down, dangling in the breeze before he picks me up again.
It is truly exhilarating dancing with Griffin. He didn’t lie. He really is great at this.
I’m certain he took classes to perfect his moves. They are fluid and swift. Strong and delicious.
When the song comes to an end, I make sure to pull away first, laughing to keep things light and simple.
Only, Griffin doesn’t pull away. The song ended seconds ago and yet he still holds me close. His fingers come up, and he tips my chin, his face as hard as stone. I spot the contemplation in his brown eyes, the guilt that is already there. He doesn’t want to do this, but deep down he really does.
Sudden Desires Page 3