I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. For some reason, it just seems wrong to spend this night alone when there is a perfectly nice guy to chat with. We could both use company, I’m sure. So, I stick with my plan.
I remain bold because, after all, I am a very bold and very brave woman.
I head for the door after fluffing my hair and when the door shuts behind me, I walk five doors down, stopping right in front of Griffin’s.
I don’t knock right away.
I can hear him talking. He’s on the phone. His voice is muffled through the thick wood, but I can hear everything.
“No, Colette, I can’t fly at all. All of the flights are cancelled until further notice— What? What the hell do you even mean? It’s storming here! Do you want me to fucking die?” Silence. “Oh, really? You want me to risk my fucking life just to get home to you? Tell me, Colette. What the hell should I expect from you when I show up, huh? Not a damn thing, I’m sure!” Another uncomfortable silence passes. I hear him groan, and before I know it, it’s completely quiet on his end. I think she’s hung up on him.
I swallow thickly, now unsure if I should proceed with those plans I had. I don’t think he’d be up for it now—not after that conversation. I start to back away, but then I realize that maybe he would.
A few drinks to loosen up, forget about that dreadful woman of his for at least an hour. He worked hard today. We haven’t had dinner yet. We could eat together, discuss a few more things.
Without much thought I knock, and then I hear his footsteps. His door swings open and he appears before me.
His suit jacket is gone, his tie missing as well. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a slice of his broad, bare chest.
“Oh. Angelina,” he sighs, forcing a smile and folding his arms. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Everything is fine. I was just coming over to let you know I’m heading down to the bar to catch a bite and a drink. Just wondering if you want to tag along.”
He looks me over in my dress, my light makeup and pinned hair. He then glances back, dropping his arms and exhaling before looking at me again. “You know, I was just about to shower up and order some Chinese. Call it a night…”
“Oh. Well, no worries then!” I smile and I’m glad it doesn’t come off as weak as I feel. I start to turn with defeat swimming in my veins, but Griffin calls my name. I twist around slowly and our eyes connect. He’s taken a step forward, and I feel so puny beneath his stare. “Yeah?”
“Let’s order Chinese together,” he says.
“Oh, no, Griffin. Really, it’s okay. I feel like a nuisance right now anyway. You should relax. Blow off some steam.”
He continues looking down at me, clutching the edge of the door. “There’s only one way I can truly blow off some steam.” With our gazes holding, I can’t help but feel the heat slithering from my throat to my chest.
Does he mean…? Wait… Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“I can come back once you’ve showered,” I murmur.
He shrugs. “Why bother? Come in,” he says, “Relax.” He steps back, allowing a gap to form between him and the doorframes.
I barely pause. After all, this is what I want.
I walk forward, lips curving upward as I enter his room. His is just like mine, only different paintings. I sit on the sofa in front of the wall across from his king-sized bed and blow a breath.
Griffin walks across the room to get to the mini fridge. “If we’re being honest here, there’s no need to go to the bar.”
He pulls the door of the fridge open and takes out a large bottle of Jack Daniels. I smile at the sight of the whiskey, ready to feel it’s golden fury on my taste buds.
“Chinese and Jack? I like the way you think, Mr. Boyd.”
He chuckles, picking up his cellphone again. “I’ll call to place the order. You okay with shrimp fried rice and Lo Mein?”
“Sounds amazing.”
With a nod, he walks to the balcony and makes the call. It doesn’t take too long for him to come back in. “Should be here soon.” He looks down at me, lips moving as if he has so much to say, but instead of saying what I know is on his mind, he says, “I’m going to hit the shower. Make yourself comfortable. If the food comes before I’m done just sign for me.”
“Of course.”
He’s reluctant to move.
Hesitant.
His body is trying to force itself to budge, but his mind is putting up a refusal. His contemplation is clear, and my lips part when I come to the realization that I don’t want him to leave me alone just yet.
I don’t want him in that shower and I damn sure don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel this fiery connection between us.
Before I can speak, Griffin is making his way to the bathroom and soon the door is shut behind him.
Blowing a puff of thick breath, I sink against the sofa and point my chin up to stare at the tray ceiling. I hear the shower start, and I know when he’s settled beneath the warm stream because the water sounds softer.
Boy… tonight is going to be a long one.
Pushing off the sofa, I saunter across the room and pick up the rectangular bottle of Jack from the table, pouring myself a small glass. Without it, I am going to feel out of sorts.
I’m sure Griffin has enough of feeling out of place in his own home. I refuse for him to feel that way around me.
Something buzzes behind me and when I turn I see Griffin’s cellphone. I glance back, still hearing the shower run, and then I look at the phone again.
I shouldn’t… I couldn’t… but knowing my nosy ass, I will.
I rush to see what’s on the screen.
A text message from his oh-so-loveable wife, Colette… though the message is far from loveable.
* * *
Colette: When you decide to be a man and handle your shit, then we can talk. But until you grow some balls, don’t expect me to make chit-chat with you when you get home.
* * *
Ssss… Ouch.
I stretch my lips, making a face. God, I feel so awful for him.
What a bitch!
The shower continues to run and I pace the room in small circles, but I can’t help my glare at his phone. It’s unlocked, no password to protect it. I should help him, spare him from any more agony and heartache.
This woman of his is just straight-up heartless.
He can’t keep getting shut down by her. It’s wrong and she knows it.
So, I do what I know is immoral on my part. I turn on the screen of his phone, surf through his messages, and delete the most recent one from Colette.
Why?
Because Griffin Boyd deserves better. He doesn’t deserve a wife—a woman that is supposed to love him unconditionally—that is only out to see him miserable.
The phone call was enough.
She upsets him. She is hurting him and she doesn’t even realize it... or maybe she does. For a man like Griffin, his ego is high, but not as extreme as what I normally witness in this industry.
It stops here… at least for the night. At least while I’m around. Yeah, I care for Boyd’s well being… and maybe my emotions are dabbling into this as well.
Oh well.
Who cares?
And if you do, try and sue me.
* * *
Griffin is out of the shower in no time.
The delivery came while he was getting dressed, so I signed for him and set the food up for us on the table. By the way his eyes lit up, I could tell he was glad to see that it was here.
Like I said, we hadn’t eaten all damn day. I was just as hungry… almost starving really. The Jack didn’t make it any better, and I have to admit that now it is giving me a bit of a swirl.
After we finish dinner, Griffin sighs, dropping his napkin and walking to the bathroom. “Give me a sec,” he says.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice ringing with laughter.
�
�Just ate Chinese, Clark. Can’t have the stench of it on my breath.” He gives me a wink over the shoulder and I grin, picking up my glass.
“Maybe I should have brought my toothbrush then. I don’t want smelly breath either.”
“I’m sure you’re fine,” he shouts, voice echoing off the bathroom walls.
Standing with a smile still on my lips, I walk towards the balcony and slide the door open. It is still raining, but the sound of the thunder is distant now, as if the storm has barely passed.
I exhale as a cool breeze drifts past me, swirling loose strands of my hair.
While taking a sip of my drink, I hear the buzzing of Griffin’s cellphone again. When I look back, he’s in front of the bed with the end of his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, frowning down at his screen.
God, I hope it isn’t that damn wife of his again.
He hurries back to the bathroom to rinse his mouth out and then he answers the phone. By the way he’s talking, giving updates on business, I’m sure it isn’t her. The call is quick.
“Yes, ma’am. I will make sure to have your invitation sent on time.” He pauses, coming closer to the balcony door. He steps out, looking ahead at the San Diego skyline. “Oh, she is great. She has a salsa competition coming up. She’s getting herself in order for that.” He’s talking about Colette. “She hasn’t called you?” he asks, the olive skin between his eyebrows crinkling. “Oh, well I’m sure she will call you soon. She’s just very… busy these days. Yeah. Okay. You have a good night.”
He hangs up and a sigh pushes past his full lips. I take another small sip of the whiskey, an upward tilt on my lips.
I feel him looking down at me and as he drops his phone into the pocket of his sweat pants, he asks, “What are you smiling about?”
“You’re a busy man,” I laugh.
“Yeah, well…” He shakes his head, lifting a hand to rub his forehead with his fingers. “It’s a part of this whole ‘owning your own business’ thing. You are never not working.”
“I can agree there.” Silence surrounds us.
Griffin points his gaze towards the skyline again. We can hardly make out anything but the lights through the downpour, but it is still nice.
“Beautiful, right?” I ask.
He nods, but doesn’t pull his gaze away. “Serene.” His lips press. “I don’t get many moments like this anymore.”
“I kid you not, the last time I stayed here I sat on the balcony and worked until I had to go the next day. I mean answering phone calls, replying to emails, filing reports and everything. I would have slept out here if the bed wasn’t so damn comfortable.”
He laughs. “I hear that.” Finally pulling his eyes away, he looks down at me. “You know you don’t have to keep me company or worry too much about me, Angelina. I’m fine, really.”
I smirk. “Who says I’m worried?”
He smiles. “I can tell you’re only here because of what you know about my personal life.”
“What are you talking about? I know nothing,” I tease.
One of his cheeks quirks. “Funny,” he responds.
“No, seriously,” I start as I tuck my left arm beneath my right. “I don’t mind. It’s great to have company every once in a while. Good whiskey, cheap food… can’t beat that.”
His lips press, and he struggles with a smile. “You heard?”
“What?”
“The phone call… with Colette.”
I don’t answer right away. I pull my eyes from his, turning straight again. “I heard enough.”
“Hmm.” He tosses a dry laugh. “Just be glad you still have your options.”
“Is being single supposed to be fun now?” I roll my eyes. “Trust me, it gets pretty boring. Lame, if you ask me. It’s just all about finding that right person… a ‘soul mate’ as they say. But until then… well, I just try and enjoy myself whenever I can.”
Silence fills the space between us, but his head is nodding as if he is enjoying every word. But then his head lifts, and his eyes spark a bit as he asks, “Are you enjoying yourself right now?”
I shrug. “I can’t complain.”
He flashes his pearly teeth and says, “Well, I guess I can’t kick you out then, huh? What kind of associate would I be?”
“A terrible one,” I giggle. Oh god… another giggle. I straighten my face again, looking away from him and downing two sips of my whiskey this time.
Griffin walks through the balcony door and goes back to finish his half-glass that’s sitting on the table.
When he returns to the balcony, there is a sheen of sweat on his forehead. I can tell the constant pours of drinks are finally getting to him.
He’s had a few glasses. He’s still in control of himself, but he’s far from sober, I’m sure.
“Scott is very happy about the deal with Quarter,” I say, hoping to avoid awkwardness.
Griffin drops his head and shakes it, sighing. Silky brown hair tumbles to his forehead, making him appear less business-like and more casual.
“What?” I ask.
He’s quiet for a moment. I watch him with a slight frown, his fingers raking through his thick, messy hair. “I don’t want to sound rude, Angelina, but we can we not talk about business right now? Just for right now.” When he looks up, his eyes are desperate, his emotion raw.
“Sure,” I whisper hesitantly.
“It’s just…” He goes quiet and blinks several times, but continues to still hold my gaze. “I just feel like I need to stop thinking right now. Period. About work. About my personal life. About everything that troubles or stresses me out. Moments like this,” he breathes as he looks around the rainy city of San Diego, “moments like this should be cherished, don’t you think? They should be respected and captivated.” Taking a step towards me, he asks, “Don’t you think we should be enjoying this?”
My confusion is clear, but when he takes another step forward, shutting out the distance between us, I drop my gaze and pull my lip in, biting into it.
“Yes,” I murmur. “I think moments like these—nights like this—should be absorbed to the fullest.”
“Right,” he whispers. “Right.” He studies my face, his expression hard like stone, eyes hooded. His brown stare pierces right through me, and when he licks his lips I feel a drop in my stomach. It’s not bad, especially since that drop leads straight to the bunch in my panties. “She has no more love for me,” he breathes.
I look up, realizing he’s talking bout his wife. “I don’t believe that.” Really I do, but I’ll say whatever it takes to make him feel better.
He doesn’t fall for my line of bullshit.
“No, Angelina.” He groans. “No, I know for sure that she doesn’t. She can hardly even look at me now. When we first got married, I could never get her to leave me alone. To stop calling me back-to-back just to ask me how I was feeling or what I was doing. Now? Well, now, I see clearly that she wants nothing to do with me. If she calls, it’s because she wants me to get something or to get under my skin.”
I watch his throat work hard to swallow the cold, hard truth. I’m not sure what to tell him, so I keep quiet.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he is spilling his truths to me, but at the same time, I don’t have much advice. I don’t know his wife.
There could be a valid reason she feels such malice towards her husband. Griffin could also be verbally abusive and I don’t know it.
“Everyday I think about what she really feels inside… what she thinks. Honestly, I don’t know what the hell she thinks anymore.”
Finally pulling away, Griffin turns and places a hand on his hip, jaw locked. His features are strong and solid, his profile sharp but handsome. He’s looking towards the skyline again. I’m sure it’s bringing him some amount of comfort.
Carefully, I place a hand on his back and give a compassionate rub. I don’t speak, though, because I can’t speak much on this. He has tried over and over again with her. He wants to give u
p, but he’s no quitter.
Maybe that’s what she wants—for him to give up. To quit on her so she can make it seem like he’s to blame for their failed marriage. There are always two sides to a story, and something tells me people would fall much harder for her side than his. Griffin works hard and all the time. He’s barely home, and when he is God knows what goes on in his house.
Due to my compassion, my small back rub, Griffin looks over his shoulder and showcases a smile. It’s boyish and soft. Then, in a matter of seconds, his eyes harden on mine and he turns completely, leaving me no choice but to pull away.
“The one thing I can’t figure out about you is how you are still single,” he says. “How are you not taken by someone?” He asks this as if he really can’t figure it or me out.
“Well,” I say, surprised by his question. “The major factor is my job. I won’t allow much of a relationship if I know it won’t work out.”
“Is that so?”
“Rightfully so. The thing is, I never allow myself to be completely owned.”
He narrows his eyes. “Is it because you can’t be, or because that chance has never presented itself?” He’s breathing deeper now, closing in on me like a lion around steak.
“Maybe a mix of both,” I say carefully.
“Is that so, Angelina?” His voice is deep and husky, slurring a bit in speech.
“Yes,” I murmur. Moving forward, leaving no space between us, he takes my glass out of my hand and I allow it. Lifting my glass to his parted lips, he takes a swallow, and when he lowers it back down, he dips his fingers into the cool liquid.
Bringing his hand towards me, he runs the whiskey-wet finger across my bottom lip and I let out a moan that has been collecting in my throat ever since he sealed the gap between us.
He watches as I shut my eyes and absorb the feel of his smooth finger running across my mouth. His breath comes to a slight hitch, and I open my eyes again when he asks, “We shouldn’t, right?” He continues watching my mouth, slowly dropping his hand.
“No,” I breathe. “We shouldn’t.”
“I know. Fuck, I know.” He drops his head with a sigh, mentally debating with himself. Then he lifts his head again, staring into my eyes. “But… the thing is, Angelina… I just don’t give a fuck anymore.”
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