Minute by Minute (Games & Diversions #3)

by Natalie E. Wrye

  “Great. And can you make sure it’s done soon, please? I gotta run, and I need things to be in working order by tomorrow morning.”

  “No problem… Mister Griffin,” Sarah practically curtsies. “Jade’s just finishing up with Mister Johnson’s items. She’ll be right over.”

  “Perfect.”

  Sarah nods, disappearing quickly from sight.

  Papers skewed, my desk a mess, I round my large desktop’s wooden edge on my way out the door, cursing out loud before I barrel into a nervous Jade, an executive assistant from my floor.

  “Shit, Jade.” I lean over, gathering her things. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her shy brown eyes peer into mine as she bends down, and she blushes, retrieving her papers from my fumbling hands.

  “Sorry that I knocked over your…” I look down. “Receipts.”

  “Oh, not to worry, Mister Griffin,” she flusters. “They’re not mine.”

  I glance at the receipts as they pass from my hands to hers, noticing the expensive purchases.

  Huh. Bouquets.

  “They’re just orders for flower arrangements,” Jade stammers, fumbling for an explanation. “Mr. Johnson requested them.”

  Missing Your Shot

  If you can't find the one being hustled in the poolroom, it's you.

  –Unknown

  Day 3—7:01PM

  Casa de Griffin

  ELENA

  Half-angry, half-amused, Anastasia taps an almost comical foot on the pavement of Lukas’s long driveway.

  “You’re fucking crazy, Elle.”

  “I know.”

  “Griff is going to kill you.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “And you’re still going to go through with this?”

  I jump in the back of the Uber parked on the side of Lukas’s house, tucking my high-heels in.

  I’ve got a packed bag of running shoes and a pair of sweats, if need be, but right now I’m in a black, understated but sultry dress—camouflage, in case I have to blend in.

  Though where I’m doing this blending… I have no earthly reasonable idea…

  Back door still open, the car still in park, I can’t stop an overzealous Ana from lecturing me.

  I also can’t stop my hair from losing its curl or my makeup from slightly running on this most humid of nights, but I try.

  My entire get-up is courtesy of the quickest makeover in the history of makeovers, but I make a conscious decision not to care.

  It’s more important that I follow Lukas… instead of worrying about frizzing up.

  “I’ve gotta go, Ana. I’ll see you soon. Call me on my cell if you need me.”

  I close the door in her face, giving the driver the go-ahead.

  “What do I do if Lukas calls?” she yells.

  The car starts to pull off.

  “Not open your big mouth,” I say through the crack in the window.

  “My big mouth?” I hear from the quickly lengthening distance. “I don’t have a big mouth!”

  I let Ana’s voice fade away, choosing to focus on the task ahead of me.

  My skeptical Uber driver actually listens to my command of “Follow that black Audi” and we tail Lukas’s car, trailing him into a deepening dusk as he pulls away after making a quick stop at his house.

  Stay here, he said.

  Wait here, he said.

  Keep an ear open for my phone call, he said.

  Little did Lukas know that while he was lecturing us and grabbing files from his home office, I was secretly getting ready, preparing to follow him through whatever trail he was intent on going.

  Whatever trail that I know is leading to Gregory Sears.

  I re-up my pink lipstick in the backseat of the Uber, feeling a sense of anticipation that I’ve never felt before.

  Goddammit, what have I gotten myself into?

  I look behind the car into passing traffic.

  I couldn’t stop now if I wanted to.

  And the truth of the matter is… I don’t want to.

  I want to show up and confront the pansy-assed, wormy bastard, Greg. I want to see the look on his face when I do.

  As usual, Lukas tries to speed through traffic.

  My only saving grace is that the Tampa streets are thick with cars, punctuated by a sea of red brake lights that sit bumper to bumper, preventing all of the rush-hour jam victims from getting to their destinations.

  We catch up fairly quickly.

  For an Uber driver that looked at me as if I were nuts outside of Lukas’s driveway, my forty-year old, balding grouch of a chauffeur, Jesse, is sure good at following directions.

  He stays on Lukas’s ass, slithering behind him as we snake our way out of Tampa’s city streets and across the I-75 freeway.

  I have no idea where we’re going… and I’m praying that my dwindling debit card balance has enough to cover the ride.

  I wait.

  And wait some more.

  Dusk turns to late evening, and by the time we exit the interstate, we’re in Clearwater, Florida—a quaint but touristy, coastal city that flanks the western side of Tampa.

  I keep my mouth shut, watching stars begin to come into view on the horizon.

  By the time we actually make a stop, I’m at my wit’s end.

  I scoot closer to the front of my seat, peering over my driver’s shoulder.

  McDonald’s?

  We came all the way here for a McDonald’s?

  Lukas’s car pulls into the drive-thru, and I’m tempted to follow. I have Jesse, the driver, park the car in an open space on the opposite side of the building, and we wait, letting the car idle while we watch for Lukas’s car to exit.

  I glance at my phone.

  C’mon, dammit.

  Doesn’t take that long to order a freaking Big Mac to-go. Two more minutes pass, and Lukas’s Audi still hasn’t emerged.

  I feel an immerse urge to have Jesse ram him out of the drive-thru.

  Gregory Sears is on the loose, and we’re wasting time trying to pick up Mickey D’s over-salted fries!

  Suddenly, the back door opens.

  I scream.

  A man in a white-collared shirt hops in beside me.

  His hair is dark—his eyes intense.

  The only thing that gives those darkened irises away is their fiery green color—a color too light to be emerald, but deeper than a tropical sea.

  Lukas.

  I clutch my chest, my breasts nearly popping out of my low-hanging neckline. I try to adjust myself, desperately trying to cover up my surprise… and my embarrassment.

  “Are you crazy?” I emit from a gasp.

  Lukas barely blinks.

  “I don’t know. Are you?

  “I’d say it’s pretty safe to say that you are. You’ve followed me for the last thirty-three minutes in an Uber car.”

  He clasps a hand on the Uber driver’s shoulder.

  “It’s ok, guy,” he says to the driver. “This is my… friend. Tell you what: How about I just pay for the ride and inconvenience, and we’ll just get the hell out of your hair?”

  The driver smiles for the first time.

  “Fine by me,” he says. “Do whatever makes you happy. Though, it was fun to act like a spy for a little while.”

  He takes the hundred offered to him by Lukas.

  I glower at the hairless, older chauffeur.

  Hmph.

  Et tu, Jesse?

  Jesse repositions himself, turning back to his steering wheel, and Lukas clutches my hand, practically dragging me out of the backseat.

  Once we’re out of the silver, four-door Uber car, Lukas analyzes me carefully, letting his stare skim me from my head to my toes.

  I watch his eyes process the slender straps at my shoulders, the plunging neckline, the cinch at my waist, and the strapped heels at my feet.

  He gazes up at my up-swept hair, his eyes taking in a few falling blonde tendrils. He looks directly into my shocked gaze for a second before
stopping, letting his glare linger on my blush-colored, pink lips.

  “What’s all this?” he questions slowly.

  I glance down at my outfit.

  “I wanted to be ready.”

  “For what? A cabaret?”

  I reveal the bag behind my back, nearly shoving it at him.

  “For anything,” I answer.

  Lukas steps closer.

  “Are you prepared for real fucking danger?

  “Because that’s what you’ve put yourself in. Gregory Sears is a dangerous man.

  “We have no idea what he’s capable of. It’s possible that he’s been watching me, stalking you, and clipping brakes to kill one of us, so how you thought it would be a good idea to follow me to go see him is beyond my comprehension.”

  Lukas pushes the bag back towards me.

  “If I had any sense…” he comments roughly. “I’d leave you right here to fend for yourself.”

  I recoil in anger.

  “If Gregory Sears is so goddamned dangerous, then why are you confronting him in the first place?”

  Lukas’s green eyes flash.

  “I’m not. My PI, Henry, thought it’d be too risky.”

  “For you?”

  Lukas hesitates.

  His response is raspy.

  “No… for Greg.”

  His eyes scan the nearly empty parking lot, settling back into our clandestine corner.

  He grabs my hand again, walking me towards his sleek, parked Audi.

  “Come on,” he commands.

  Behind the Eight Ball

  Just be patient. Let the game come to you. Don't rush. Be quick, but don't hurry.

  —Earl Monroe

  Day 3—7:51PM

  Clearwater Beach Hilton

  ELENA

  Less than five minutes later, we park outside of the Hilton.

  It’s a low-rise, squat, white building on Clearwater Beach.

  Located next to the Marina, it’s got all the feel of a beachside resort—the implanted palm trees, the little tiki huts.

  The lobby is well-lit—bathed in a yellowish-gold glow—and even as Lukas and I are parked across the street, the smell of the ocean overwhelms me, the scent of briny water and white sand flooding my senses, further reminding me of how we are nearly surrounded by a captivating sea.

  Not too many places to run to in a remote location like this.

  It’s almost a bottle-neck, really.

  One way in. One way out.

  I’m praying that this will work in our favor and not against us.

  The second we settle outside of the hotel, I grow anxious. I can only keep quiet for approximately three minutes before I have to say something.

  “He’s here?” I ask Lukas.

  His reply is calm.

  “Yeah… he’s here, alright.”

  “So, we’re waiting for him to come out?”

  “Yep.”

  Lukas checks a large, leather strapped watch on his wrist. “I talked to Henry on the way here. Seems the elusive Gregory keeps a tight schedule.

  “According to the night manager at the Hilton, almost every night around eight-thirty, he leaves the hotel. He’s not gone for much more than a hour and when he returns, he’s always carrying something with him. What it is… we don’t know.

  “That’s why we’re here: to figure out where the prick is headed every night.”

  I squirm nervously in my seat, glancing over Lukas’s shoulder at the distant Hilton entrance.

  “You think that will give us the answers we need?”

  Lukas keeps his eyes on the same set of doors, never looking over at me.

  “If it doesn’t get us the answers, then I’m hoping it’ll get us damn close to them…”

  He falls silent, and I let the conversation drop, not wanting to prod or distract him any further.

  And so we wait.

  And we watch.

  Fifteen minutes go by.

  Twenty.

  Before I know it, it’s a minute past eight-thirty, and there’s still not a single sign of Sears.

  I sigh, exhausted. I slip off my high heels in the passenger seat, cuddling up next to my oversized bag as I try to get comfortable.

  Meanwhile, Lukas’s eyes never waver from the Hilton’s doors.

  The corded muscles at his arms and shoulders tighten as he forms a fist on the steering wheel. The tan skin above his collar looks even darker with the red undertones that sweep into his neck.

  I can’t see his face at this angle, but I know he looks determined—heatedly focused.

  The thought of the stubborn line of his jaw and his heavy dark brows causes an unpredictable warmth between my thighs.

  I clench my legs together underneath my black dress, opting to distract myself with what’s in my bag.

  I pull out a bag of chocolates, unwrapping the foil of one before biting softly into its square shape.

  I lean into Lukas.

  “So, where’s your PI in all of this?”

  He looks back at me for the first time in almost half an hour. He taps my knee before nodding in the direction of a dark grey sedan across the street.

  “See that gun metal-colored car across the way? That’s him.”

  “And I’m guessing you guys have some sort of signal?”

  “Yeah,” he comments softly, his voice a low rumble in the car. “Whoever sees Sears first turns on their lights.

  “It’s better than just flashing each other. A flash is too obvious. Turning on your lights, starting your car—those will look like you’re just moving from the parking space.”

  “Got it.” I shift further into my seat. “So, how long have you been working with Henry?”

  Lukas looks at me.

  He opens his mouth, but then closes it, peering over at my bag of sweets.

  “How long have you had the appetite of a fat, pre-diabetic kid?”

  I throw a wrapped piece of candy at him, and he smiles.

  The slow show of his white teeth and rising lips puts a flutter in my stomach.

  God, if only Griff didn’t look like dessert on a platter.

  He’s the only delectable thing in my life I can’t have, and I stuff my mouth with another sweet to keep from gaping at him.

  “I’m serious,” I say to him. “Was it after the engagement party? I heard about your Porsche…”

  Lukas looks away from me, outside of his driver’s side window.

  He lets the silence stretch, and just when I think he’s going to answer, he says nothing—disappointing me even further, but making me more curious than ever before.

  “You can tell me, you know…” I keep pushing. “I’m sure one of the many women in your life just got fed up…”

  He snaps at me.

  “I don’t have women in my life.”

  “Come again?”

  Lukas continues staring away from me, his eyes focused at the seemingly empty Hilton.

  “Let me be more clear: I don’t keep women in my life. They’re there one minute and gone the next. That’s how it’s been; that’s how it is. I can’t think of many women who would have a reason to retaliate. They’d just as soon forget me as I would them.”

  I swallow thickly.

  “Sounds like a lonely life.”

  Lukas’s voice is barely above a low rumble in the darkened car.

  “It suits me. It suits me just fine, actually.”

  But his answer is not enough.

  Getting a taste of Lukas is addictive, and the way he shares parts of his life piece-by-piece is almost agonizing. Each bite-sized nugget of information from him is a sordid morsel—a piece of the puzzle that is Lukas Griffin.

  I hate to admit it to myself… but I’ve been stowing those pieces away—placing them on the board in my mind so that one day I might join them together.

  Get a full picture.

  As if that’s even possible at this rate.

  I nearly scoff.

  I ask another question
.

  “Is that how you run your business?”

  I can sense his hesitation.

  “Come on…” I urge quietly. “From one business owner to another business owner wannabe…”

  Lukas turns his head towards me finally, grinning.

  “No,” he says, answering my inquiry. “Not at all, actually. With my business, I like to take a whole piece of the pie—hoard it to myself. I’ve been doing this for a while now—running my own web content.

  “When I was a teen, I created my own recovery software. It could recover almost anything you’d thought you’d lost—any file you forgot to save, any folder that’d been hacked.

  “It was all mine. And while Chris and Foxx were off at college, I was developing it, fine-tuning it.

  “Soon after, I’d patented it, sold it to customers—came out of it as an experienced businessman.”

  “A wealthy businessman?” I add.

  Lukas’s grin turns lopsided.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  I cross my arms, enjoying this.

  “You’re autodidactic then—self-taught?”

  “Of course.”

  “And I’m guessing you used that autodidactic business acumen to help Chris and Foxx develop Tripping Out!”

  Lukas hesitates.

  “Of course,” he says even lower.

  I shake my head, chastising myself.

  “And all this time, I thought they’d brought you in. Why didn’t they work with you before?”

  Lukas inhales soundly, thinking.

  “They were just doing what they were told. Going to school. Following the rules.

  “Luckily, I never had any… so I made up my own.”

  He smirks silently to himself, and I almost shiver at the hidden double meaning.

  Ever since I let Lukas into my life, he’s been telling me to disregard every guideline I’ve ever followed.

  I will never let him know how dangerously close I got to chucking my entire rulebook out the window for him.

  “So, that’s it then?”

  He glimpses back at the Hilton.

  “In a nutshell,” he replies.

  I exhale loudly, regarding him closely.

  “You know… sometimes I envy you…”

  He quirks an eyebrow upward.

  “Envy me?”

  “Yeah,” I declare, feeling self-conscious. “I was always a rule-follower—Little Miss Hospital Corners. I mean, I was always tough. My grandmother raised me to be.