by Brynley Bush
On our way out I poke my head into Marcus’ office.
“Griffin and I are going to lunch,” I say. “Do you want to join us?”
He takes one look at me and a smile spreads across his face. “Nah. I have some stuff to catch up on here. You two go ahead.”
I’m turning to leave when he says, “Mila?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Looks like I’ll table that restraining order for a while.” The man is actually smirking!
“Go to hell, Marcus,” I say good-naturedly.
I can still hear him laughing when we get to the elevator bay.
Griffin and I end up at a small café near my office, and I’m so hungry I’ve wolfed down half of a cheeseburger before he has a chance to bring up the case. I explain that based on the recommendation of our local counsel in Houston, we went ahead and filed the petition, and Camille’s lawyer has already filed an answer.
“She’s alleging that she’s equally entitled to the research because of her father’s partnership with your father and the fact that the research originated during their partnership,” I explain.
“That’s bullshit!” Griffin exclaims. “All of the research her father had was from years ago when they attempted the first round of clinical trials. He wasn’t even alive when the new breakthrough about the seeds was discovered.”
“I know,” I say, resting my hand on his arm soothingly. “That’s what the pretrial conference is for. We’ll present our evidence to the contrary, and hopefully the judge will suspend any further research by Coker until our case is resolved. The hearing is a week from Monday. I think we should fly down over the weekend so I have a chance to talk to your dad beforehand and prepare for it.”
“We can leave Friday. I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” he says. “My father cannot lose this chance again,” he adds, and I can hear the steely certainty in his voice. An unbidden shiver tickles my spine.
“Don’t worry,” I say confidently. “We’ve got this.”
I just hope I’m right.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite Griffin’s best attempts to convince me otherwise, I go home alone after work. As much as I want to spend the evening with him, my flight leaves at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon, I haven’t packed a single thing, and I still have several cases to review tonight. I compromise by agreeing to let him drive me to the airport.
He picks me up at the office at two thirty and keeps his hand firmly planted on my thigh as he drives me to Lindbergh Field. He insists on walking with me to the gate, and thanks to the badge he flashes, we breeze through security. We stand together, hand in hand, waiting for my flight to board.
“So, what are you doing this weekend?” I ask curiously.
“My younger brother’s in town,” he says. He adds teasingly, “We’ll probably spend the weekend eating ribs, watching baseball, chugging beer, and ogling women. You know, typical guy stuff.”
I playfully punch him in the bicep. “Ow,” I say. His arm is solid muscle. “That’s okay,” I add mischievously. “Now I won’t feel guilty about hitting the clubs in Chicago with my sister. It’s been a long few months without a man for her and she’s pretty desperate.” I add airily, “A sister’s got to do what a sister’s got to do.”
“Be careful how you goad me, Mila, or you’ll find yourself over my knee again,” he says softly. His eyes darken. “I don’t like the idea of another man touching you.”
I laugh, although my heart is definitely beating a little faster. “Don’t worry,” I say, relenting. “My sister hasn’t been with a man in months because she’s six months pregnant and her husband’s in Germany. The only club we might be hitting is my mom’s book club.”
“Brat!” he says with a smile, lightly smacking my bottom.
They call my flight and we reluctantly make our way to the gate. He pulls me to him in a bone-crushing hug and then releases me, kissing my forehead tenderly.
“Be good,” he says simply.
“I’m going to miss you,” I say miserably. “I wish I hadn’t already planned this trip. I hate to miss any time with you.”
“We’ll make up for it next week,” he promises with a glimmer in his eyes. “And since you finally gave me your number, we can sext while you’re gone,” he adds with a wink.
That makes me laugh. “I’m going to hold you to that,” I say, and I kiss him hard before I turn to leave.
I alternately work, sleep, and think about Griffin during the four hour flight, trying to distract myself. I really do hate to fly. When I emerge from O’Hare, Anya is waiting for me outside of baggage claim in the brand new sport utility my brother-in-law, Greg, bought her before he left for Germany last month. She’s sporting a cute baby bump.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Anya says, hugging me. “I love Mom and Dad, but they’re already driving me insane.”
Six months ago, when Greg took a two year assignment in Germany, my little niece or nephew was just a twinkle in his eye. When Anya found out she was pregnant, they decided she’d spend the last trimester of her pregnancy in the States while Greg stays in Germany to work. Greg will come back a few weeks before the baby is born, and when the baby is old enough to travel, they’ll all go back to Germany together. I know that other than when I come home in a few months to meet my new niece or nephew, this is the last chance I’ll get to spend time with my sister for a while, so I try to focus on that instead of how much I miss Griffin.
It’s after midnight by the time we pull into the driveway of my childhood home, and Mom and Dad are already asleep. Just like when we were little, Anya and I snuggle under the blankets in her bed and talk until almost two in the morning. Two hours with my sister is better than a year of therapy. She fills me in on her pregnancy and the strangeness of being married and pregnant but back living with our parents in our childhood home, and I fill her in on my life—namely Griffin.
“I wish I could meet him,” she says wistfully.
“Unlikely,” I say with a sigh. “As Albert Einstein said, human stupidity is infinite, and I am definitely proof of that, because Griffin and I definitely aren’t.”
“You never know,” she says. “Love has a way of working out even when you think it’s impossible.”
“I don’t even know if it is love,” I protest. “Up until yesterday, I thought it was just a serious case of lust. Now I don’t know what to think.”
“You know, Mila,” she says with certainty.
Other than a quick text to Griffin after my plane landed to let him know I’d arrived safely, I don’t get a chance to talk to him until Saturday night. I sleep in Saturday morning until my mother wakes me up to go shopping for baby stuff with her and my sister, followed by a late lunch and an afternoon at the spa for some pampering.
“How often do I have both of my girls home at the same time?” my mother demands. “I’m going to take advantage of every minute it!”
After dinner, my sister and I go to a movie, one of those girly movies about a boy and a girl falling in love that most self-respecting males stay away from unless their wife or girlfriend makes them go, and we gorge on popcorn and happy endings. When we get home, I slip into Griffin’s gray ‘Take No Prisoners’ hoodie and inhale the scent of him. I’m glad I tucked this into my bag at the last minute. On impulse, I take a picture of myself in his shirt and nothing else and text it to him.
Nice, he immediately texts me.
Seconds later, I get another text. I’ve been looking for that shirt. It’s one of my favorites.
What a coincidence! I text back. It’s one of mine, too.
So you’re not giving it back?
I’m holding it for ransom….
As an attorney, you should know that extortion is a punishable crime.
I smile as I climb in bed and snuggle under the covers, my phone in my hand.
What’s the punishment?
I’m sure I can come up with something appropriate to fit the crime.
&n
bsp; I realize I can’t wait to find out. Of course it may be prudent for me to not let him know exactly how much I’m looking forward to that.
I’ll consider giving it back, I text, if you beg a little.
I can assure you, Mila, that I won’t be the one begging.
The thought gives me shivers, and long after we’ve said goodnight and I’ve set my phone down, I can’t get Griffin out of my mind. I long for him, for the feel of his body next to mine, his warm eyes caressing me, his strong hands possessing my body as surely as the man himself has possessed my soul.
I toss and turn, my sleep interrupted by dreams that leave me unfulfilled, and I’m relieved when dawn creeps through the closed shutters in my room. I spend Sunday with my family. We go to church, play Scrabble, debate baby names, and gorge on my mom’s famous stuffed cabbage. It’s just what I needed, but I miss Griffin and I’m eager to see him when I board my flight back to San Diego the following morning. Thanks to the time difference, I arrive late morning and launch myself into Griffin’s waiting arms at the gate.
“I missed you,” I mumble, my face buried in his chest as I inhale his distinctive masculine scent.
Keeping his arms locked around me, he pulls back enough to tilt my chin up firmly to kiss me. His lips are soft and demanding, and I could happily stand here and kiss him all day.
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he says. “You took my heart with you on that airplane on Friday. I’m glad to have it back.”
He takes my bag and twines his fingers with mine as we make our way through the airport to his car.
“Did you have a good weekend with your brother?” I ask, still unable to tear my eyes away from the gorgeous planes of his face. I’ve been gone less than three days but it feels like it’s been weeks.
“I did,” he says seriously, keeping his eyes on the road. “He’s still here. He’s playing the Labor Day concert at the Sleeptrain Amphitheatre. He wants to meet you. We could go to the concert if you’re not too tired.”
“I’m not!” I assure him. “Well, I won’t be if I go home and grab a quick nap first. I’d forgotten you’d said your brother’s in the music industry.”
“Do you like country music?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I don’t dislike it, but I don’t listen to it all that much. Olivia does, though.”
“Then bring her along too. He’s on at eight.”
“What exactly does he do? Is he in a band?”
Griffin chuckles. “Well, kind of. I mean, he has a band. Have you ever heard of Drake Maddox?”
“What?!” I shriek. “Every woman in the free world has heard of Drake Maddox. He’s totally hot.”
“Don’t get any ideas about my little brother. You’re mine,” he says unequivocally.
My breath hitches a little at him claiming me.
“Drake Maddox is your brother? And I’m actually going to see him live?” I’m having trouble keeping the excitement out of my voice.
“Be careful or I will univite you and just take Olivia,” Griffins says drily.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “You’re the only man I want. How come his last name isn’t Black?”
“Maddox is his stage name. It’s our mom’s maiden name,” he explains. “Listen, I’ll drop you at your place and you can unpack and take a nap. Can you be ready at five? That way we can hang out with Drake for a while before the show and you guys can get to know each other.”
“Okay.” I try to sound nonchalant but I don’t succeed. “I can’t believe your brother is Drake Maddox! Olivia is going to freak out.” A thought crosses my mind. “Hey, remember that guy Jack that we played pool with the night we met?”
“The guy I almost punched because you were flirting with him after leaving me stranded on the dance floor?” A small smile is playing around Griffin’s lips. “Yeah, I remember him.”
“Okay, well, yeah,” I stammer. “He and Olivia kind of have a thing, or the beginning of a thing. Is it okay if she brings him too?”
“Sure,” Griffin says. “They can meet us there before the show. I’ll have Drake leave two tickets for them.”
Griffin drops me off at home, and after I talk to Olivia, I’m so excited about seeing Drake Maddox that I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to fall asleep, but jet lag catches up with me and I end up taking a two-hour nap. I wake up with just enough time to take a quick shower and get dressed. The stadium is outdoors, so I opt for skinny jeans paired with a white tee shirt, some layered necklaces, a pair of boots, and a light wash denim jacket. Since I don’t have time to do anything else with it, I leave my hair down and natural, falling in loose waves.
Griffin shows up at my door ten minutes later looking absolutely mouthwatering in faded denim jeans and a black Drake Maddox concert t-shirt, which makes me laugh.
“We’re always giving him a hard time about being a superstar, so he gave us all concert t-shirts for Christmas,” he explains with a smile. “He’ll get a kick out of me actually wearing it.”
During the thirty minute drive to Chula Vista, Griffin tells me about Drake and how he became a household name, beginning with dropping out of medical school, much to their father’s disappointment, moving to Nashville, and playing bars and local clubs until Tim McGraw happened to hear him play one night and offered him a spot opening for his band in a few cities when his opening act backed out. The crowd loved him, and before long he was headlining his own shows. It’s exactly the kind of story that fuels teen star wannabes across the country.
“He may be famous now, but to me he’ll always just be the little brother who followed me around and got me in trouble,” Griffin says. “But I’d do anything for him. I’m glad the two of you are going to meet.”
Before I know it, we’re parking in the VIP lot and being ushered in the stage door at the back of theater and into a large room where a bunch of guys are lounging around while another group is kicking a soccer ball around. One of the guys playing soccer notices us and says something to another guy with his back to us, and seconds later I’m standing next to Drake Maddox. Although I’ve seen him on TV and in magazines, pictures don’t do him justice. Not only is the man wickedly attractive, but he has a magnetism that’s almost palpable. If I weren’t madly in lust with his brother, I’d undoubtedly be lining up to take my clothes off for him like the rest of the female population.
He’s a little shorter than Griffin with dark hair, a rugged, sexy hint of a beard, and piercing blue eyes, and while they don’t resemble each other very much, they have the same confident swagger and commanding presence. His body is lean and muscular, he has small silver hoops in his ears, and from beneath his shirt sleeve I can see the tattoo of a dragon with its tail coiling around his muscular bicep. There’s no doubt about it. He’s a bad boy through and through—the kind of boy that mothers tell their daughters to stay away from but that no woman on earth has the slightest inclination to even try to resist.
“I thought country singers were supposed to be clean-cut, salt of the earth, good Christian boys,” I say without thinking.
Both Griffin and Drake laugh, which makes Drake look much less imposing.
“My little brother didn’t get that memo,” says Griffin, still smiling as they shake hands and clap each other on the back. “But don’t let his bad boy looks intimidate you. He’s just a harmless Texas boy.”
“Just like you, huh?” I say sarcastically, and this time Drake roars.
“I like her,” he says to Griffin. Turning to me he says, “You must be Mila. I think you just might be the only woman I’ve ever met who can actually handle my brother.”
“She handles me just fine. Thanks for your concern,” Griffin says wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and the underlying insinuation makes me blush and Drake’s eyes gleam.
“Come meet the guys,” Drake says, and before I know it I’m sitting on the couch tucked into the crook of Griffin’s arm, listening to Drake and his band members talk about their tou
r. Drake’s guitarist is telling a funny story about a girl who threw her bra up on the stage and how her mom, who was at the concert with her, tried to get it back when I’m distracted by Griffin’s quiet question to Drake.
“Any more threats?”
“I got one today,” Drake says grimly. “Same as the last two. A note slipped under the door of the dressing room. No one saw anything out of the ordinary. This one said some nonsense like ‘You can’t hide from me.” He lowers his voice. “It’s obviously just a crazy fan.”
The look in Griffin’s eyes is chilling. “Probably. I’ve got some people looking into it,” he says. “But in the meantime, be careful.”
A few minutes later, we make our way to our seats in the front and meet up with Olivia and Jack. Olivia can’t stop thanking Griffin, and the men exchange a look that indicates any hard feelings between them are behind them.
I’m only a little star struck as we watch Drake take the stage. His voice is as powerful and compelling as the man himself, and although I don’t know a lot of his music, I’m singing along and dancing before he’s halfway through the second song. He knows how to work the crowd and he gives them exactly what they want. With the outdoor venue under a starry sky and a party atmosphere, it’s the perfect send off for summer.
At one point he takes the stage alone, sitting on a stool with nothing but his guitar, and he plays a song so sad and haunting it brings tears to my eyes. I’m in Griffin’s arms, swaying to the music. I look up at him and ask, “What’s the name of this song?”
“Only I Can Break Your Heart,” he answers softly.
I lower my eyes and look away, trying to hide the inexplicable prick of tears.
To my surprise, Drake pulls me up on stage during his cover of My Best Friend’s Girl and we dance together. It’s unlike anything I have ever experienced to look out at the thousands of people all screaming for Drake, and I think how heady but overwhelming, and maybe even lonely it must be sometimes for him. As the song comes to a close, Drake bends close to my ear and whispers, “I’m glad you came. Take care of my brother.”