“And what do you call locking a college student in a supply closet and finger-banging her?”
“I call that foreplay since that college student happens to be my girlfriend, and I think that despite her current audacity, she loved every fucking second of it.”
I tug at my collar, feeling suddenly hot all over again. I still can’t believe he did that. Also, he’s correct. I did love every second of it. “Why are we referring to each other in the third person now?”
“I’m not sure. You started it, though. Anything else you want to be mad at me for right now, or are you planning to save the rest of your wrath for later?”
“I think I’ll let it fester.”
“Excellent. I look forward to the cathartic angry fuck this evening. Enjoy your afternoon. I recommend the lobster bisque if they’re serving it.”
He hangs up before I have a chance to say anything else. Not that I know what to say. But we are definitely talking about this later. Dealing with Griffin is nothing like dealing with clueless college boys, that’s for sure.
I don’t get a chance to fill Helix in on the supply closet details because there’s no privacy at lunch since we’re seated at tables of eight. Griffin is right, the lobster bisque is delicious, and Landon avoids me like I’ve suddenly contracted every single fatal airborne disease known to man. I spend the rest of the day completely distracted, and irritated, and oddly horny.
At four, we’re finally free to either get back on the bus and return to the college or find our own transportation home. Obviously I’m not going anywhere. Ms. Castor still seems like she wants to grill me, but she has to get back on the bus, thwarting that potentially awkward conversation.
What the hell do I say if she asks me more questions about Griffin and how I know him? “Oh, you know, we’re seeing each other, he popped my cherry, and today I found out that he’s the heir to the biggest hotel chain in North America” seems farfetched.
Also, now that the surprise of seeing Griffin present to my class has passed, I’m able to process everything better. I feel like an idiot for not cluing in before that he’s one of the Mills brothers. All the signs were there. It’s possible I chose to ignore them so I could stay blissfully oblivious in my bubble. I may have done the same thing back in high school with my one long-term boyfriend who ended up dumping me so he could get his manwhore on in college.
I walk through the lobby and take the dedicated elevator to the penthouse floor. I’m still annoyed with Griffin, but also with myself. And now there’s this whole girlfriend thing. I don’t even know how to deal. I wish he weren’t so . . . sure and persuasive. Doesn’t he get that by calling me his girlfriend, he’s inviting feelings, and those are dangerous?
The suite is empty when I arrive, but someone has clearly been here. It smells like the room has been doused in perfume—except it’s not the kind of scent that makes your eyes water. There’s a rainbow trail of rose petals leading to the bed, which is covered with more petals.
I bend to pick one up, rubbing the satiny petal between my fingers. They’re definitely real. Griffin had to have murdered hundreds of roses to make this happen. On every table surface is an artfully arranged vase of flowers, not just roses this time, but every kind imaginable, including orchids, which could explain how fragrant it is in here.
I wonder if he had someone come up here and do this for him, and if it was planned ahead of time, or after he pissed me off. If it’s the latter, it’s almost unnerving how easy it is for him to get what he wants, when he wants it. I wonder if he ever has to wait for anything, or if people bend over backward for him because of who he is.
A fresh fruit and cheese platter sits on the table and beside it is a bucket with a bottle. I try not to be dazzled by the flowers and the glamour, but it’s a challenge.
I pick up the bottle of champagne chilling on ice. I’m about to open it instead of waiting for Griffin, when I decide to cross-check the label with the hotel room service menu. I almost choke on my tongue when I see that the bottle costs a thousand dollars.
Okay, I might be able to understand shoes that cost that much, maybe even a dress if I planned to wear it to every single nice function for the next ten years, but something that I’m going to drink over the span of a few hours seems insane. That’s my grocery budget for three months.
I put the champagne back and check the fridge in the kitchen. Thankfully Griffin has a few of the wine coolers I like. Those only cost two bucks a bottle, so I feel okay about drinking them.
I pace the suite and chug the first cooler while I wait for Griffin.
Mills Hotel mogul.
Again, I have to wonder what the hell he’s doing with me. It’s not that I think I’m a bad catch. I get asked out all the time. I have nice friends. I’m fun to be around. But he should be dating some posh debutante whose family is equally as rich, not some college student whose mom is a retired casino dealer and now travels with my truck driver father.
If we were animals in the wild, I wouldn’t even qualify as potential prey. We’d be in totally separate food chains. He’s at the top, and I’m closer to the amoebas at the bottom, like maybe a salamander, or one of those sea creatures that lives on the floor of the ocean and never comes up for air. I shouldn’t be on his radar, let alone sharing his bed with him.
I’ve just popped the top on my second cooler when the door to the suite opens and in walks Griffin, looking very much like the rich, powerful man he is in his expensive suit and shiny black shoes. It’s hard not to look at him differently, which is maybe why he never came right out and told me who he was.
“We need to talk.”
He unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs out of it, draping it over a chair, then goes to work on his cufflinks. I bet the contents of my entire apartment that they’re real gold. “I apologize for my behavior earlier. I feel I handled that touchy punk with as much tact as I could, but I should’ve let you deal with him since I know you’re very capable. I also should’ve conducted myself more appropriately in the supply closet.”
I swear he’s almost smirking at the last part. It frustrates me that despite how annoyed I still am with him, his words make everything below the waist clench up. “You’re right, you should’ve let me deal with Landon, and the supply closet is the least romantic place in the universe to have an orgasm,” I croak and clear my throat, because although it lacked in romance, it was still hot. “But that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” He rolls up his sleeves and loosens his tie. His unaffected front irritates me further.
I set my cooler on the table, making sure I use a coaster so I don’t ruin the wood finish, and cross over to where the champagne is chilling. I yank it free from the ice. “Do you know how much this bottle costs?”
He glances up, eyes shifting to the bottle I’m holding as if it’s a severed head, and not delicious, extraordinarily expensive champagne. He shrugs and focuses on rolling his other sleeve. Goddammit, why do his forearms have to be so defined and sexy? Especially when I’m busy being disturbed by his willingness to throw away money on frivolous things when I have to budget so carefully to make sure all my bills are paid. It upsets a balance that already seemed out of whack in the first place. Or maybe it’s my insecurities making it that way. Regardless, I’m having trouble reconciling this new knowledge.
“Take a guess.”
“A few hundred a bottle.” He’s so flippant about it.
“Wrong, Griffin. This is a thousand-dollar bottle of champagne. A thousand dollars!”
“I felt a celebration was necessary.”
“What the hell are we celebrating?” I’m so confused right now. And I’m internally trying to figure out why I’m still angry with him, and if I reasonably should be.
“This new milestone in our relationship.” He’s smiling like he’s won the lottery as he comes to stand in front of me. Although I doubt winning the lottery would be a big deal for him.
“Are you high?
”
“Are you?” He plucks the bottle of champagne from my hand.
“Oh my God, why are you being so . . . obtuse? What freaking milestone are we celebrating? The one where you made me come in the supply closet of a hotel you’re planning to buy with your vaults of money?”
“No, the one where you acknowledge that I’m your boyfriend and making sure weasels like Landon are aware you’re not available. Also, I believe this qualifies as our first fight as an official couple, so we have two milestones to celebrate—plural. Maybe I should order a second bottle.” He starts peeling the pretty gold foil.
“What are you doing? Don’t open that! I’m not drinking it; it’s too expensive.” I grab for the bottle, but he holds it out of reach.
His smile drops, mostly, and he looks almost awestruck, which I don’t get. “Look, Cosy, I understand that this might seem like an irrational amount of money to spend on a bottle of champagne to you, and maybe you’re right, but it’s really good champagne. If you want me to order up a bottle of Baby Duck so you can feel better about it, I can do that, but that stuff tastes like lighter fluid with bubbles, and the hangover is vile. Besides, I’m going to open this bottle regardless, and it’s unlikely I’ll drink all of it, so if you don’t help me, I’m going to dump five hundred dollars down the drain in the morning. Let me indulge you, please.”
I prop my fists on my hips. “What if I don’t want to be indulged?”
“Too fucking bad, I guess, since I don’t plan to stop. Get used to being pampered, Cosy, because that’s what it means when you’re my girlfriend.”
I pace the room, agitated and unnerved. Girlfriend means serious and that’s not what we are. At least that’s not what the plan has been, and since when does he get to decide what we are and what we aren’t without consulting me? “You’re leaving Vegas in a few weeks and I have an internship, so what’s the point of putting a label on something that can’t reasonably go anywhere?”
“This doesn’t have to end because I won’t be living in Vegas anymore. Besides, I’m fairly certain we’re going to buy the hotel, which means I’ll be back and likely staying for a while.”
That comment I made earlier was supposed to be a joke. A blossom of hope expands in my chest, which is so, so dangerous. It’s been easy to compartmentalize all of this. Make it into something pretty and finite, a precious memento kept in a box because I don’t want to share it with anyone else.
“And then what? You’ll go to the next place, and I’ll do my thing?” I don’t want to get used to being indulged, because I worry that one day the novelty of me will wear off, and I’ll be left with longing and memories of a time that will look rosy and perfect forever, encased in a glass bubble, and the snow inside will be the ashes of my ruined heart.
His expression softens along with his tone. “I don’t know what’s going to happen six months down the road, but I’d like to see if we can make it work.”
“But I’m still a twenty-two-year-old college student and you’re a hotel mogul.”
“So fucking what, Cosy? Why does that matter? Why are you so determined to find a way to make this impossible when it doesn’t have to be? You could be a twenty-seven-year-old college student.”
“A pretty bad one, obviously.”
“That’s not the point and you know it. This shouldn’t be about age, or the fact that you’re still in college, or my career, or my financial status, or yours, for that matter. This should be about us and whether we work as a couple. I think we do, very well, actually.”
“Our lives are so different,” I say meekly. This is what I’m afraid of, I realize. That these differences are too big and glaring to get past. It wasn’t something to worry about when we were just enjoying each other in the moment, but if we label it, I have to manage all the very real issues that will come with being with someone like Griffin, and he’ll have to do the same with me, which is pretty damn terrifying considering my lack of experience in trying to make things work.
“And yet, you still manage to be the best part of mine. Funny how that works.” He sets the champagne on the table, and his hands glide gently down my arms, an attempt at soothing, maybe. I stare at his blue tie that almost matches my dress today. Not intentional, but there it is, like the invisible thread of our connection. “Just give us a chance beyond the predetermined end date you’ve set in your head.”
It’s a risk, allowing this to be more, but the alternative is ending things right now, and that’s definitely not what I want. I’ll take the uncertainty of a future with him, rather than the certainty of his absence and the hole it will leave in my life. “Okay.”
His smile makes my heart melt, and other parts of me are melting below the waist. I’m in so much trouble with this man.
“So you agree that you’re my girlfriend?”
All the armor I’ve stapled to my heart to keep it protected pops off as it swells, so I throw in some snark to keep it from getting too real with all the feels. “Yes. I’m your girlfriend and you’re my sugar daddy.”
Griffin rolls his eyes. “It’s a decade, Cosy. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I know. I just like how much it irritates you when I say things like that.”
He kisses me, and our conversation dissolves into caresses and moans.
* * *
Sometime between the supply closet incident, his meeting, and returning to the suite, Griffin apparently had time to do some online shopping for me. There are several new dresses in his closet.
The next morning, I suggest we go down to the hotel restaurant to eat. He doesn’t seem particularly excited by the prospect, but he agrees. Since I’d only packed a dinner dress and my regular go-to shorts-and-tank ensemble, I wear one of the dresses in Griffin’s closet. I hate to admit it, but the fabric feels amazing, and I’m a lot less conspicuous beside him. Griffin’s lack of enthusiasm becomes understandable once we’re seated. Every three seconds someone stops by to say hello and ask him for the eight millionth time if they can get him anything. His phone keeps going off, and when he glances at the screen for the tenth time, he practically growls before he powers it down and shoves it in his bag on the floor.
“Does anyone ever say no to you?” I pop a bite of my waffle into my mouth and try not to moan at how good it is. Eggos have nothing on this.
“You do.” Griffin went with the maple pecan French toast. I made a joke earlier about poached eggs or oatmeal being more his speed, which he did not appreciate.
“Not often.”
He smiles at that. “What are the chances you can get an entire weekend off work?”
Usually I work at STW either Saturday or Sunday. “If I ask far enough in advance, it’s possible, why?”
He sets his fork down and worries his bottom lip for a second, almost as if he’s nervous. “I was thinking we should take that road trip you mentioned before I have to go back to New York.”
“That would be fun. I can ask my boss today.”
“Great.” He fiddles with his silverware for a few seconds. He’s definitely nervous, but I don’t understand why. Possibly because I’m not a planner and a trip with me will mean flying by the seat of our pants. “I have another thought.”
“We’re not booking hotel rooms in advance. We pick a direction and we drive until we find something to stop for.”
He chuckles. “Noted. I’ll prepare myself accordingly for the experience. I wanted to ask about your internship. When will you be placed?”
“Probably this week, why?”
He’s super fidgety. My stomach twists, and I set my own fork down, my appetite disappearing with his anxiety.
“What if I could get you an internship in New York?”
My heart skips, because the offer must mean he’s serious about wanting this to work out, but I don’t like the idea of being given something I haven’t earned because I know the right people. “Wouldn’t it be weird for me to work at one your hotels?”
“We have twenty i
n the downtown area, and it’s not like I just pop by all the time.”
“I don’t know, Griffin. How authentic will that internship be if I get a placement because I’m your girlfriend? I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want my integrity questioned or people to think that I only managed to get the placement because of you.”
“I could secure one that isn’t at a Mills Hotel, so it’s not a conflict of interest and to avoid nepotism.”
I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “That’s sweet, Griffin, but you need to look at this from an outsider perspective. Middle-class Vegas girl in college with a hotel mogul for a boyfriend means people are already going to question why we’re together. They’re going to speculate that I’m using the fact that I don’t have any cellulite yet and perky boobs to climb my way up the social ladder. Let’s not give anyone more fodder for speculation than they already have.”
He frowns, brow furrowing. “People can go fuck themselves.”
“I don’t want to start my career looking like a money-grubbing ladder climber.” I duck my head, embarrassed by what I’m about to admit. “Besides, I’ve already requested a New York placement. And it’s not a Mills Hotel.”
Now he’s glaring at me. “Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
“There’s no guarantee I’ll get the placement, and we weren’t doing the labels thing, or actually trying to be in a real relationship.”
“I can make sure you get the placement.”
I arch a brow. “You can, but you won’t, for all the reasons I’ve just cited. I will, however, pay my internship advisor a visit and request New York as my number-one placement choice.”
“How many weeks is your placement? Where else have you applied?”
“Four weeks, and I’ve applied in California, New York, Berlin, Montreal, and a Bahamas cruise ship, plus a few others.”
He sighs and taps the table. “If you don’t get New York, will you let me at least look into other options?”
The Shacking Up Series Page 74