17. Griffin
GRIFFIN
I ’ve lost sight of Anika completely now, which means Mr. Tall Dark and Handsy has successfully spirited her away down that hallway. My imagination conjures increasingly dramatic scenarios. Is he kidnapping her? Seducing her?
That’s it. I’m going to rip his arms off and beat him with them.
Too dark?
I push forward with renewed urgency, weaving through the last knot of guests, following where Anika disappeared. The hallway stretches before me, dimly lit and empty except for a few couples seeking privacy in shadowy corners. No sign of Anika.
“Anika?” I call out, not caring who hears me now. My voice echoes off the ornate walls.
I jog down the corridor, checking each branching hallway.
Nothing.
It’s like she vanished into thin air. Or worse. Like she deliberately disappeared with that guy .
My stomach twists at the thought. Was she that upset about seeing Elodie with me? Upset enough to run off with the first smooth talker who offered an escape?
And it’s not just jealousy, though there’s plenty of that burning through my veins. It’s worry. Something about that guy set off all my alarm bells. The way he appeared out of nowhere, how quickly he whisked her away…
I reach a junction where the hallway splits three ways. Left, right, or straight ahead? I have no idea which way they went.
“Eeny, meeny, miny…Oh, forget it,” I groan, running a hand through my hair. I pick the right corridor, moving at a half-jog.
This hallway is even darker, lined with closed doors. I try the first handle. Locked. Same with the second and third. “Anika?”
Nothing.
The hallway is eerily quiet compared to the ballroom’s vibrant chaos. My footsteps echo as I jog down the corridor, heart pounding in my ears.
“Anika!” I try again, louder this time.
A door creaks open to my right, and an older woman peers out, her face a map of irritation.
“Young man, this is not a hockey rink. Kindly lower your voice.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” I say, trying to peek past her. “Did you see a woman in a blue dress come this way? With a guy in a dark suit?”
She purses her lips. “I most certainly did not. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
The door shuts firmly in my face.
I’m struck by the absurdity of potentially bursting in on some billionaire in the bathroom because I’m jealous of my fake date talking to another man.
But then I hear it. Anika’s voice, faint but unmistakable, coming from around the corner.
I race down the hallway, rounding one corner, then another, just in time to see her dress vanishing through a doorway at the far end. The door closes with an ominous click.
“Hold on, Anika,” I shout, breaking into a full sprint.
I reach the door and grab the handle, giving it a twist. Locked. I press my ear against the wood, straining to hear anything on the other side. Nothing but silence.
My mind races through possibilities, each worse than the last. Did she go willingly? Is she in danger? Or is this just a jealous overreaction because some guy swept in while I was busy with Elodie?
I step back, eyeing the door to see how hard it would be to break it down before Doctor Evil’s younger, better-looking cousin whisks her away to his secret volcano lair.
I stare at the locked door, my brain frantically cycling through every spy movie I’ve ever seen. What would 007 do in this situation? Probably whip out some laser watch that doubles as a lock-picking device while delivering a witty one-liner about “getting the door.”
“Okay, Griffin. Think. You’ve seen every spy movie ever made.”
I pat my pockets, hoping for divine intervention in the form of lock-picking tools I don’t own.
My search yields exactly zero spy gadgets. Just my wallet, phone, and a mint I pocketed at the bar. So much for my secret agent career.
“Maybe I could…” I trail off, remembering a scene from some movie where they slid a credit card between the door and frame. Worth a shot.
I slide my platinum card into the crack between door and frame, wiggling it up and down like I’ve seen in films. The card bends alarmingly but the door remains stubbornly locked.
“Come on, you’ve got a 100,000 limit. The least you could do is open a door,” I grumble at the card.
After thirty seconds of embarrassing scraping sounds, I accept defeat and pocket my now-warped credit card.
My next brilliant idea involves throwing my shoulder against the door, which I immediately reconsider. If I dislocate something, Coach will have my head on a platter. And explaining a shoulder injury from playing amateur spy? Not a conversation I want to have.
“Maybe I could kick it down?” I wonder aloud, eyeing the solid wood skeptically. “That always looks so easy in movies.”
I step back, eyeing the door with newfound determination.
It looks solid. Probably solid enough to break my foot if I try to kick it down. But Anika might be in trouble, and I can’t just stand here.
“This is going to hurt,” I tell myself, mentally preparing to channel my inner action hero. I take two steps back, lift my leg, and…
The door clicks softly and swings open on its own.
I lower my foot and peer into the darkness beyond. The room appears to be some kind of study. Leather-bound books line mahogany shelves, a massive desk dominates one corner, and the faint scent of cigars and expensive booze hangs in the air.
“Hello?” I call, stepping cautiously inside. “Anika?”
Silence greets me as I scan the dark study. My eyes dart to every corner, even checking the ceiling in case someone’s pulling a Spider-Man and waiting to pounce. Nothing but ornate crown molding. A grandfather clock ticks ominously in the corner.
“This is getting weird,” I mutter, moving deeper into the room.
Something’s off. The air feels…disturbed, like someone just left.
I circle the room, checking behind furniture, under the massive desk, feeling increasingly foolish. What am I even doing? Anika’s a grown woman who can talk to whoever she wants. Maybe they just moved to another room for privacy.
The thought makes my stomach clench uncomfortably.
Then, I notice it. The bookshelf against the far side of the office isn’t quite flush with the wall. A sliver of darkness peeks through where it’s slightly ajar.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I breathe, approaching the shelf. “A secret passage? Really?”
I peer into the gap between the bookcase and wall. Cool air wafts from the opening, and beyond lies a dark corridor disappearing into shadows.
“This is either the coolest or the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I think, pulling the bookshelf wider. Anika went this way. I’m sure of it.
Here goes nothing. I tap the flashlight icon on my phone and step inside. The passage stretches ahead, disappearing around a bend.
“Focus on the journey, not the destination,” I chant to myself. Unsurprisingly, my grandmother’s inspirational quotes aren’t quite cutting it right now.
A dim light flickers somewhere deep in the passage. Anika?
I press on through the corridor, quickening my steps.
“Anika?” I call out, voice bouncing off stone walls. “If you can hear me, just know that I’m either rescuing you or making a complete fool of myself. Fifty-fifty at this point.”
The passage slopes upward now, and a cool draft brushes against my face, carrying the faint scent of pine and snow.
My pace quickens despite the voice in my head asking what exactly my plan is when I find her.
Hey, Anika, sorry about that woman draping herself all over me like a cashmere throw.
Totally not what it looked like. Also, why did you run off with a Bond villain?
The tunnel gradually widens, and up ahead, I spot a rectangle of silvery light. An exit?
I quicken my pace, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste. As I approach, the light resolves into what appears to be a doorway leading outside.
I push through and find myself stepping onto a stunning terrace, framed by elegant arched columns and overlooking a sweeping view of the Alps. The night sky stretches above, scattered with stars. And there, silhouetted against the moonlight, stands Anika.
My breath catches in my throat.
She’s facing away from me at the edge of a stone balustrade, her hair dancing in the wind, her gown rippling around her slender frame. She hugs herself against the cold, shoulders slightly hunched, looking impossibly small and vulnerable against the vast mountain backdrop.
“Anika?” I call softly, afraid she might disappear if I speak too loudly.
She turns, and something inside me shifts, like a goalie mask being lifted after a long, brutal game. The mountain air rushes into my lungs, sharp and sweet.
“Griffin?” Her voice carries on the wind, uncertain.
She looks like something out of a dream. The kind you wake from with your heart still pounding and your soul aching for something you can’t quite name.
My pulse thunders in my ears. My hands actually tremble.
Thank goodness she’s alone. No sign of that…guy. Just Anika.
I take a step toward her, the urge to wrap her in my arms nearly overwhelming. I want to bury my face in her hair, breathe her in, tell her that seeing her with another man made me crazy with jealousy. That I don’t want to be her dating coach anymore. I want to be the guy she’s learning for.
But her expression stops me cold. Those usually warm eyes are winter-lake frozen.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, closing the distance between us. “And without a coat? You must be freezing.”
I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders.
The way it engulfs her smaller frame does something primal to my insides. My throat tightens as she pulls it closer around herself, her fingers disappearing in the sleeves.
“Why’d you run off like that?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light despite the worry that’s been gnawing at me. “One minute we’re having the time of our lives, the next you’re gone. Did I do something wrong?”
Anika’s laugh is hollow, nothing like her usual warm chuckle. “No, Griffin. I just thought the practice date was over.”
“Over? We barely started.”