Chapter Twenty Griffin
Griffin Hayes had heard Maren Brooks laugh at insults before.
Not because they were funny.
Because laughing first kept other people from knowing where to aim.
He had watched her do it with Denise when a vendor called her posts cute. He had watched her do it after Tyler made a joke that accidentally came too close to the truth. He had watched her do it during the live, when a question about privacy nearly put a hand around her throat.
This laugh was worse.
It was small.
Bright.
Perfectly useless.
“Paige,” Maren said, smiling at her cousin like she had not just been sliced open in front of a crowd, a coach, a potential employer, and Griffin. “What a surprise.”
The words sounded casual.
The rest of her did not.
Her shoulders had lifted half an inch. Her fingers curled tighter around the towel. Her chin had gone up in the exact way people lifted a shield when they did not want to admit they needed one.
Griffin did not move.
Every instinct in his body wanted to step forward.
Block.
Intervene.
Make the problem stop.
He could already hear Doyle’s voice in his head.
Do not stand in front of her unless she asks.
Infuriating advice.
Even worse because it was right.
Paige tilted her head and looked Maren over with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly how much damage a soft voice could do.
“I was in town for the alumni mixer,” Paige said. “Mom said I should stop by and support you. Well, support whatever this is.”
Her gaze moved over the dock, the string lights, the fans, the team, the phones still pointed vaguely in their direction.
“This is Lake Briar Summer Challenge Weekend,” Maren said. “The thing I am working.”
“Right,” Paige said. “Your campaign.”
She said campaign like she was testing whether the word could hold Maren’s weight.
Griffin’s jaw tightened.
Maren’s smile did not move.
“That is one word for it.”
“It is a generous one.” Paige laughed lightly, then shifted her iced coffee to her other hand. “I saw part of the live. Very energetic.”
Tyler, who had apparently forgotten he was still within consequence range, whispered, “I do not like her tone.”
Cooper whispered back, “Growth.”
Denise shot them both a look.
They fell silent.
Paige’s eyes landed on Griffin.
“And you must be Griffin,” she said.
He nodded once. “Hayes.”
“Maren’s boyfriend?”
“No,” he said.
Maren’s head turned slightly.
Not hurt.
Alert.
Good.
He wanted her to hear the rest.
“I am not the boyfriend portion,” Griffin said. “I am not a portion of anything.”
Ava made a choking sound behind her lemonade.
Maren’s mouth almost betrayed her.
Paige blinked, then recovered with a polished little laugh. “Well, that is very serious of you.”
“Usually.”
“Comments made it look different.”
“Comments are not contracts.”
The words landed harder than he expected.
Maren looked at him then.
Really looked.
For one second, the crowd and Paige and Carter Vale’s offer all blurred into something less important.
Then Paige sighed, like she was being patient with children who had accidentally found Wi-Fi.
“Maren has always been good at getting people to look,” Paige said. “That is not the same thing as building something that lasts.”
The lawn went quiet enough that Griffin heard the lake tap the dock posts.
Maren’s smile stayed fixed.
Too fixed.
Griffin waited for her to answer.
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was when Griffin stepped beside her.
Not in front.
Beside.
“There are already people coming tomorrow because of what she built tonight,” he said.
Paige turned her pleasant expression on him. “That is wonderful. But attendance bumps are not strategy.”
“No,” Griffin said. “Turning a messy public moment into a structured live with screened questions, safety boundaries, audience retention, and a clear brand position is strategy.”
Nate’s eyebrows rose.
Ava slowly lowered her lemonade.
Tyler whispered, “He said brand position.”
Cooper murmured, “I am more afraid than attracted, but I understand the comments now.”
Maren stared at Griffin.
He kept his eyes on Paige because if he looked at Maren, he would say too much.
“Getting numbers is not the hard part,” Griffin continued. “Not anymore. The hard part is deciding what you will not do for them. Maren made that decision in public and kept the audience. That is not cute.”
Paige’s smile thinned.
Carter Vale, standing a few feet away, looked at Griffin with a level of interest Griffin did not love.
Doyle looked like a man pretending very hard not to approve.
Maren finally found her voice.
“Griffin.”
One word.
Soft.
A warning and a thank-you at the same time.
He stopped.
Because this was hers.
Because he had made the point.
Because the next sentence needed to belong to Maren Brooks.
He turned to her.
Paige did too.
So did everyone.
Maren looked at her cousin.
Her smile changed.
It did not vanish. Maren was too smart for that. She simply stopped using it as cover.
“I am not helping you with your pitch, Paige,” she said.
Griffin’s attention sharpened.
Pitch.
Paige’s eyes flickered.
Small.
Fast.
Caught.
“I did not ask you to,” Paige said.
“No. You came over here to make sure everyone knew where you thought I belonged.” Maren’s voice stayed light enough to pass in public, but there was steel under it now. “Under you. Beside the real work. Making things cute after someone else decides what matters.”
Paige’s fingers tightened around her coffee.
“Careful,” she said quietly.
Maren smiled. “I am learning to hate that word.”
Griffin almost smiled.
Almost.
Carter stepped in before Paige could answer. “I am guessing there is context here.”
Paige turned toward him with professional speed. “Carter. Good to see you again.”
Again.
Griffin did not like that word.
Maren liked it less. He saw the hit move through her and watched her lock it down before anyone could measure it.
Paige’s smile warmed for Carter. “I sent the community launch deck yesterday through Adrienne. I did not realize you were here in person tonight.”
“I am,” Carter said.
“Yes, I can see that.” Paige laughed lightly. “Your team mentioned Ridgeview wanted a serious campaign architecture for preseason, so I put together a concept through my agency. Maren can be very helpful with local color if you need support.”
Local color.
Griffin had never hated two harmless words faster.
Maren’s towel slipped slightly from one shoulder.
She fixed it with too much care.
Carter’s expression did not change, but his gaze moved to Maren. “Maren’s conversation tomorrow is separate.”
Paige blinked. “Separate?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Paige took a slow sip of coffee. “That is generous.”
Maren laughed once.
This time it had teeth.
“No,” she said. “It is earned.”
The words were not loud.
They did not need to be.
Griffin felt them in his chest like a clean hit.
Paige looked at her for a long second.
For the first time since she arrived, something real slipped through the polished surface.
Annoyance.
Maybe fear.
Good.
“Fine,” Paige said. “Then I look forward to seeing what you have.”
Maren’s smile held. “Great.”
“I assume you do have something.”
Ava took one step forward.
Nate caught her elbow gently.
Ava whispered, “I am calm.”
Nate whispered back, “Your face says misdemeanor.”
“I have something,” Maren said.
Paige glanced at Griffin. “Besides him?”
The air changed.
Fast.
Griffin felt it in the way Nate straightened, the way Cooper stopped reaching for fries, the way Tyler’s mouth opened and then closed like even he understood some lines did not need his commentary.
Maren went very still.
Griffin looked at Paige.
He could have shut it down.
Easily.
A flat sentence. A sharper one. A reminder that he was standing right there and did not appreciate being reduced either.
But the worse insult had not been to him.
It had been to Maren.
And Maren’s hand had lifted slightly at her side.
Not reaching for him.
Not exactly.
Reaching for steadiness.
He let his hand hang beside hers.
Close enough for her to take.
She did.
The movement was small.
Private.
Probably public.
He did not care.
Maren’s fingers slid into his, cold from the lake and tight with restraint.
Then she looked at Paige.
“Tomorrow,” Maren said, “I am going to walk into that meeting with a strategy. Not a boyfriend. Not a cute reel. Not local color.”
Her grip tightened.
“And if your deck is better, Carter should choose it.”
Paige’s brows lifted.
Maren kept going. “But if mine is better, I will not smile while you call it generous.”
Silence.
Then Tyler whispered, with reverence, “I have never wanted a PowerPoint so badly.”
Cooper closed his eyes. “He was so close.”
The spell broke.
A few people laughed.
Carter’s mouth curved. “Nine tomorrow. Denise’s office. Paige, if you are already in the review process, Adrienne can join remotely at nine-thirty. I am not turning this into a cousin death match on a dock.”
“Disappointing,” Beckett murmured.
Doyle looked at him.
Beckett smiled. “But wise.”
Paige’s smile came back, thinner now. “Of course. Professional is best.”
Maren did not let go of Griffin’s hand.
He did not let go either.
Paige looked down at their joined hands.
Then back at Maren.
“Good luck,” she said. “I mean that.”
No, she did not.
Everyone knew it.
Maren knew it most.
Paige turned and walked toward the alumni tents, white romper bright under the string lights, coffee in hand, leaving behind the kind of silence that made laughter feel awkward.
Denise recovered first because Denise was probably born carrying a schedule and emotional triage skills.
“Okay,” she said briskly. “Everyone who is not pitching a career-defining campaign tomorrow can go help fold chairs.”
Tyler lifted one hand. “What if I want to pitch?”
“You can pitch trash into bags.”
“I accept.”
The team moved because Denise had that power.
Nate gave Griffin a look on his way past.
You good?
Griffin gave him one back.
No idea.
Ava hugged Maren from the side without asking, which should not have worked but somehow did. “I hate her shoes.”
Maren laughed weakly. “That is your takeaway?”
“My legal takeaway is pending.”
“I do not need legal action.”