Chapter 26 Penny
Penny
I watch Griffin spin away. See Dominic give him a sad puppy-dog look. In a second, all I can do is study Griffin’s broad, muscled back as he simply leaves.
What just happened?
“Sis, I told him that I hoped he hadn’t screwed things up too badly with you, but now, I think you’re the one screwing up.
That asshole loves you,” Dom says as soon as the door closes.
“He was damn near reciting sonnets about you, waxing poetic about how cute your babies would be and looking forward to matching rocking chairs when you’re old and gray.
And after he cracked open his cold, dead heart, you just told him it wasn’t good enough.
That he wasn’t good enough.” He pins me with a glare of barely restrained anger.
“And I think you know how many times he’s heard that. ”
My mind spins, the world turning upside down. Is Dominic on Griffin’s side? I thought he was mad at Griffin? It seems like the tables have not only turned but entirely flipped, and my brother is protecting Griffin from me rather than the other way around now.
“He can’t keep secrets from me, hiding things like I can’t handle it,” I argue.
“Agreed. And he knows that. You know he does.” When I don’t disagree, Dominic continues, his voice a bit gentler.
“But that’s not what this was. He told me about his late-night rendezvous as soon as we walked out of the meeting with Coach.
I’m guessing he would’ve told you as soon as he saw you too. ”
He was going to tell me? He wasn’t hiding it?
Confused, I glance from my brother to Mr. Conniver as though either of them might have insight on what I should do.
Mr. Conniver leans back and says in that same almost predatory way that I’m starting to understand he has when he touches on the seedier side of his profession, “Miss Lee, I think you’d agree that I am not an easy man to approach.
Yet Mr. Mahoney came to see me, telling me potentially upsetting information without regard for his own safety.
His only concern was . . . you. If I may say so, it was quite romantic. ”
I’m sure, to a man like him, a protective streak a mile wide would be romantic. But to me? I don’t know.
Sensing my doubt, Mr. Conniver adds, “If I thought my Georgina were in danger? Let’s just say that I am not a man who would merely fight the world for her.
I would set the world on fire to keep her warm and leave it in ruins to ensure her safety.
Without hesitation. Such a primitive mindset is not an easy thing to understand, and some would consider it monstrous.
She simply sees that as . . . me. She understands that our life will come with harsh realities and hard situations, mostly with my own inner demons, to be honest, and she loves me, not in spite of them but because they have shaped me into the man I am.
She accepts me, sins and all. And in return, I love her more deeply than any other man possibly could.
” He pauses, making sure he’s caught my gaze before finishing with, “I think Mr. Mahoney and I have much in common. If you can understand the love behind his actions and forgive, he could be your best ally, and you would be his biggest strength.”
“Yeah, what he said,” Dom echoes, pointing at Mr. Conniver. “Ditto, or whatever. Fuck, I should have studied more in college. That was some insightful shit.”
My brother is right. The words Mr. Conniver just spoke are poetic in a way I wouldn’t expect from someone I’m afraid might actually murder me.
He’s a study in contrasts, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a man who can control the city from the shadows is keenly intelligent.
He’d have to be, or he would’ve been overthrown, violently and dramatically.
I’m sure, in his line of work, the value of a well-spoken turn of phrase is priceless, whether a threat or, in this case, advice.
The two men stare at me, waiting while I hotly debate with myself. Mostly mentally, of course, but there’s some talking to myself, too, which I’m sure looks a bit crazed.
“OhmaGod, what have I done?” I finally whisper, hands covering my mouth as I realize the truth. All my talk about flags this, flag that . . . I want Griffin—the good, the bad, the ugly, the mistakes, and the sweet gestures. The man I’ve fallen for, exactly as he is.
“Nothing unfixable, but I can’t keep playing couples’ counselor for you two.
I know I’m good, but you’re going to have to figure out your own shit eventually, and quit depending on me to solve all your problems,” Dominic teases.
“Plus, I expect a special thank-you toast at your wedding for bringing the two of you together.”
Our what? my mind screeches.
I stare, about to argue with so much of what he just said, but ultimately decide Dominic can have his illusions of grandeur.
Rising to my feet, I try to maintain some semblance of professionalism, but I’m pretty sure I sound hysterical when I say, “Mr. Conniver, could we possibly reschedule this meeting to discuss your ring’s design? ”
He’s a busy man. One who’s probably unaccustomed to being blown off for personal drama.
But he nods easily, unperturbed. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of love. Especially when it appears this ring has already brought together the two of you. I hope it will do the same for me and my Georgina.”
“I’ll make sure it does. I’ll send you some sketches?”
“Go!” Dominic shouts.
I jump, a smile blooming on my face. I’m going after Griffin, and we’re going to get some things straight so we can move forward . . . together.
“He probably went home.” Dominic holds up a finger, cautioning me. “Oh, and tell him not to worry about your door and the neighbor. I’ll take care of them today.”
I freeze. “What’s wrong with my door? And what neighbor?”
Dominic waves me off with a shit-eating grin. “Long story. Ask Griffin. More importantly, blame him.”
“You have to let me up,” I tell the security guard in the lobby of Griffin’s building. I’m basically hanging on his desk, pleading with my whole heart, and he thinks I’m some rabid puck bunny fan.
“I’ll call upstairs,” he says blandly, picking up his phone.
“No!” The shout echoes through the empty lobby, making me sound more desperate than I am. Well, okay . . . maybe as desperate as I am. “I’m mid–romantic gesture here, and you’re screwing it all up!”
Behind me, the elevator dings as someone exits. The security guard and I both glance that way, thinking the same thing.
“Ma’am—”
His warning tone won’t stop me. Nothing will stop me!
I bolt for the elevator, slipping through the closing doors at the last second.
I push at the buttons, hitting ten for Griffin’s floor, along with nine and eleven in my overexuberance.
And then . . . nothing happens. No whoosh up into the air.
No beeping. The elevator simply stays put, the doors closed, mocking me.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I chant, hoping I can cheer it into compliance.
Instead, there’s a ding of doom as though the call button outside has been pushed again, and the doors slide open to reveal the security guard. He’s standing with his hands on his hips despite not having a weapon, his feet planted firmly, and a sour frown on his face. “Come with me.”
Sighing, I stomp back toward the desk, feeling like the moment is particularly anticlimactic when the guard points at a chair and returns to his desk duty station. The least he could do is put me in handcuffs like I’m a threat.
I plop into the chair, my legs askew, my arms crossed over my chest, and my mouth downturned in a pout. “Now what, Paul Blart?”
The security guard arches a brow, obviously not pleased with the uncomplimentary comparison.
I hear the tones of him pushing buttons on the phone as he dials.
When the call connects, I hear Griffin’s gruff hello before the guard launches into a completely inaccurate retelling of the last five minutes.
“I’ve got a woman down here who claims to know you and is trying to come up without permission.
She made a run for the elevator, but I stopped her. You want me to call the police?”
“Five three, brunette, probably glaring at you right this second?” Griffin says, which is nothing more than a lucky guess.
“Griffin, tell this guy to stop heart-blocking me!” I shout in the general vicinity of the phone. Quiet enough that Griffin won’t hear, I explain to the guard, “It’s like cockblocking, but with the heart.”
“Send her up,” Griffin clips out before hanging up with a sharp click.
I stand up to my full height, trying my best to look righteous.
“See? I told you he’d want to see me,” I tell the guard snottily.
He sighs heavily as I do my best to strut back to the elevator.
The effect is only slightly squashed by the squeak of my tennis shoes.
At least, this time, when I push the button for the tenth floor, the doors close and I begin the expected whoosh into the air.
When the doors open, I take a deep breath before heading toward Griffin’s condo.
When I turn the corner, he’s already waiting on me, his back leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and his mouth firmly set in a hard line.
The purple bruising beneath his eyes only highlights the anger in them. “What are you doing here, Pen?”
“I came for an apology,” I inform him primly.
Rolling his eyes, he huffs, “Fine. I’m sorry.
Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the guys following you, I’m sorry for not telling you what I suspected about their boss, I’m sorry for talking to Conniver without clearing it with you first, I’m sorry for busting into your lunch with him today, I’m sorry for .
. . everything.” By the end, he sounds gutted and essentially sorry for his own existence.
And I’m the one that’s made him feel that way.