Chapter 25
GRIFFIN
Ihear Tiana before I see her as I pass by her bedroom, her soft voice filtering through the partially closed door. I can’t make out exactly what she’s saying, but I’m almost certain she’s filming a video.
I barely slept last night. Hell, I’ve barely been sleeping since we got back from Mya and Worth’s wedding.
Every time I close my eyes, my brain replays the same moments on a loop—Tiana perched on top of me, moving her hips in tune with my thrusts, writhing and desperate to come.
The taste of her tongue, the feeling of her lips on mine, the sound of her whimpers when she came undone just by rubbing herself over my stiff cock.
Fuck.
This thing I have with her—this fixation, obsession, whatever the hell it is—has gone too far.
Not only do I need boundaries for Sylas’s sake, but I shouldn’t be lusting after a woman I barely know who’s almost half my age and is currently my son’s nanny.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve somehow convinced myself that messaging her through a faceless Instagram account is different. Like talking to her as @built2last instead of Griffin Hayes somehow changes the reality of what I’m doing.
It doesn’t.
If anything, it makes me feel worse, because now there are two versions of me wanting her.
The man who whenever he sees her laugh with Sylas feels something dangerously close to happiness, and the stranger she messages late at night when she can’t sleep.
Every notification from her gives me an intense rush and every conversation pulls me deeper.
And whenever she calls me mysterious or funny, or tells me she missed talking to me, the guilt digs a little deeper into my chest.
Lila would probably roll in her grave if she could see me right now.
My eyes go to the ring still on my finger, and disappointment settles heavy in my chest.
What the hell am I doing?
There’s a sudden crash from inside Tiana’s room, followed by a muttered curse, and I realize I’ve been standing outside her door for too long, like some kind of creep.
Before I can move away, the door swings open.
Tiana startles, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh my God. You scared me! What are you doing?”
“I was just heading to Sylas’s room,” I lie.
She glances down the hall toward his room. “Oh. Last I checked, he was still asleep. It’s really early, you know.”
“You know what they say. The early bird gets the worm.”
“You mean the old man gets the worm.”
“Coming from the woman who’s also awake,” I deadpan.
She nudges my shoulder as she walks past me, though I barely move from the impact. “I was working.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m serious,” she insists. “Some of us have jobs that require personality.”
I raise a brow. “Are you implying I don’t have one?”
“I’m implying yours is hidden.”
This is the first actual conversation we’ve had in a while, and I realize I missed the back and forth. Since Paris, we’ve gone back to avoiding each other. Neither of us has brought up what happened.
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth pull slightly upward.
Tiana notices immediately.
“There it is,” she says, pointing at me like she just discovered proof of life. “I knew I could get you to smile eventually.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late. I’m documenting this occasion.”
Tiana lifts her phone as if she’s about to take photographic evidence, and I reach over and gently grab her wrist.
The movement puts us too close. I should step back, put space between us before my brain gets any ideas. Like maybe kissing her again.
Tiana’s phone buzzes in her hand. The sound cuts through the moment, and she glances at me and then at where my palm is wrapped around her small wrist. I drop it and she checks the screen, a smile pulling at her lips.
“Busy tonight?” I ask.
Her eyes meet mine. “Maybe. Why?”
I shrug, keeping my tone neutral. “Just asking.”
She watches me for a beat. “I might go out. Is that a problem?”
“No.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want to break any rules.”
“There are no rules about what you do on your own time, Tiana.”
“Mm.” She tilts her head. “You sure about that?”
I hold her gaze. “Yup. You’re young. I’m sure you have a busy social life.”
Tiana scoffs. “Is that jealousy, again, old man?”
“Nah. I’m exactly where I want to be, sweetheart.”
Tiana glares at my condescending tone, though I feel no ounce of remorse—if she gets to sass me all day long, then I get to bite back every once in a while.
Right as she opens her mouth to retort, Sylas’s bedroom door creaks open.
“Why are you guys standing in the hallway?” he asks groggily, rubbing one eye.
Tiana recovers so fast it’s almost impressive. “I was just about to go make pancakes!”
Tiana ignores me for the rest of the day.
She feeds Sylas lunch and helps him pack a small overnight bag. The entire time she barely looks in my direction and keeps her distance.
By the time Maggie, Worth’s longtime nanny, takes Sy to go meet Worth and his teenage daughter, Brianna, for ice cream and a sleepover, the house feels unnervingly quiet.
I escape to my workshop and get halfway through sanding a piece of oak before I realize I’ve been working the same spot for twenty minutes straight. I can’t stop thinking about the five-foot-two goddess currently living under my roof.
Pathetic.
Light footsteps crunch across the gravel outside the shed. Then the door creaks open.
“Hi,” Tiana says casually, as if she hasn’t been dodging me for six hours. “I’m heading out. Just checking if you need anything before I go.”
I look up, and suddenly, I forget how to speak.
Tiana is dressed in deep, olive green trousers and a fitted, sleeveless black top, the material hugging every subtle curve.
Her shoulder-length hair is pulled into a bun with a few strands falling around her face.
Her skin is warm and golden, like she stepped out of a sunset instead of my back porch, and she smells like vanilla and something floral.
She is stunning.
Her lips part a little when I keep staring. She shifts the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “So… did you need anything before I go?”
I set my tools down before I can drop them.
“Where are you going looking like that?”
Shit. That came out wrong.
Tiana crosses her arms. “Excuse me?”
I clear my throat. “You’re… dressed up.”
She glances down at herself as if she hadn’t noticed. “I know, shocking. I own real clothes other than leggings.” She tilts her head, watching me far too closely, though doesn’t answer my question. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
Lots of things I need come to mind. None of them are appropriate.
“No. I’m good.”
Her gaze travels down my body before returning to my face. A faint flush appears on her cheeks.
“Are you going on a date?” The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
Instant regret.
I am not entitled to that information. I am her employer.
“And what if I was?”
My pulse kicks hard, and I clear my throat again, forcing my eyes away from her mouth. “It’s none of my business.” No matter what happened between us.
Her lips twitch, amused. “You sound annoyed.”
“I’m not.” Lie number one.
“Concerned, maybe?”
“Not even close.” Lie number two.
“Jealous?”
“Nope.” Lie number three.
Tiana looks far too entertained.
I drag a palm over my jaw. “Go enjoy your night, Jones.”
She steps back, the porch light catching in her hair. “Enjoy yours, too, Hayes.”
When she reaches her car, she doesn’t look back, but I keep watching.
I stand in the doorway of the shed far too long after she’s gone, then go back inside to finish what I was working on, replaying our conversation until it gnaws at me.
By the time I head back into the house, I’ve run out of excuses. I either stop this infatuation or I’m going to lose control of it.
I walk straight to the kitchen and reach for my phone. And I do exactly what I said I wouldn’t do anymore: I open Instagram, search her name and tap her story.
Tiana is at a restaurant, seated at a table with a candle, and a perfectly plated dinner. Across from her is a pair of masculine hands, holding a glass of wine.
She tagged the person, so I do the only reasonable thing and click on the profile.
@markellonthemap. His bio reads: Creative Director. Frequent flyer. Professional heartbreaker.
I scroll and scroll, and somewhere between gym selfies, paid clothing ads and curated travel photos, I find older pictures of him and Tiana.
Tiana curled against his side on a beach.
Tiana laughing at dinner.
Tiana kissing his cheek while he smirks at the camera.
My stomach drops so fast.
She’s actually on a fucking date. With her ex.
I stare at the screen, unmoving, while something ugly and electric coils tight under my ribs. Setting my phone face-down on the counter, I force myself to take a slow breath.
This shouldn’t bother me, but my hands are already curled into fists.
I’m pissed that I care. Pissed I even looked. Pissed that somewhere deep, buried under guilt, something always reacts to Tiana.
Grief is a living thing, and I wear it the way I still wear my wedding band, but perhaps it’s time to let it morph into something else. I stare at that ring, now a symbol of everything I keep chained to me. I could have taken it off years ago, but I never did.
Because I still don’t know how. I don’t know if I’m allowed.
The thought of loving anyone else feels like betrayal. Even thinking about another woman feels like a sin.
But some part of me—all of me—wants to explore my attraction to Tiana, and I don’t know what to do with that.
It’s past midnight when I head to bed. I don’t feel like turning on the TV, so I pick up the book about architectural restoration that’s been sitting on my nightstand for weeks.
I read the same page three times.
Eventually, I stop trying and set it down, turning off the bedside lamp.
When my phone buzzes beside me, I almost ignore it. But when another notification comes in, I flip it over, my heart flipping at the name on the screen.
Trouble
hey
you up?
I stare at it for a second before typing.
Yeah. Everything okay?
The dots show up immediately. Then pause. Then appear again.
Trouble
yup
fine
just out
That doesn’t sound like her.