Chapter 46
GRIFFIN
“So,” Rafael says, his light Italian-American accent curling lightly around the word through the speakerphone, “I take it you are serious.”
I lean back in my chair and stare through the glass wall of my office at W.H.M. People move around like it’s a normal Thursday morning. Coffee cups in hand. Blueprints rolled beneath arms. Conversations happening over desk partitions and conference tables.
The world keeps working.
And apparently, so do I.
“I don’t make offers for fun,” I say.
“No, I’m sure you brood professionally too.”
My mouth flattens.
Rafael Vescovi laughs under his breath, sounding far too entertained for a man about to sell me a building. “Relax, Hayes. Damian warned me you had the charm of a locked bank vault.”
“Damian talks too much.”
“He does. But your brother also sends me very wealthy and motivated buyers, so I tolerate him.”
I look back at the contract on my screen.
Three stories, brick exterior, corner lot, two blocks from Willow’s. The ground floor is a commercial space with wide front windows, exposed beams, room for a full café build-out, and two upper floors that could be converted into office space, apartments, or whatever the hell Tiana wants.
If she wants anything at all.
This is not a gift or a bribe.
This is a door, and all I’m doing is opening it.
“Did the seller accept?” I ask.
Rafael hums. “With the shortened due diligence period, yes. They want earnest funds deposited by the end of business, and they want confirmation you’re waiving the financing contingency.”
“Done.”
“Just like that?”
“Was there supposed to be more drama?”
“Most people take a breath before buying a multi-million dollar building.”
“Most people aren’t me.”
“No,” Rafael says, dry amusement in his voice. “I gathered that when your offer came in. This must be a very expensive apology.”
I say nothing.
When Rafael speaks again, his voice loses some of its humor. “Damian said this building was important to you.”
My gaze moves to the photo of the front windows in the listing packet. I can almost see it already: a counter along the back wall, shelves—that aren’t crooked—warm lights, and Tiana standing in the middle of it with her hands on her hips, eyes bright.
“Not to me,” I say. “To her.”
Rafael exhales softly. “Ah. A woman.”
I glare at the phone. “Are you always this involved with clients’ personal lives?”
“Only when they buy buildings to win back a woman.”
My fingers pause on the edge of the desk.
“I’m not trying to win her back with a building,” I retort.
“Good,” Rafael says. “Because women rarely appreciate being purchased, even tastefully. Trust me. I’ve got the experience.”
My mouth presses into a hard line.
He’s not wrong.
“Send the final packet,” I say.
“It’s already in your inbox.”
My computer chimes.
Rafael’s smile is audible. “I’m efficient. It’s why Damian likes me.”
“My brother likes anyone who can make him money.”
“We have that in common,” Rafael says.
I open the document and scroll to the signature page.
It has been over a month since LA, and things between me and Tiana have not gone back to normal.
Maybe they never will and that version of normal deserved to die the second she learned the truth about @built2last.
Still, almost imperceptibly, Tiana has been lowering her walls brick by brick.
She drinks the coffee I leave for her in the morning, but only if I don’t hand it to her.
She eats the dinners I prepare, but not before making at least one comment about my lazy cooking.
She lets me sit with her and Sylas on the living room floor, our shoulders occasionally brushing while he explains dinosaur facts neither of us asked for.
She has not touched me again. We have not kissed since the shower. And I have not asked.
I want to.
God, I want to.
But wanting is not permission, and I learned that too late.
So I do what I can.
I give her space, honesty, and the truth before she has to ask for it.
I handle Sylas’s bedtime when she looks exhausted.
I leave tea on the counter when she comes downstairs with that tight look around her mouth.
I tell her what I’m thinking instead of disappearing into my own head and expecting her to trust the silence.
Small and steady things that do not demand forgiveness but, hopefully, prove I understand why I lost it.
“Griffin?” Rafael says, interrupting my thoughts.
“I’m here.” I pick up my pen. “Send the wire instructions to accounting.”
“Already done,” Rafael confirms.
“Then I’ll sign now.”
“Congratulations,” he says. “You just bought yourself a very beautiful apology.”
For some reason, that almost makes me smile.
Tiana would like Rafael. Which means I’m already irritated by him.
“The signed copy will be back in your inbox in five minutes,” I say.
“I’ll tell Damian his referral was a success.”
“Tell Damian nothing.”
Rafael laughs. “Impossible. He already texted me twice.”
When we end the call, my phone buzzes.
Damian
Well? Did Vescovi close it or did you scare him off with your funeral-director charm?
I signed the contract.
Damian
Obviously. Rafael is excellent.
Also, you probably overpaid.
I glance at the purchase price. He’s probably right.
A knock sounds against my open door just as I put the purchase contract down.
Mya stands in the doorway with a tablet tucked under one arm and a paper coffee cup in the other.
“Please tell me that’s not another emergency subcontractor issue,” she says, stepping into my office without waiting for an invitation.
“It’s not.”
“Good, because Worth is in a mood and I can only emotionally regulate one overgrown construction man at a time.”
I arch a brow. “Overgrown construction man?”
“Don’t look so offended.” Her gaze drops to the stack of papers on my desk. “What are those, then?”
“Contracts.”
“That much I gathered from the depressing font.” She steps closer, eyes scanning the header upside down. “Commercial purchase agreement?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze lifts to mine.
I wait. Mya does not miss much. She never has. It’s one of the reasons Worth fell so hard for her, even if he spent an embarrassing amount of time pretending he hadn’t.
“Griffin Hayes.” Her eyes move from the documents to my face, then back again. “This wouldn’t happen to be a certain building near Willow’s, would it?”
“It’s a good investment.”
“Do not insult me this early.” She crosses her arms. “That is not why you bought it.”
I glance through the glass wall. Outside my office, Worth appears near the conference room, scowling at his phone. When he looks up, he catches sight of Mya in here, then narrows his eyes at me.
Jealous bastard.
I ignore him and lean back in my chair. “Fine. I bought the building for Tiana.”
Her mouth opens, and she points at me with the coffee cup. “Are you kidding? How are you planning to offer it to her?” she asks.
I exhale and drag a hand over my jaw. “I’m not giving it to her. I’ll show her the space, tell her I bought it because I believe in what she wants to build. If she’s interested, she can lease it at a fair rate, with an option to buy.”
“And what if she says no?”
“Then I’ll lease it to someone else.”
But my throat tightens, because the truth is ugly and simple: I want Tiana in that building.
I want her business name on the door. I want to watch her make it hers.
I want Sylas to run inside after school and sit at a table with a muffin and a dinosaur book while Tiana throws her charm at clients. I want that life.
Mya sits in the chair across from my desk. Her expression is careful now, stripped of teasing. “How are things with her?”
I almost say fine. Then I think of Tiana’s face three nights ago when she found the tea I left on the counter and muttered, “Annoyingly thoughtful,” before taking it upstairs.
I think of yesterday morning, when Sylas called for Mommy from the breakfast table, and Tiana froze for half a second before answering, “Coming, bug,” with tears in her voice.
I think of the last time her mouth was on mine.
I think of every night since, lying in my bed with half the house between us, loving a woman who is close enough to hear and too hurt to reach for.
“Better than they were,” I add. “Some days.”
“Is she talking to you?”
“A little.”
“Good. If Tiana stops talking completely, then you worry.”
“She won’t let me get too close unless Sylas is between us or she initiates the space herself. I’m trying not to push.” I sigh. “It feels like torture.”
“I didn’t say it would be fun.”
I huff a humorless laugh.
Mya leans forward, elbows on her knees, her coffee forgotten between both hands. “Griffin, she doesn’t need you to prove you love her every five seconds. I think she knows that part. She needs to feel safe. And you can’t shortcut that.”
There is no accusation in Mya’s voice.
I nod. “I’m trying my best.”
Mya holds my gaze for a long moment before she looks back at the papers on my desk. “Great. Then this could be amazing.” She points at the contract. “Make it clear in writing. If you want her to believe this isn’t you using money to keep her, then put the power in her hands.”
I reach for a legal pad before she even finishes speaking. At the top of the page, I write: Tiana’s options. Then I underline it. It isn’t straight enough, so I draw a second beneath it and immediately berate myself for caring about symmetry in the middle of an emotional crisis.
Mya’s mouth twitches with barely concealed amusement as I start writing the list.
“Look at you taking my advice.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
Mya laughs her way out of my office, just as my phone buzzes.
Oh, shit.
It’s a message from @tianawithlove.
@tianawithlove
hi, stranger.
@built2last
Hey, Trouble.
@tianawithlove
long time no talk
@built2last
Did you miss me?
@tianawithlove
maybe…
@built2last
Would you believe me if I said I missed you?
@tianawithlove
I would.
Can I ask you something?
@built2last
Anything.
@tianawithlove
how do you know when it’s safe to forgive a person?
@built2last
When the risk of losing them is worse than whatever they did.
@tianawithlove
do people ever really change?
@built2last
Not often.
But sometimes, the right person gives you a reason to want to.