Chapter 19
SELENA
We eat room service and decide that, given everyone's schedules, it would be best to have Celeste and her family come sooner rather than later. We plan for my sister, her husband, and their three boys to come in two weeks.
We text Celeste with the details, secretly hoping she will decline.
She agrees immediately.
It’s going to be an absolute nightmare.
“Have you ever had guests stay at your place?” I ask, doubting he has.
“Never,” he says, suddenly sounding very nervous.
“Right. You’re the guy who can’t even commit to a housekeeper. What if you hate me because of them?” I begin to panic. “This could be a total disaster!”
“Do you love your sister?” He reels me back in with a calm look.
“I can’t live without her.”
“Then I’ll get through this,” he assures me.
We finish our meal, notify the driver, and pack up our things.
In the car, Griffin continues our conversation. “This will give you a project. I need you to bring some homey touches to my penthouse.”
“You mean something that isn’t white. These are young boys, Griffin. You’re going to have to put drop cloths on everything. Who exclusively decorates in white anyway?” I snarl at him playfully.
“It’s clean and easy. For a man who doesn’t use anything he buys, it’s aesthetically pleasing. I’m going to need something that doesn’t scream ‘single, reclusive executive.’ Please help.”
He’s pretending to be helpless, but it’s sweet.
“I need new bedding for the guest rooms. Should I purchase a bunk bed? I’ll definitely need new furniture. I wonder if there’ll be enough room?” He muses to himself.
“Griffin, your loft is two warehouse-sized floors. You could drive a go-kart through your living room. There is plenty of space.”
“Do you think I should get a go-kart?” He’s officially losing his mind.
“Griffin.” I touch his arm, trying to console him. “It’s okay. New York is interesting enough; no go-karts. Yes to a bunk bed. You will need snacks, and they can spend their days in the pool... and maybe, just maybe, a less white couch.”
He switches gears on me. “You really haven’t seen the whole penthouse, have you?”
“Maybe you can give me a tour?” I rub his arm, feeling a warm kind of affection for this man who is terrified of children.
“I should have done that on day one.”
“It’s only been twelve days. You’ve got time.” I laugh.
“We certainly have made the most of them.” He laughs too.
When we arrive back in Manhattan, he tells me that he needs to go to work, but I stop him.
“I’ll let you work—I know that I’m always going to be competing with your career—but...” I hesitate.
“I’ll try and find a better work/life balance soon.” I hope he will, but I doubt it’s a priority.
“I just want to know... can I visit you for lunch sometimes? Or do you not want me around? If you’re bringing contracts home, can I ask that we eat together while you work, or is this a king and his concubine sort of arrangement?”
I am being serious, but he chuckles.
“You may visit me at work and take me to lunch at any time. I tend to work through lunch, and admittedly, I work too hard. I'm sure I could step away for half an hour.”
“Unless you want everyone you work with to get indigestion, I suggest you lengthen the lunch hour to an actual hour. That way we can relax.” I give him a snarky grin.
“I can’t do ‘other things’ at the office anymore, as much as you tempt me, Mrs. Calloway. But I agree. Lunches need to be longer.”
“Why is this so easy? I’m scared that you’re taking every suggestion I make. That’s not like you. You’re a fighter. You like being an evil overlord. What’s going on?”
“I want you to like me. That’s the truth. And you’re right, a positive work/life balance is good optics. HR has been badgering me about it for months. I want to show that you’ve been a good influence.”
He puffs up proudly. Still having asshole motivations for making changes, but I’ll take it.
“As far as dinner, yes to that too. Now, before I go read boring legal briefs, can I ask you a question?”
Now I’m nervous.
“With Junior set to make an appearance in nine months, our lives are going to change drastically. I would very much like to have an intimate relationship. So what does consent look like for you? Do I ask you every time? Can you just say no if you’re not in the mood? How much sex can I look forward to?”
“Consent means you asking if I’m in the mood. I reserve the right to say no for whatever reason.” I lean in and kiss his soft cheek. “But every night sounds good to me, until the baby starts kicking my ass.”
“Thank you.” He looks visibly relieved.
“Now, go to work, you slacker.” I slap his ass.
He grabs me and kisses me full on the mouth. “Marital sex starts tonight. Just so you know.” He licks my lips, and boy, is he hard.
“Oh, fun.” I cup him through his trousers, and he groans.
“I hate you,” he teases.
“Work calls...” I pull away, laughing.
It feels good. For the first time since meeting Griffin, I’m happy.
Griffin works for several hours, and I venture upstairs to explore the upper level of the loft. The industrial staircase is metal and makes a hollow banging sound when you walk on it.
Griffin's home is basically a vast open space with floor-to-ceiling windows covered in dark tapestries. The living room and dining room are sectioned off by shelving units full of books and priceless art. The kitchen is in the back, with a brushed steel breakfast bar.
Behind it is a large walk-in pantry that hides a bedroom with a bathroom—the maid’s quarters. No one stays there. I look at it, thinking perhaps we can put one of the boys in there, but the space feels sad. It has a view of an alleyway.
Our primary bedroom is on the opposite side of the loft. It’s huge, divided by bookcases, with a fireplace and a conversation set. The bathroom has a shower big enough for a party.
Across from our room are two offices with sliding metal doors. Griffin told me they were soundproofed. Next to his office is my room, which he had redecorated with green velvet furniture, a lounger, and a soft, shaggy rug. It has a view of Manhattan and lots of natural light.
“Green?” I asked him when he first showed me.
“I consulted a designer. She told me green is relaxing for anxiety, which I assumed you would have,” Griffin explained.
“I kind of love it,” I told him. And I do.
I continue my mission to the second floor, where there are guest rooms and a theater. The boys will love the theater—it has tiered seating and a popcorn machine. I look into the guest rooms. Each has a king-sized bed and an ensuite bathroom behind Japanese shoji screens.
I take note of colors I’d like to add—steel grey, navy blue, hunter green. Manly but warm.
Griffin texts me while I’m on the tour.
Order from here… He sends a link to an expensive home design store. It’s my favorite. There’s no budget. Have fun. - Griffin
I text back. Okay. Going to the roof for a dip… of the skinny variety. Perhaps you’ll be done with work soon.
Ah, very nice. You torture me when I’m working so hard.
I’m just here trying to be a wife.
I’m actually craving his company, something I didn’t think I’d ever do.
I take off my clothes on the roof deck because I can’t be bothered to go back downstairs for a swimsuit.
I love the feel of the warm water on my bare skin.
When I look up at the stars, I take a moment to appreciate the turn my life has taken.
While it’s scary and not the right circumstances, this baby is something I’ll always have to remember my time with Griffin.
That thought feels sad. I’m finally sitting with my feelings. Everything from being left at the altar to having Griffin show up at a roach motel happened without reflection. Now, naked and alone, I face it.
“Hormones got you going?” Griffin asks, appearing behind me. He quickly rids himself of his clothes. “Or did I say something wrong?”
“Probably hormones,” I tell him as he slips into the warm water. “You’ve been great. Thank you. I really didn’t expect you to be so accommodating, especially since a family from Iowa and a baby are the last things you ever wanted.”
“It’s right up there with ingrown toenails and generalized anxiety disorder,” he jokes. “I can do anything for a few days. And the baby... I don’t know.”
He pulls me into his lap on the underwater bench. Of course, he’s hard as a rock. I lean against his chest, wanting to be held.
“That’s what has me pensive,” I admit. “That he or she will be all I’ll have left of you one day. I’m sure you’ll come to graduations. There will be birthday cards. But...”
“When did ‘one day at a time’ become graduation and birthday cards?”
“Just getting myself all twisted up.”
“Stick to the plan. One day at a time. Today is almost over, and I want to have sex with you. Here in the hot tub. In our bed tomorrow morning. A quickie at the office if you can keep quiet.” His expression turns wicked.
“No sex at the office. You’re going to be a managing partner; behave like one.” I take a firm stand, and he kisses my neck.
“You’re going to be good for me.”
I look up at him and hope that he’ll be good for me, too. Instead of voicing my concerns, I kiss his soft lips and roll my hips against him.
“Ahh,” he groans. “Doing that will get you very fucked, Mrs. Calloway.”
“That’s the plan, Mr. Calloway.”