14. Griffin #3
She finds her shoes and we make our way off the dance floor. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with something I don’t dare name. I can’t tear my gaze away from her face, memorizing every freckle, every eyelash, every curve of her lips.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” I ask.
“From watching Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club . I’ve seen it maybe fifty times.”
“Molly Ringwald wishes she had your moves.”
Anika laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I doubt that.”
“You’re supposed to be learning from me,” I say, voice dropping lower.
“Oh?” Her eyebrow arches. “What am I learning right now?”
“How to own a room.” My hand finds her waist, pulling her close. “Everyone here can’t take their eyes off you.”
“Everyone?” she asks, and I hear the real question beneath.
“Especially me,” I admit, my voice barely audible above the music.
“Griffin,” she starts, but whatever she was about to say is interrupted when a familiar voice cuts through our moment.
“Griffin McGregor! What a delightful surprise!”
Malcolm Chase materializes before us, his expensive suit somehow shinier than everyone else’s, his smile just as artificial as I remember.
“Mr. Chase,” I manage, straightening my spine. “Good to see you.”
“Please, call me Malcolm.” His overly white veneers on full display as he shakes my hand. Then his gaze slides to Anika in a way that makes my arm hair stand on end. “And who is this vision?”
“My date, Anika,” I say, pulling her slightly closer. “Anika, this is Malcolm Chase, owner of the Toronto Titans.”
“Enchanted,” Malcolm purrs, taking her hand and bending to kiss it. His lips linger a beat too long, and I feel my temperature rising.
Anika extracts her hand with practiced grace. “Charmed.”
My jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.
“I must say, you two were quite the spectacle on the dance floor.” Malcolm’s eyes rake over Anika again. “Where did you find such a talented partner, Griffin?”
“Just lucky, I guess,” I say, fighting the urge to step between them.
Malcolm turns his attention back to me, his expression sharpening. “I didn’t realize you were among our top investors. I don’t recall seeing your name on the exclusive invitation list.”
I force a casual shrug. “The Titans stock has been particularly interesting to follow.”
“Has it now?” Something calculating flashes in his eyes.
“I try to get in on every opportunity I can. Hockey careers don’t last forever, you know.”
Malcolm raises an eyebrow, looking almost impressed. “Indeed. Smart man. Perhaps smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“Don’t let this goofy face fool you,” I joke, immediately regretting it.
His lip twitches slightly, and after a beat of uncomfortable silence, he glances at his watch. “I should be moving along.”
He begins to turn from us, but I can’t let him go. The FIS agents prompted me to get in his inner circle at any cost. In a panic, I blurt, “My financial advisor has been particularly impressed with the offshore investments.”
This stops him in his tracks. As a casual investor, I’m not supposed to know about the offshore shell companies.
He gives me a sideways glance. “Perhaps we should discuss your…investment portfolio over a drink sometime.”
“Why not now?” I say, seizing the opening. “I’d love to hear more about future opportunities. Maybe join you at your table?”
Malcolm’s smile tightens at the corners. “Another time, perhaps. I have many guests to greet tonight.” He turns back to Anika with that predatory smile. “But do enjoy the party. The caviar is imported directly from the Caspian Sea. Nearly extinct, just like good manners.”
With a final lingering look at Anika, he melts back into the crowd.
“Well, he’s a delight,” Anika mutters once he’s out of earshot.
I laugh, tension draining from my shoulders. “That’s Malcolm for you.”
“Is he always so…”
“Slimy? Pretentious? Like he’s mentally undressing every woman in the room?”
“I was going to say like a movie villain who bathes in the tears of his enemies, but yours works too.” She wrinkles her nose. “How do you work for someone like that?”
“Technically, I work for the team,” I say, guiding her toward a quieter corner. “Malcolm just signs the checks.”
“Does he have ‘Professional Slimeball’ printed on his business card?”
I choke back a laugh. “Right below ‘World’s Most Punchable Face.’”
“Seriously,” she says, twisting her lip. “I need to wash my hand. I can still feel his lips on it.”
“Here,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “Let me help with that.” I brush my thumb over the spot where Malcolm kissed, as if erasing his touch.
Anika’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, everything else disappears again.
I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingers as I trace circles on her wrist. Her skin is impossibly soft, and the way she’s looking at me right now, eyes glittering, lips inviting, a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks, makes my heart do a triple axel in my chest.
I’m suddenly hyperaware of how close we’re standing, how the soft lighting catches the gold flecks in her eyes, how her pulse flutters visibly at the base of her throat.
“Anika, I…”
“I need to use the restroom,” she blurts out and pulls her hand away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Right now. Immediately.”
“Oh. Sure.” I step back, giving her space. “Just try not to serenade anyone with Blondie this time. These fancy people might not appreciate it as much as I did.”
She gives me a little laugh that hits me square in the chest. “I’ll try to contain myself.”
Then she’s walking away, and I’m helpless to do anything but watch.
The midnight blue dress cascades down her body, the slit revealing a tantalizing glimpse of leg.
The back dips low, and I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to trace the constellation of freckles across her back with my fingertips.
My heart does a somersault when she glances back over her shoulder, catching me staring. Instead of the snarky comment I expect, she gives me a small, almost shy smile that knocks the air right out of my lungs.
I watch her weave through the crowd, turning heads as she goes.
But it’s the confidence in her walk that really gets me.
For someone who claims to be out of her element, she moves like she owns the place.
Chin up, shoulders back, hips swaying just enough to make my mouth go slack.
A few heads turn as she passes, and a possessive heat flares in my chest.
That’s my date, I want to shout. Mine.
When she finally disappears around a corner, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
Holy hockey sticks. I’m in deep trouble here.
This was supposed to be simple. Help Anika learn to date.
Spy on Malcolm Chase. Get information for the FIS.
But nothing about this feels simple anymore.
Not when my heart races every time she looks at me.
Not when I can still feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine after that dance.
Not when the thought of her practicing these date moves with some random guy named Thomas makes me want to punch a wall.
I grab a glass of water from a passing server and down it in one gulp. The cold liquid does nothing to cool the heat spreading through me.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I’m just her dating coach when every fiber of my being wants to be the guy she’s learning for. I can’t keep teaching her how to flirt and dance and hold hands with someone else when I want it to be me.
When she comes back, I’m telling her. No more games, no more practice dates. I’m laying it all out there. How I feel when she walks into a room, how her laugh makes my whole day better, how I’ve been falling for her since the moment she threatened me with a fish.
I grab another glass of water, mentally rehearsing what I’ll say. Something smooth and charming that doesn’t make me sound like a complete idiot. Something that won’t scare her away.
But who am I kidding? This is me we’re talking about. I’ll probably blurt out something ridiculous like “I think about you approximately 23.5 hours a day” or “Your face is my favorite face.”
Still, I have to try. Tonight. Before we leave this party. Before she goes on that date with Thomas. Before I lose my nerve.
I’ve faced down 100-mile-per-hour slap shots without flinching. I can handle telling a beautiful woman I’m crazy about her.
I hope.
The string quartet starts playing a tango, and I straighten my bow tie, eyes fixed on the corner where Anika disappeared. Any minute now, she’ll walk back into view, and I’ll tell her exactly how I feel.
No more coaching. No more pretending.