16. Griffin #2
His cold, calculating eyes flick from Elodie to me, narrowing slightly. “Elodie. Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
His voice is surprisingly refined for someone who looks like he bench-presses small cars.
“Cain, darling!” Elodie purrs, releasing my arm to slide up to him. “That jacket is absolutely criminal. I’m blinded by your fabulousness.”
“It’s a Tom Ford,” he says, straightening his back. “Limited edition.”
“It’s…very sparkly,” I offer, which seems to be the wrong thing to say because Elodie jumps in smoothly.
“This is Griffin McGregor,” she says, like she’s presenting a prized show dog. “He’s one of Malcolm’s investors. And a hockey player.”
The way she says “hockey player” makes it sound like an adorable hobby, like I collect stamps or build ships in bottles.
Cain’s gaze narrows, his expression suggesting he’s just found something unpleasant stuck to his shoe. “I know who he is.”
“Then you know he’s trusted.” Elodie smiles sweetly. “Griffin is interested in exploring some of Malcolm’s more…exclusive opportunities.”
Cain looks me up and down. “Is that so?”
“That’s right.” Smooth, confident. “Always looking for smart opportunities.”
Cain’s eyebrow twitches. “Funny, I don’t recall seeing your name on tonight’s list.”
Elodie slides her fingers under Cain’s lapel. “I thought he might enjoy joining the discussion later.”
Cain’s eyebrows shoot up. “That discussion isn’t for tourists, Elodie.”
“I’m not a tourist,” I interject, trying to sound casual. “I’ve got a decent chunk of change invested already.”
“Hockey players,” Cain scoffs. “You get a few million and suddenly think you’re Warren Buffett.”
“Who says I’m not?” I grin. “Have you ever seen us in the same room together?”
“Don’t be rude, Cain,” Elodie chides, leaning in to whisper something in his ear that I can’t hear. His expression shifts slightly.
“Just eager to get in on the ground floor of whatever’s next,” I say.
Cain studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment, his expression unreadable. I maintain eye contact despite the growing certainty that this man has definitely made people disappear.
Finally, he nods. “Fine. If you want in, you follow my rules. No questions, no comments unless directly addressed. But if you say or do anything stupid, you’re out.”
“Scout’s honor,” I say, holding up three fingers.
“And lose the blonde,” he adds, nodding toward where Anika disappeared. “This isn’t bring your girlfriend to work day.”
My stomach drops. “About that?—”
“He understands,” Elodie cuts in smoothly.
“Twenty minutes. East wing library,” Cain says curtly. He walks away without another word, his gold jacket glittering.
“See? Easy,” Elodie says, looking pleased with herself.
“Yeah, super easy,” I mutter. “Now I really need to find Anika.”
“We don’t have time,” Elodie insists. “We need to prepare.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s okay.”
Elodie sighs dramatically. “Fine. You have ten minutes. Meet me by the grand staircase after that.” She leans in, her lips almost brushing my ear. “Don’t be late, Griffin. This is your only chance to get what you came for.”
Just as I’m about to turn away, Elodie’s fingers tighten around my lapels, yanking me closer with surprising strength.
“Wait,” she says, her voice suddenly all business. “You can’t go in there looking like this.”
“Looking like what?” I glance down at my tux.
“Like you’ve been wrestling a bear.” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Honestly, men have no idea how to maintain themselves at formal events.”
Before I can protest, she’s tugging at my jacket, smoothing invisible wrinkles. Her fingers snake around my neck, adjusting my collar.
“I’m pretty sure I look fine,” I mutter, trying to step back, but she’s got me locked in place like I’m caught in a face-off.
“Trust me,” she says, her voice all honey-sweet. “You’ll want to look like you belong in that meeting.”
Her hands move to my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp as she rearranges what I spent twenty minutes getting just right in front of the mirror.
“There,” she says finally, looking satisfied with her handiwork. “Now you look presentable.”
And then, quick as a snake strike, she leans in and presses her lips to my cheek.
“For luck,” she whispers.
“I think you’ve made your point,” I say through gritted teeth, finally managing to put my hands on her shoulders and create some distance.
The words die in my throat as I catch a flash of strawberry blonde hair across the grand ballroom. Anika.
She blinks rapidly, lips slightly parted, and even from here I can see the color rising in her cheeks. Our eyes lock for one excruciating second, and I see the exact moment her expression shifts from shock to hurt to something worse. Cold resignation. Like she always expected this to happen.
“Anika!” I call out, but the room is too big, and my voice is swallowed by the orchestra.
She turns away sharply, disappearing into the crowd. I push forward, not caring who I bump into, but the sea of people seems to close around her like she’s being swallowed whole.
Then, I spot her again, and my blood turns to ice.
Apparently, the universe has decided I haven’t been punished enough tonight because some slick-looking guy in a tailored suit has appeared at her side.
He says something that makes her pause and then slides an arm around her waist and pulls her into a dance.
His hand splays possessively across her lower back as he guides her across the floor, all smooth and calculating.
My vision goes red around the edges. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
Couples blur past me as I weave between them, keeping my eyes locked on Anika and Mr. Smooth Criminal. He’s leaning in close, whispering something in her ear. Her face is tense, unreadable. Is she enjoying this? Is she trying to make me jealous? Or is she genuinely into this guy?
“Griffin!” Elodie calls after me. “Don’t blow this!”
I ignore her, pushing forward with single-minded determination. The only thing I’m blowing is my chance with Anika if I don’t explain what just happened.
The guy dips her low, his lips inches from her neck, and something primal roars in my chest. I don’t care who he is. His face is about to become intimately acquainted with the floor.
I shoulder past a waiter, my blood pounding in my ears.
All I can think about is getting to Anika before that suit-wearing jackass whisks her away completely. I feel a tightness in my chest that’s spreading throughout my body like a vice. Nothing, not even the playoffs, has ever given me this much stress.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, accidentally bumping into an elderly woman, who gives me a scandalized look. “Sorry, ma’am. Hockey emergency.”
The rational part of my brain knows I have no right to be jealous. This isn’t a real date. I’m her dating coach, not her boyfriend. But the caveman part of my brain is already plotting ways to separate this suave stranger from his perfectly styled hair.
I swear if he dips her one more time, I’m going to…
“Griffin!” Elodie’s manicured fingers wrap around my elbow. “There you are.”
“Not now,” I growl, trying to shake her off without causing a scene. The last thing I need is to be that hockey player who made a spectacle at a fancy Swiss gala.
“You don’t understand,” she hisses, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Something urgent has come up.”
I finally tear my eyes away from Anika to look at Elodie. Her expression is intense, almost desperate. “Look, I appreciate the spy games and all, but I need to talk to my date first.”
“This isn’t a game,” she says. “You’re causing a scene.”
“I’ll be at the meeting as planned if I can,” I say firmly, extracting my arm from her grip.
I turn back toward Anika, scanning the dance floor frantically. The sea of tuxedos and evening gowns has shifted, and for a heart-stopping moment, I can’t find her.
Then I see Mr. Perfect Hair though the crowd.
I quicken my pace, mentally rehearsing exactly how I’m going to introduce this guy’s face to my fist, when a gold-sequined arm shoots out, catching me square in the chest.
“Going somewhere, Puck Boy?” Cain’s voice drips with disdain.
“My date,” I say, trying to sidestep him. My eyes remain locked on Anika, who’s now being led off the dance floor.
Cain sneers, adjusting his ridiculous gold cuffs. “I told you to ditch her. Typical hockey jock.”
“I was just about to tell her to take a hike,” I lie, trying to peer around his ridiculously broad shoulders to keep Anika in view, but she’s disappearing into the crowd. “It’s just…too much champagne,” I blurt out, making an exaggerated grimace. “Gotta take a wiz.”
Cain’s face remains impressively impassive. “Charming. You have fifteen minutes until the meeting.”
“That should be plenty,” I say, patting my stomach with a pained expression. “Unless there’s a line, in which case…”
“If you’re not there, don’t bother showing your face around here again.” He walks away with a sinister laugh. “Which would be fine by me.”
I turn back toward where I last saw Anika, just in time to catch a flash of her dress disappearing down a hallway. With that guy.