Chapter 30 Griffin
Griffin
“Do you think he’s going to like it?” Penny asks me for the tenth time.
She’s staring at the engagement ring she custom-designed for Miles Conniver like it might’ve somehow cracked in half since she popped open the box to peek at it “one more time” five minutes ago.
She huffs, a pouty frown marring her face when she tears her eyes away from the ring to glare at me.
“He’s gonna love it,” I finish.
I watch her expression brighten, then soften. “I think so too. I hope Georgina will want me to design her wedding band.”
“Of course she will. How could she not want the most talented jewelry designer—and the sexiest—to make her ring?” I pause, tilting my head. “Though she is marrying a Mob boss, so good decisions might not be her strong suit.”
Penny laughs. “Fair point. But you should hear the way he talks about her. He loves her so much. It’s not the norm, but what’s normal? I mean, look at us.” She waves a hand between us, and though I hate to admit it, she’s right. Nothing about the two of us should match.
She’s sunshine, I’m an asshole (though I’m working on it).
She’s never met a stranger, people are just friends she hasn’t made yet, while if I never had to talk to anyone but her and Dom for the rest of my life, I’d be fine.
Probably better than fine. She’s short and soft with curves in all the right places, and I’m tall and built like a brick shithouse, and planning on getting brickier soon with offseason lifting.
And her softness extends into her soul, the same way my hardness does .
. . right down to my core. Though I am learning to trust, to be vulnerable, to feel things and share them, secure enough with Penny to believe that any ugly thoughts or fears I express won’t be the thing that finally sends her running.
In return, I’m doing my damnedest to love Penny the best I can.
I want her to want to be with me, not just because I’m a work in progress but because I make her life better, her days happier, her brilliant soul buzz with joy.
Yeah, I’m always going to be overprotective, and chances are, there are going to be sprained ankles here, sketchy choices there, and of course her new bestie, the Mob boss, to contend with.
But more than protecting her, I want to be the solid foundation she can return to after she flies off on whatever tangential whim strikes her.
Never caging her, just being her safe place, the same way she’s mine.
“What’dya mean? We’re totally normal!” I counter, not even remotely sounding like I believe that.
“Normal people have lunch plans with the most powerful and scariest man in the city at his private table in the impossible-to-get-a-reservation restaurant he owns. And I’m sure everyone drinks champagne from a giant silver cup after a good day at the office.
Or creates art out of thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds.
Everyone definitely comes home to someone they love more than life itself, that makes them glad to have had another day on this earth just to spend those twenty-four hours with them. ”
Penny’s initial laughter at my list of normal chokes off. “Aww, you’re the sweetest,” she says, setting the ring box down and crossing the room to sit half on me, half on the couch. “I am glad to have today with you.”
I grin wolfishly. “I meant that I’m the lucky bastard who gets to spend time with you, but thanks.” I gather her into my arms, burying my nose in her neck and simply inhaling her. I truly could sit here with her like this all day, or longer—like forever.
There’s just one problem with that plan. Miles Conniver is not the sort of man one is fashionably late to lunch with.
Penny
Every table in Aqua Est Vita is full, and as the hostess escorts us to the very back, eyes turn to follow us.
Well, to follow Griffin. He sticks out like a sore thumb in the fancy restaurant, and despite his slacks and oddly suave sports coat, he might as well be wearing a jersey with his name emblazoned on it.
Everyone knows who he is, even if they’re not hockey fans.
How could they not, when the Hawks have been plastered on every news show, billboard, and ad across the city?
I wouldn’t normally have my boyfriend go with me to a business lunch. But Griffin is no ordinary boyfriend, Miles Conniver is no ordinary customer, and this is no ordinary meeting. This is going to open an entirely new door for me. It already has.
I’ve been creating content out of my work on this ring for the last few weeks, and those videos and images have led to several messages from potential clients who want pieces that are more amazing than any other I’ve had the opportunity to work on.
Well, other than Mr. Conniver’s, of course. This commission from him isn’t in another world, but, rather, another stratosphere. But the new-client requests are not only for redone heritage pieces. They’re for from-scratch-anything-I-want designs from people who simply want to own my art.
My art.
I’ve been successful for a while, but PLDesigns is on an entirely different trajectory, to a new plane of achievement now. And I owe it all to a little mishap with a very special ring, not to mention a very special man.
I glance over my shoulder at my man, and somehow manage to catch the toe of my business pump on a chair leg. I cry out, feeling the world go wonky-donkey as I start to fall, but strong hands firmly grip my waist, righting me.
“I gotcha. You’re good,” Griffin rumbles in my ear.
“Miss Lee?” Mr. Conniver says in concern, an arm outstretched like he intends to help as well. But when he sees Griffin’s expression of touch her and die, he lets it drop with a nod of understanding, though he looks like he’s fighting off a smirk.
Once I’m securely on my feet, Griffin pulls out a chair, and I lower myself into it slowly, as if it might evaporate into thin air from beneath me. The two men shake hands and take their seats.
A nearby waitress immediately rushes over to pour two additional glasses of water for Griffin and me before disappearing once again.
I should look at the menu. I should make polite small talk with Mr. Conniver. I should take a sip of water. I do none of those things. Instead, I blurt out, “Do you want to see it?” with huge eyes and an even huger grin.
Mr. Conniver smiles graciously. “I would love to.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the engraved wooden box I special-ordered to house the ring. Holding it tightly, I say, “This is my most favorite piece I’ve ever designed, but if there’s anything at all that you or Georgina want to change, I’m happy to do so.”
I’m nearly bouncing out of my seat—truthfully, out of my skin!
—with excitement. I’ve put myself through hell, all in an attempt to create something that honors the original stones from Mr. Conniver’s mother’s ring while designing an updated piece that his fiancée-to-be will treasure for her lifetime and be proud to pass down.
A generational heritage ring that’s not only beautiful and amazing but also absolute wearable perfection.
But for all my hyperactive buzzing, Mr. Conniver is as bland as can be, as though I’m simply giving him a boring business card, not the most special thing I’ve ever created. Not the symbolic representation of his undying, never-ending affection for his bride-to-be.
“I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he says kindly.
I glance quickly at Griffin, silently asking, Are you hearing this bullshit? He gives the smallest shrug of agreement that Mr. Conniver’s reaction is underwhelming, to say the least.
I pull the ring box back into my chest, holding it hostage. “I need you to get a little happier about this. Excited or eager or something. It’s the engagement ring you’re going to hold up to Georgina when you get down on one knee and ask her to spend forever with you,” I emphasize heavily.
Admittedly, telling a client how to behave is a business faux pas. Telling a Mob boss? Downright stupid. But I can’t help myself. It’s an engagement ring!
“Miss Lee,” he intones warningly, “I assure you, I am excited to see what you’ve come up with.” I tilt my head doubtfully. “And to give it to Georgina.”
He holds his hand out expectantly, and I begrudgingly set the ring box in his palm. I watch his face as he opens the box, wanting to memorize and analyze his reaction to later obsess over and dissect with Griffin.
His face is typically fairly flat, expression-wise, never giving away too much of the heavy thoughts in his mind.
But when he sees what I’ve created, his jaw softens, his lips part as if he’s whispering something to himself, and the beginnings of crow’s-feet crinkle beside his eyes.
I swear I even see a hint of shine in his eyes, something I doubt anyone’s seen in a long, long time.
He loves it. And I instantly forgive him for the lack of anticipatory giddiness, considering I had more than enough for the both of us.
Now that we’re on the same page about the awesomeness of the ring, I rush to explain my design.
“You said that Georgina appears to be delicate, almost dainty, so I wanted to give it a very feminine look with the rose gold and the garden vine–like band. The vines twist in and around each other, the way the two of you are merging your lives together. And they’re rooted together on the underside, solid and strong—like she is, and like your love is.
The center stone is from your mother’s ring, and the smaller leaflike accent diamonds are new.
I saved the baguettes from the original source for Georgina’s wedding band, which I have ideas for too. ”