Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
VIOLET
Understanding behavior patterns was supposed to be my specialty. But Griffin refused to follow any predictable pattern, and after tonight’s press conference catastrophe, I was officially done with surprises.
I climbed into bed and pulled the duvet up to my chin.
Blissful silence filtered through the baby monitor.
Hazel had finally fallen asleep after an hour of fussing that had nothing to do with hunger or her nappy and everything to do with her father’s reckless decisions rattling around in her baby subconscious.
Or maybe I was projecting.
A sharp tap sounded at my door and I groaned.
“Go away.”
The door opened and Griffin stepped in, wearing joggers and nothing else.
“It’s after midnight.” I pulled the sheet higher, pressing it against my chest. The air conditioning had been running full blast and my tank top wasn’t doing me any favors. “What do you want?”
“Can’t sleep.” He closed the door behind him, leaning against it.
“So you thought you’d bother me?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” His gaze swept the room, landing anywhere except on me. The chair. The wardrobe. The baby monitor on the nightstand. “How’s Hazel?”
“Asleep.”
“Right. Yeah.” He pushed off the door but didn’t leave. Instead, he crossed to the window, peering through the curtains at the Singapore skyline. “Can’t believe how bright it is. Even at night.”
I stared at him. “You came in here to discuss the city lights?”
“No. Just—” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Observation.”
He was stalling.
“It’s race day tomorrow,” I said. “You need to sleep.”
“Can’t.” He turned from the window, finally looking at me. His gaze caught on my face, then dropped lower before snapping back up. “Tried. My brain won’t shut off.”
“Count laps instead of sheep.”
His mouth twitched. “Already tried. Got to forty-three before...” He trailed off.
“Before what?”
“Before I ended up here.”
The admission hung between us, weighted with things neither of us would say.
I shifted, adjusting the sheet higher. The movement made the fabric slide against my skin and I froze, hyperaware that I wasn’t wearing a bra. That if Griffin looked too closely, he’d notice, and I’d never hear the end of it.
“Was it really that bad?” The words came out fast, urgent. “What I did today?”
I studied him for a second, hesitating. “You want my opinion?”
“Yeah.” He moved closer, stopping at the foot of my bed. “Not the diplomatic version. What you actually thought.”
“I think,” I twisted the fabric between my fingers, debating just how honest I wanted to be. Then I remembered this was Griffin and I gave zero shits about what he thought of me now or tomorrow. If he wanted honesty, he’d get it. “I think you’re an idiot.”
His face fell, defeat flickering across his expression. “Right. So I—”
“But you’re a good dad.”
He stilled, almost like he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
“You didn’t let them turn her into something shameful. You just… owned it.”
“I panicked, you mean. I blurted it out without thinking.”
“Did you?” I held his gaze. “Or did you decide you were done pretending she didn’t exist?”
His jaw worked, pain flashing across his face.
My father would’ve controlled every word and turned it into a calculated PR move designed to minimize damage and maximize sympathy. He’d have crafted the narrative, selected the timing, ensured every angle was covered before a single word left his mouth.
Griffin had just... said it. Like being Hazel’s father was the only thing that mattered.
“You really think I did the right thing?” His voice dropped, vulnerability bleeding through.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
He exhaled, shoulders sagging as the tension finally left his body. Then his mouth curved into that infuriating grin. “Careful, Princess. Keep talking like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
Heat crawled up my neck and I was suddenly, painfully aware of how thin my tank top was. How the sheet had slipped lower while we’d been talking. How Griffin’s eyes tracked the movement before jerking back to my face.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
He sat on the edge of my bed without asking permission, and the mattress dipped beneath his weight.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” I sighed.
“Not yet.” He leaned back on his hands, casual in a way that felt deliberate. “Brain’s still going.”
“Then think quieter.”
His laugh was soft, genuine. “You sound like Hazel when she’s overtired. All cranky and unreasonable.”
“I’m not cranky.”
“You’re definitely cranky.”
I grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. He caught it easily, grin widening.
“See? Cranky.”
“You’re utterly ridiculous.”
“Yeah.” His voice gentled. “But you like me anyway.”
The teasing faded, replaced by an intensity that made my throat close up with nerves.
He was right. I did like him. More than I should. More than was safe.
Somewhere between Mario Kart and yoga and watching him choose Hazel over his career, this had stopped being just a job.
And that terrified me.
“You should sleep,” I said, shifting to put distance between us. “The race—”
“Can wait five more minutes.” His gaze held mine. “Thank you. For saying that. About being a good dad.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I mean it, Vi.” He stood, backing toward the door. “You didn’t have to say that. Could’ve torn me apart for being reckless and agreed with your dad that I’d fucked everything up.”
“My father’s not always right.”
Surprise crossed his face. Or understanding.
“For what it’s worth?” His hand found the door handle. “I’m glad it’s you. Glad you’re the one here with Hazel.”
Not glad for a nanny. Not grateful for childcare expertise.
Glad it was me.
Before I could respond, he slipped out, door clicking shut behind him.
I stared at the closed door, stomach flipping, heart pounding against my ribs.
Griffin Michaels was going to be the death of me.