Chapter 7
GRIFFIN
“Hold all calls, except for those from Carl Besheir. I need to talk to that bastard. No one takes lunch until that call is logged,” I bark as I finally storm out of the conference room. I have been stuck in a deposition since seven this fucking morning.
I need an espresso. I need a massage. I need to fuck someone—either over or hard. I need to scream.
“Get me an espresso. Triple shot. No milk, no sugar,” I yell at the temp sitting outside my office, her head bowed as she scribbles furiously on a notepad.
“Did you hear me?” I yell again, because the stress is vibrating under my skin like a live wire.
She lifts her head.
I am met with the greenest eyes, a halo of golden, straw-colored hair, and the face of the woman who has been emblazoned on my mind for three fucking days.
She’s sitting in a task chair with a headset on, staring at me like I just shot her grandmother.
“Is this some kind of fucking joke? What the fuck are you doing here?” I shout.
My mood, already rotten, plummets through the floor.
This woman walked out on me. On me. She gave me the greatest orgasm of my life, then vanished while I was asleep. I was going to get her number, her last name, her address. I planned to track her down. But she ghosted me.
And now, I can barely look at her because of my traitorous dick. Just the sight of her—that lavender spice smell, the memory of her tits—damn. I need to get my cock back inside her as fast as I possibly can, but I can’t, because she’s sitting in my goddamned bullpen wearing a headset.
“Staff Savers sent me.” She’s staring at me, wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights of a semi-truck.
A voice cuts in. “Mr. Calloway, I’m so sorry. I’ll get your coffee. Do you want a bagel or a breakfast sandwich to go with it? And no calls from Mr. Basheir just yet.”
Ah, El.
El is my lead assistant. She's twenty-nine, competent, and a mistake. I fucked her a few times late at night, after hours. All three—or four, or fifteen—times were lapses in judgment. Now, the way she looks at me, with that proprietary softness, grates on every single nerve.
I know I’m being a shithead. I should fire her, but I can’t fire her for no reason other than the fact that she wants more from me than I can give.
I need to promote her out of the office.
She wants to be a lawyer; I'll pull some strings with the Christopher Street Society and get her a paralegal gig at an adjacent firm. I just need her out of my face.
“No, Selena will go,” I tell her.
El gives me a confused grimace. “You know her name?”
“She’s wearing a name tag.”
Selena stands up, smoothing her skirt, regaining some of her confidence.
“Triple espresso. Black,” I snap.
She steps out of the cubicle—one of four clustered in front of the frosted glass doors of my office.
I turn to El. “You. Go find an empty office. When Selena gets back, I have voice notes I need you to transcribe. You need a private space where you can concentrate. Selena will take your desk. She’s on phones after she gets my coffee and a plain bagel, toasted, with unsalted butter.”
“Blech,” I hear Selena mutter under her breath.
I’m in such a shit mood, I spin around. “What did you say?”
She turns to me. An ounce of fear flashes over her features for a second before she regroups and pastes on a very fake smile. It’s so fake, in fact, it actually lightens my mood.
She says, “I was just thinking that a plain bagel with unsalted butter sounds a little... joyless.”
She cocks her head, and I know right then and there: I’m going to fuck her again.
“Do you at least know what a bagel is?” I challenge her.
El’s face falls into a frown.
“Yes,” Selena quips. “A bagel is the breakfast of champions. It’s like a donut that gave up on its dreams.”
I have to fight a smirk. I should remember not to mess with women who bolt across the country on their wedding days.
“Selena!” El huffs, flustered. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Calloway. I’ll call Staff Savers and get us another temp immediately.”
“Don’t,” is all I say. I walk into my office and leave the door wide open.
“How dare you talk to him like that,” I hear El scold Selena in a harsh whisper.
“You might accept when a man in power calls you an idiot, but I don’t,” Selena fires back. “I’ll come back with Mr. Calloway’s joyless breakfast, and then I’ll go.”
The fuck she will.
“I think that’s best,” El says, all high and mighty.
I yell from my desk. “Selena! If you leave today before I dismiss you, I’ll make sure you never get another temp job in this town again.”
I walk back to the doorway and catch her eye. “Did you hear me?”
She looks at me, and tears are welling in her green eyes. I’ve pushed it too far. I always do.
“Yes, sir,” she says quietly. “May I be excused?”
I nod. She turns to leave, wiping a wayward tear.
God. I am an asshole.
“I can work from here, Mr. Calloway. I don’t think she can handle the phones,” El says, stepping into the void.
“I said to get an office, El. I don’t want any mistakes on that transcription. Joe,” I yell over the partition to my only male assistant. “Can you piggyback on phones today?”
Joe is already on a call, so he just throws a thumbs-up in the air. Joe is the only assistant I like. Marianne, the one Selena is covering for, is a matronly woman who is technically El’s superior. She’s out having bunion surgery. I don’t dislike Marianne, but she’s all business and dull as a post.
“El, call the temp agency and have them send me another assistant,” I say loudly.
I know this will rile El up, but I have other plans for Selena, and they sure as shit don’t include answering phones all week.
“Absolutely, Mr. Calloway. I’m sorry Selena didn’t work out.”
“I didn’t say cancel Selena. I said get me another assistant. Selena’s not going anywhere.”
Perhaps that will stop El from thinking anything more than work will happen between us again.
Selena comes back twenty minutes later with my espresso in a tiny cup and my bagel wrapped in a brown paper bag.
“Here’s your order, Mr. Calloway,” she says, standing stiffly at the door.
“Bring them here and close the door,” I tell her.
She does as I ask, almost robotically, setting my food on my desk.
“So what the fuck is happening here?” I ask, leaning back in my leather chair.
“I got a call Saturday afternoon from Staff Savers. The man at the service told me I had a week-long assignment at a law firm. He clarified: ‘be dressed in corporate chic, be on time.’” She stands at attention.
“A name was mentioned, but until a few minutes ago, I had no idea what your last name was.”
She stares straight ahead, barely looking at me.
I round the desk and sit on the edge, inches from her.
She backs up a step. She’s wearing a pretty navy blue dress that flares out from her slim waist, paired with chunky shoes and thigh-high socks.
Definitely chic, but I wouldn’t say it was corporate.
I’ll take her shopping for appropriate clothes later.
I lower my voice, softening the edge. “Why did you walk out on me?”
“You had a meeting in the morning, and I wasn’t feeling well. I couldn’t sleep, so I left. I figured you wouldn’t care.” Now she looks at me.
Wow. What a piercing stare.
“So, you just happened to show up at my workplace this morning?”
She closes her eyes, exasperated. “I wish I were the kind of woman who can meet a random stranger at a sex club,” she whispers with a healthy dose of venom, “sleep with him knowing only his first name, sign up with a temp agency, and get myself hired to be his assistant—all while managing grief, a new city, and a stomach bug. Trust me, if I were that girl, I’d be running this firm by Friday. ”
She takes a breath. “But in reality, I’m just an unlucky woman who got cheated on at my wedding, got railed by a stranger, ate something weird that made me puke all night, and then randomly ended up in the stranger’s office with a supervisor he clearly has a history with.
I only have six more hours to endure this nightmare before I am set free. Then I’ll never see you again.”
“It’s over between El and me,” I say, chuckling because her face has gone red, and she’s cute when she rants. “Did you have breakfast?” I ask, ignoring her threats to leave. She looks pale.
“No,” she answers in the same feisty tone.
“Well, eat before you come in tomorrow. You’re cranky when you’re hangry,” I tell her. I walk back behind my desk and sip the espresso, glad to have the physical barrier hiding my erection. She had the grace to pretend she didn’t notice it.
“I’m not coming back tomorrow.”
“So you’re running away from this, too?”
“I’m not running away. I’m... walking.”
“No. Here’s what you’re going to do. Answer my phone with Joe today. This way, you’ll get a feel for my client base. Tomorrow, you’ll report to me here, in my office. Don’t worry about checking in with El; come straight to me.”
“I’m not sleeping with you again,” she blurts out, then covers her mouth, looking at the door.
“That’s up for debate. You certainly won’t be fucking me in my office; I’m not dealing with HR again. And what I won’t do is be nice. You’re here because you want to be a lawyer? Show me what you’ve got. Now get out there; my phone is probably ringing off the hook.”
“What if I don’t come back tomorrow?” she asks, her voice smaller than she intends.
“Then you’re the girl who runs away... from everything.”
She nods her head and walks out without another word.
I spend the rest of the day peeking out my blinds at Selena. To her credit, she is very earnest about answering my calls. She takes the job seriously, but I would expect no less; she strikes me as a woman who takes absolutely everything seriously.
By the end of the day, I can't stand the feeling of my own skin. I have to get out. Returning to The Summit is not an option, considering I don't want to fuck anyone but the blonde sitting outside my office.
I decide to get The Quattro together for drinks.
I let Selena go home without so much as a goodbye, wondering if I’ll see her again.
The good news is, I have all her information—thanks to her temp agency sending me her address, phone number, and social security number. If she runs, she won’t get far.
The Quattro is a group of four friends—myself included—who are members of the Christopher Street Society. We were born and raised to be men of wealth and influence. We take our roles within the society seriously, and the camaraderie helps us survive the treacherous aspects of our lives.
I consider having Selena in my orbit a very treacherous aspect.
We meet at our favorite local haunt, Cole’s Pub. It’s gritty, private, and smells of old wood and secrets. We order Scotch and play a few rounds of darts.
Beckett and Scarlett are working on baby number four. Cayden is planning on going to the hockey playoffs in Montreal. Marcel is buying yet another East Asian mega-resort, making himself infinitely wealthier.
“Tell me again,” I ask Beckett, whom I secretly admire, “you have three kids already. Why the fuck do you want another one?”
Beckett adores his wife, Scarlett. They met at the annual CSS masquerade ball where she was catering. There was a huge ruckus involving a kidnapping by a rogue member, but Beckett rescued her, married her, and hasn't looked back.
“We love being parents. Rayne is sweet, Skye is spicy as hell, and Storm isn't a baby anymore. We just want one more to even the score.” He looks so fucking happy it makes my teeth ache.
“Isn't marriage a chore after a while?” I ask, swirling my scotch. “I mean, Scarlett is the hottest woman on the planet, but don't you get tired of banging the same box?”
I know I’m being crass, but I need to poke holes in his perfection.
“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you disrespect my wife, Griffin,” Beckett says calmly, throwing a dart. Bullseye. “You are the quintessential douchebag, but show some respect. Scarlett is beautiful, but even if she were old and grey, I wouldn't care. The person inside is who I married. She’s brave, brilliant, and understands me. She’s a fucking goddess.”
“That is a bunch of horseshit,” I counter, antagonizing him because I’m jealous. I know from watching my own parents that love like that is a myth. “You are drinking the Kool-Aid. Don't tell me that an angel like Scarlett doesn't get up in your face and you don't want to just walk away.”
“Scarlett and I fight, absolutely. But we're not assholes about it; we don't go for blood. We have goals. And yes, she's sparky and so am I, but that passion plays out in the bedroom. Trust me, we’re kinky as fuck.” He takes a drink and eyes me. “Have you met someone?”
“I'm always meeting someone. There's an infinite number of someones,” I answer. “That's the problem. I don't think they'll ever be The One, and I’m fine with that because I absolutely do not want babies. Ever.”
“Then just be a player. That’s my plan,” Cayden chimes in. He’s the youngest and the wildest of us.
“Sounds perfect.” I’m on edge. I cannot stop thinking about Selena.
Marcel smiles at Beckett. “I definitely want to find someone, but there’s only one Scarlett in the world and she’s taken.”
“Right,” I chime in, feeling bitter.
I don’t tell the guys that Selena might be on par with Scarlett. I want Selena to be my dirty little secret.
“You’re damn right,” Beckett affirms, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “So keep your slimy dicks away from my wife.