As a finishing touch, she applied red lipstick. “There. Am I presentable for today?”
“Oh, yes. You’ll be turning heads. I might get jealous.”
She winked at me in the mirror. “Ready to conquer the room?”
“No,” I said, slipping her arm through mine. “Ready to conquerthem all.”
“Sounds dangerous, and I’ll bet you’re cocky enough to do it too, Griffin.”
No. The real danger wasn’t the IPO, or the people involved in it. But it was her, because somewhere between business and pleasure, the lines between acting and reality blurred.
Chapter Sixteen
CONDESCENSION
Griffin
The Oaktree Clubsat in the heart of Manhattan’s financial district with dark wood paneling and leather chairs. Old money and old boys permeated the surroundings. This was the kind of place where deals were brokered over bourbon and cigars while the rest of the world had no clue about the decisions made here.
I’d been a member since my twenty-fifth birthday, my father’s gift. His way of saying I’d finally earned a seat at the table.
Tonight, that table would be full of people from the leading investment banks, financiers, a few hedge fund managers Sam had specifically invited to gauge interest in the IPO. The type of men and women who could make or break West Games with a single phone call.
Brock dropped us off at the curb, and I helped Jessa out of the car. I walked with her at my side, head held high. She’d changed at the office. Another dress from Laurel Lane’s collection. This one emerald green, fitted and elegant, making her eyes pop and her shape impossible to ignore.
My eyes caught on the dazzling diamond earrings I’d sent. She thought they were on loan; I’d actually purchased them for her. A parting gift I’d leave her with later when our time wasup. Seeing her dazzle in front of the photographers, the idea of ending this at some point seemed ridiculous. Too far off. Not something I wanted to think about now.
More flash bulbs went off. I introduced Jessa as my fiancée. She called out Laurel Lane’s name when asked who she was wearing. Five minutes later, when we stepped inside, every head turned like we were royalty.
The club’s main room was divided by an elegant floor-to-ceiling glass planter. Massive. Filled with bamboo and ferns behind semi-frosted glass that created a natural partition. On the larger side sat the meeting space with its long mahogany table and high-backed chairs. On the other, the open bar and small lounge area.
Perfect for privacy, and for keeping certain conversations separate from the social hour.
“Relax,” I murmured in her ear as we approached the meeting space. “You look stunning.”
“This one feels different, like I’m about to be fed to sharks.”
“You are. But I’ll be right beside you.”
She squeezed my hand, took a breath, and tilted her chin up. The way she did that anytime she needed to be bigger than she was, even as an act, charmed the hell out of me.
“Griffin!” Richard Hawthorne approached first, silver-haired and impeccable suit. One of the most influential bankers in the city. We shook hands. “Good to see you. And who is this?”
“Richard, this is Jessa Cole. My fiancée.”
The word still felt strange on my tongue. But I said it with conviction.
“Fiancée!” Richard’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, congratulations. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”
“We’ve kept things quiet,” I said smoothly. “But when you know, you know.”
Jessa extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“The pleasure is mine.” He shook her hand warmly. “And please, call me Richard. Any woman who can tie down Griffin West deserves my respect.”
More introductions followed. David Smith from Goldman. Patrick Bennett from JP Morgan. Anthony Ortega, a venture capitalist who’d been circling West Games for years.
Each one greeted Jessa with curiosity. Assessed her with sharp eyes. And each one, I noticed, kept the conversation going, smiling.
