We slide out of the car. Griffin uses me as a shield for a moment, then relaxes. Crisis avoided.
How can a man who is so turned on by me not want to get to know the rest of who I am? He can’t be happy with just sex.
I walk into yet another upscale establishment filled with people I would never meet in real life. In Iowa, parties were in living rooms with afghans on the couch. This is a room with chandeliers, crisp linens, and women wearing sparkling jewelry and not much else. I’m completely out of my element.
Griffin saunters around the room like a king. People know him. Congratulations fly. Scrutinizing eyes dance up and down my body. I have a smile so plastered to my face it feels permanent.
In contrast to Griffin’s black suit, I’m wearing a strapless dress that someone at the boutique picked out for me. There were twelve dresses, four pairs of pants, six shirts, and three skirts waiting for me when I got there. The salesperson asked if I wanted to shop more, and my jaw dropped.
“Mr. Calloway would like you to have a new wardrobe,” she huffed as I took the garment bags.
“Oh, trust me, I do.”
Griffin stays close to me all night. I like having him with me. It feels comforting.
I’m nodded to, talked over, spoken about, but never asked questions. Until an elegantly dressed woman in her fifties turns to me, her diamond necklace gleaming in the low light.
“You’ve made quite a catch, dear.”
I stare at her, unable to assemble my thoughts. I want to tell her I wasn’t fishing. That he caught me. That this isn’t real. That I’m going to find a real husband one day who wants to know me. I feel my eyes heat with tears.
“Thank you. I’m so excited to share my life with Griffin,” I gush, clutching his arm. “He swept me off my feet. When you know, you know.”
What do I know?
Nothing. I know nothing about Griffin except that he works for a law firm and lives in a white museum where I feel like an intruder.
“Well, Griffin has surprised us all,” the woman says, her voice pinching. “None of us thought Griffin Calloway would ever get married. You aren’t his usual type.”
I assume she means I’m not a seasoned socialite or a sex-positive adventurer from Madam’s. I smile and nod.
“You mean soulmate?” Griffin appears at my side, rescuing me. “You’re right. Until I met Selena, I hadn’t found her.”
I look at Griffin. It’s a lie, of course, but at least he didn’t let me get fried.
“Fascinating,” the lady dismisses us, turning away.
15
SELENA
Throughout the evening, there are more disingenuous smiles and placating conversations.
I can almost hear every single person in the room call me a gold digger. They look at Griffin—distinguished, powerful, nearly twice my age—and then at me. I’m sure they think I’m just expensive arm candy. It’s everything I never wanted, and yet I’m exactly that: an adornment Griffin wears to elevate his career. I want to hide in a broom closet and cry because my life just isn't my life anymore.
“You’re doing great,” Griffin whispers in my ear, completely oblivious to how absolutely not okay I am.
To my surprise, Joe is here.
“Joe,” I say, smiling genuinely for the first time. “You come to these events?” I try to be tactful, but part of me wants to drag him into a corner, smoke weed, and make fun of everyone.
“If the boss man needs me.” Joe smiles at Griffin, who gives him a curt nod.
An older woman, perhaps in her early sixties, walks up to us. She looks sparkling in a crystal-embroidered gown. Joe offers his arm, and she takes it casually. I look at Joe, and he cocks his head with a wry smile. I scored a rich man; he seems to be doing the same thing with a stately older woman.
“I didn’t expect to see you here either, Selena,” Joe says.
Griffin immediately jumps in, his voice cold and possessive. “You’ll be seeing a lot of my wife.”
