Melody and I had a... rough, consensual BDSM relationship last year. She’s the CEO of a private adoption agency and my longest relationship to date.
Fuck.
I can hear Melody’s voice carry. “So my phone just flared with a notification that Socially Sorell had big news. It turns out you’re Griffin Calloway’s wife?”
Fuck fuck fuck.
She looks at Selena’s necklace. “Is he using diamond handcuffs, too?”
I start to move toward them, but David spots me.
“Son,” David says, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “I need to have a talk with you.”
I’m torn. I’m about to sprint to Selena, but David pulls me toward a quieter gallery.
I glance back one last time. Selena is smiling tightly.
“Excuse me?” Selena asks.
“You’re wearing Dior, right? That’s his favorite. He bought me three. Enjoy him while it lasts; Griffin’s allergic to permanence. I recommend Neosporin and Arnica gel. He gets carried away. But I’m sure you already know that.”
I grit my teeth and turn to David. I have to close this deal now so I can get back to her.
David Mason is nearly ninety years old. He sits heavily at a small table.
“I hear you’re about to make partner,” he wheezes. “My children have no real interest in the firm. This is a different era. You and I are old school; we litigated to win. They wantinnovation. They want to save the world. I tell them the world is fucked.”
He coughs, thick and sickly. The guy isn’t long for this world.
“My being a managing partner will be a benefit to your company,” I remind him.
“But not to my grandchildren. They want to license wind patents and get drug dealers into rehab. Fucking idealists.”
I love how salty he is. It’s what piqued my interest in the first place.
“I might be able to sweeten my offer.” Actually, I can double it. I low-balled him.
“I don’t need more money. I need a promise that you aren’t going to ruin my family’s legacy.”
I can’t make that promise. So I dance around lies until his worries are alleviated, hoping he’ll be too tired to care.
When I finally make it to our assigned table, Selena isn’t there.
I check the bathroom area. Nothing.
I take a deep breath and pray she isn’t sick. I look at my phone. I have a missed text from her and a notification that Socially Sorell has posted breaking news about me.
Fucking cunt.
I read Selena’s message first.
Griffin. I’m not feeling well. I called your car service, and I’m having a driver take me home. Don’t worry, I’m going to be in bed with Netflix and a ginger ale. Stay as long as you need. I’m fine. — Sel.
I immediately text back.
Hey, I’ll get out of here as soon as I can. I know something much better than ginger ale. I...
I’m about to typeI love you. It just feels right. But I can’t.
