“Y-yes,” she stammers, her hand pressed to her heart. “I’ve been mobbed before at events like this, but never that quickly.”
“Do you want to leave? Go back up to the room?”
Sloane’s still shaken, and reaches for my hand, linking our fingers and squeezing gently. “No. I’m expected to stay through the party. Once the press are escorted out, it’ll be calmer.”
Angling a glance back inside the Pavilion, I know she’s right. It’s already considerably less crowded, and the music isn’t so loud I can feel it through the soles of my feet.
“Sloane?” The words scroll across my lenses in black, tagged as Unknown, and I follow Sloane’s gaze to find theBeauty and StyleCEO, Franklin Meadows, standing a few feet away. “My apologies for interrupting. And for the abhorrent behavior of some of the media. They’ve been escorted from the premises. Will you rejoin us inside? I’d love to introduce you to some of our investors who weren’t able to make it to the opening cocktail party.”
Sloane releases my hand and steps forward. “We’d be happy to. This is Harry Griffin. My boyfriend. He’s also standing in for my agent from the Ulstrum Agency.”
She signs my name, along with the word “boyfriend,” and something in my heart cracks open. I didn’t know how much I needed her to say the word. Even though we’re in public, the look in her eyes? I think—I hope—it’s love. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
I offer Meadows my hand, and he shakes it, though he doesn't look me in the eyes. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Meadows. Your team put on a phenomenal show this afternoon.”
The man shifts uncomfortably on his feet, his gaze bouncing between me and Sloane. “I’m afraid I don’t sign,” he says with an apologetic shrug.
I’m used to this. Being dismissed. Having people talk around me rather than to me. So used to it that I can easily shove down the annoyance. “I read lips well enough. Signing is easier in a crowd, but as long as you speak slowly, I can understand you.”
“Oh.” If anything, Meadows looks even more off balance now, and I offer Sloane my arm.
“See you inside,” she says, her lips tight. Once we’re through the doors, she leans closer to me. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” The bass beat of the music thrums in my ears, providing me with a hint of normalcy in my fucked up life.
“Franklin didn’t talk toyou.” Her brow creases, and I cup the back of her head and plant a gentle kiss to the furrow.
“I’m used to it, sweetheart. Mostly. It’s why I’m so fucking thankful for these glasses. One-on-one, I don’t have to be just ‘the deaf guy.’ I can be Griff, ‘the guy who happens to read lips.’” I force out a laugh, even though I doubt it sounds completely genuine.
“How can you be so…calm?” she asks. “He didn’t even try…”
“Because you’re much more important to me than putting some guy in a four-thousand dollar suit in his place. And this is your night. Your whole weekend. Doesn’t mean I’m not angry. Or that I’ll give Meadows a pass if he tries to talk around me again, but…” After a deep breath, I take both of her hands and bring them to my lips before I hold her gaze. She has to know what she’s signing up for. With me. “This is a part of my life, Sloane. The anger. The frustration. Feeling like I’m ‘less than’ because of my arm or what I can and can’t hear. I live with that every single day.”
Her frown doesn’t reassure me, and the idea that I shot our relationship in the foot makes me wonder why I thought I could have somethingreal. No woman—especially not one as smart, as brave, and as drop-dead gorgeous as Sloane—would sign up for this shit.
“Griff?” Her hand on my cheek draws me out of my misery, and when I look up, the understanding written all over her face is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “If you’re trying to scare me away, it won’t work.”
“Saw right through me, did you?” I run a hand through my hair, forgetting that I’d slicked it back before we left the room. “Shit. I ruined it.”
Sloane’s laugh reassures me that while my hair is probably a mess, whatever this is between us? It’s still intact.
* * *
Sloane
Despite being on my feet—and in heels—going on five hours, I feel like I’m floating as Griff and I step into the elevator. The moment the doors close, he tangles his fingers in my hair and kisses me so thoroughly, I’m out of breath by the time we reach the fourth floor.
“Wow.” The word escapes on a sigh, and I lean against him as we make our way to our room. Marina—with Jacob as her escort—left the party over an hour ago, still nursing her hangover from last night.
Once we’re safely back in the suite, I sink down onto the couch and carefully remove the glittering silver heels. “When this weekend is over, I don’t want to evenseea pair of heels for at least a month.”
“No heels. Noted,” Griff says, loosening the top few buttons on his black dress shirt. “Anything else?”
“Strawberry ice cream. A whole pint of it.” My stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven’t had a single bite to eat since the dry-scrambled egg whites and fresh fruit Marina ordered me for breakfast. “Are you hungry?”
“For strawberry ice cream?” His laugh is so warm and genuine, I join in as he picks up the room service menu and flips through it. “Or an actual meal?”
“Tomorrow night’s dress leaves very little to the imagination. I’ll stick to a salad. But maybe ifyouordered something more…substantial, I could have a bite?” Crap. I sound so pathetic. But this is the job.
