by Ashley Hall
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Griffin copyright 2015 by Ashley Hall. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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Contents
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Sadie
Griffin
Other Works by Ashley Hall
Hunted
Flirt
Sadie
It felt like the day was never going to end. Of course, I’d been struggling from the moment I woke up, so of course an eight-hour shift seemed like an eternity. I had spent the previous night working until about three in the morning, hoping that my latest article would, for once, earn me the recognition I was trying so hard to achieve.
But so far, I’d heard nothing back since I submitted the piece upon arriving at the office. Thankfully enough, I was patient. I’ve always been patient. My parents listed it as one of my most amazing qualities the last time I called them to mention that I still hadn’t gotten a promotion.
For as long as I could remember, I’d just wanted to write. All through my years of schooling, I was a member of newspapers and yearbook panels, and most of my free time was spent penning pages in either my diary or for the various junior journalism contests that I entered through the years. My parents were elated every time I won, and I continued to be surprised.
At the time, writing was more of a hobby than something I imagined I could make a career out of. But when I graduated from high school, my path never seemed clearer. After obtaining my degree in journalism and public relations from Duke, I was lucky enough to land a job at a popular entertainment magazine less than six months later.
I’d been at The Grind for almost two years, and though I had all the vim and vigor of a concerted reporter, I had gone exactly nowhere.
And still, I was patient. But, that was me – Sadie Warner, all-around good girl, and hard-worker. I tended to do what I was told. I never had the rebellious phase that so many teens went through with their parents and all my friends constantly branded me the goody-two-shoes of our group.
But I never complained. Why would I, when being the good girl had worked for me up until now?
“Sadie?”
I jumped as Alex, my boss, called me from across the office. Popping my head up above my cubicle, I met the middle-aged man’s intense gray gaze.
“Yeah?”
“Get in here.” He gestured toward the conference room, giving the order in his distinctive gruff tone. “We need you for this meeting.”
Meeting? No one told me about any meeting today. Nonetheless, I bolted up, grabbing a pad to take notes as I hurried down the hallway that led to the conference room on the west end of the floor. I seemed to arrive right as the meeting started, and took a seat next to Nick, one of the magazine’s lead reporters. He certainly didn’t have any difficulty getting the stories he wanted, and he’d only been with the company for a year longer than I had.
He was also one of the office’s most notorious flirts. When I sank into the chair to his right, he immediately winked at me, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Sure, Nick was cute enough, but I had no desire to be next in his long line of conquests.
“Alright, people.” Alex got everyone’s attention brusquely. “We’ve just had one of the year’s hottest exclusives dumped in our laps. For a split second, his lips curved upwards in a ghost of a smile, and I knew he must be in a good mood.
Alex never smiled. “We’ve got the first major interview with up and coming MMA fighter Griffin Webb. It’s going to be a cover story, so I need someone who’s going to get this right.”
Immediately, half of the hands in the room shot up – most of them female. But, I knew better. How long had I been asking Alex for cover stories? Since about two weeks after I’d started working at The Grind. While, at first, his excuse had been that I needed more experience, now I knew he was deliberately blowing me off.
Sadie, the ever-patient.
Chewing on my lower lip, I tapped my pen against the pad in front of me while I waited for Alex to pick the lucky duck who would get the assignment. I was willing to bet that it would be Nick, and I wasn’t disappointed. Within thirty seconds, Alex’s finger shot out to point at the swarthy brunette.
“Sadie. It’s your lucky day.”
What? For a minute, I was confused. He was pointing at Nick, but talking to me.
And then I realized…he was pointing at me. My eyebrows must have touched my hairline. “Me?” I stared at Alex incredulously. “You’re giving me a cover story?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” For all the world, Alex sounded as if he’d been planning to give me the gig all along. And, within a few seconds, I found out why. “You’re cute, Sadie. And you’re nice. Webb will eat it up.”
Was that supposed to be an insult or a compliment? I wasn’t quite sure. I held my tongue, as usual, afraid that if I asked I’d be denied the cover that had so suddenly dropped into my lap.
The meeting moved on swiftly, and other assignments were given out. Thirty minutes later, I was still shocked that the cover piece hadn’t been taken from me, and walked back to my desk in a daze.
It wasn’t until I sat down that I realized; I had no idea who on earth Griffin Webb was. He had to be pretty hot stuff to garner a cover, but there was no way I could meet the man without knowing what I was getting into. So, I did what any rational reporter would:
I Googled him.
The moment the first images of him popped up on my screen, I could do nothing but stare.
If ever there was a man that was the textbook definition of masculinity, Griffin Webb was he. Apparently, he was the hottest up-and-comer in the MMA world, nearly undefeated, and a notorious playboy to boot.
There were several news stories detailing the numerous brawls the man got into – seemingly at every opportunity. Since rising to fame, his schedule seemed to have taken on a rather predictable vein: sleep with some hot girl, get caught arguing in public with her, nasty breakup, bar trip with lots of drinking, and finally, an unnecessary brawl. Of course, there were also the fights that came after the few matches he had lost, when one of his entourage was disrespected at a luxury store when a male commentator had questioned his masculinity…
The list went on and on.
Of course, men that looked like that could be little else but bruisers, could they? I glanced around the office to make sure no one was spying on me before I allowed myself to ogle the plethora of images on the page.
Dark-haired, tan-skinned, and tall, Griffin had to be one of the most physically attractive men I’d ever laid eyes on. Of course, it helped that he was shirtless in most of his pictures, exposing a wide, lean muscled chest that, more often than not, was dripping with sweat. His raven hair was long, worn in a knot at the base of his neck to ex
pose bulky shoulders and the sharp structure of his face. High cheekbones, strong jaw, a nose that looked like it had been broken its fair share of times, and a mouth that looked a little too sensuous on a bruiser all combined to make a very lovely package.
There was, however, one teensy little detail that bothered me; Griffin never smiled. There were thousands of pictures of him, and he didn’t look happy in any of them. In fact, he constantly stared into the camera with a challenging glare that made me a bit uncomfortable. Sure, he was supposed to be a fighter – but did that mean he was angry all the time? Or was that simply part of the bad boy persona that hung around him?
It was funny – for most of my adult life, I had wondered what being with such an attractive man would be like. My problem was that I wasn’t stupid. Attractive men usually knew they were attractive, and I hardly had time for games. I was too busy working on my career and myself as a person.
Being the nice girl.
All the guys I dated were pseudo-intellectuals. People I met either in the city or on my college campus who were never really lookers. What mattered more to me was that they could beat me in an argument, and offer one hell of a conversation. I discovered during my years at Duke that sex was nothing to really get excited about – so why rely on sex appeal to make a relationship?
Good conversation was so much more fulfilling.
That being said, when a girl looked at a man like Griffin, the cogs in her mind started to turn. What would it be like, I wondered, to have a man that could toss you around in bed? Who could pin you down and make you feel things you’d never known existed?
As I looked into those burning green eyes, I imagined what it might be like to have them looking down at me. Not smiling, but roving over the length of my bare body, igniting heat wherever they roamed. Would that layer of stubble on his chin leave me red in places few had explored but me?
And what would he have me do? Bad boys like Griffin were always supposed to be dominant, right? Would he press me to the bed by the nape of my neck, and fuck me until I screamed his name? Or would he be a surprisingly gentle, attentive lover?
Somehow, I doubted it. But deep down, the idea wasn’t as distasteful as I might profess. Griffin Webb looked like a man that could do some damage – and the prospect of his hands all over me made heat pool between my legs as my mouth dried.
Considering I was about to work with the man, I was far too aroused to ask him anything but how quickly he could get inside me.
“Doing a little research, Sadie?” I swallowed a cry of surprise, quickly minimizing my open window before whirling in my chair. Of course, Nick stood in the entryway of my cubicle with a snarky little smile that made my eyes narrow.
“What is it?” I demanded, perhaps a little too sharply.
“Nothing.” Nick held up his hands, the picture of innocence. As if I didn’t know better. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your first cover. Been a long time in the making, hasn’t it?” Was he trying to flirt with me, or just straight up attempting to prove his own superiority? Arching a brow, I continued to stare at him as I crossed my arms over my chest.
“A little while, yeah. Thanks.” I nodded in acknowledgment, expecting him to take his leave. Of course, he did no such thing. Instead, Nick ran a hand through dark-brown hair, clearing his throat.
“Maybe you might let me take you to dinner to celebrate? I know this nice little place on thirty-fourth – they do live jazz.”
Ah. So that was what this was about. Mr. High and Mighty was trying to use my success as an excuse to get laid. I might have laughed out loud- if I was that kind of girl. Instead, I merely shot the man a thin smile.
“Sorry, Nick. No can do. I want to get over to the gym as soon as possible to speak with Webb.” Alex had graciously provided me with the address of the gym where Griffin trained, along with his trainer’s credentials. I already had everything I needed to get a head start on this story.
“Ah, well. Maybe later then.”
Or never. I didn’t feel too guilty as I watched Nick stride away. He’d probably have moved on to some helpless secretary before the day was out – which was absolutely fine by me. I had a schedule to keep. Gathering my things, I prepared to head downtown to the gym. It was about fifteen minutes away by car – provided that traffic was kind.
Which meant I had exactly fifteen minutes to get my shit together and present Griffin with the most professional face I could muster. Regardless of his less than ideal record, I would be nice to him, I knew, because that was my MO. And why not? This cover story could do all kinds of things for my career.
For that opportunity, I could swallow my hormones and buck up. Griffin might be a bad boy, but he had no idea how ferocious an ambitious, good girl could be.
Griffin
Where the hell did they all come from this early in the morning?
I’d had a pretty late fucking night, and my knuckles were still aching from the force I used to knock some uppity bastard out cold. Of course, his girlfriend had been all offended, but she obviously hadn’t heard what the guy said to me.
So my night ended with me getting tossed out of the bar. My date, of course, stayed. She was probably anxious to see who she could schmooze into buying her more drinks.
Fine by me. I wasn’t exactly head over heels anyway.
What did bust my balls, however, was being confronted by the paparazzi first thing in the morning I left my midtown apartment to head to the gym – and let off some steam. And there they were. In some fucking frenzy about what had happened the previous night. Of course, it would be all over the goddamn papers. They ate up whatever trouble I got into like it was their bread and butter. Which, I had to remind myself, it probably was.
Reporters thrived on drama, and I created it.
Though, of course, not by choice.
I’d always had a temper. Now that I’d reached the big leagues, that temper was on display for everyone to see.
To be honest, people have been telling me to tone it down for my entire life. Take a breather, calm down, don’t let your anger control you…shit like that. But those people didn’t know what a shit-show my life was until I escaped
Druggie Mom, Dad that liked to hit anyone and anything – it hadn’t been the best atmosphere for a kid to grow up in. Ma liked to put her next fix ahead of her kid’s next meal, so I went hungry more times than I could count. The only way I got food in my belly was to steal it- and of course, dad gave me hell for that. Said he wouldn’t have any son of his in trouble with the law – before beating the ever-loving shit out of me.
Ma didn’t get treated much better. Every time someone tries to guilt trip me by telling me I’m like my father, I know they’re spouting horseshit. I hit people that deserve it, and I have never, in my life, laid a hand on a woman. That is pure cowardice.
I’m nothing like my dad.
Though I will admit as I shoved through the masses of reporters waiting eagerly outside my building, I was sorely tempted to drop kick a few of them. I ignored all the questions fired in my direction in favor of getting to my car. Once inside, I blasted the music, scaring a few reporters out of the way as I revved the engine.
And then I was home free.
As I headed downtown, my fingers itched on the steering wheel. I needed to hit something. After being rudely awoken by building security telling me that the paparazzi were chomping at the bit outside, the frustration was fairly rolling off me in waves.
On top of that, the blonde from the previous night was feeling apologetic. She texted me to see if we could meet up that night. She was very eager to make things up to me.
But I wasn’t buying it. Perhaps I’d be more open to the idea after I finished my workout, but I’d long found that the need to fight and the need to fuck were separate concepts in my book. One couldn’t be replaced with the other.
And right now, fighting was first on my list.
I arrived at the gym among another throng of eager reporters. I swear the
y were like cockroaches – coming out of the woodwork and impossible to get rid of. My mouth pressed into a tight line as I barreled my way through to the front entrance of the gym. Once inside, all the chatter was blessedly replaced by the sound of fists against leather and grunts of exertion.
I was home.
It took me all of ten minutes to get into the locker room and change, wrapping my hands, and shoving my hair out of the way. By the time I emerged, Riley was waiting for me. I’d told him nine o’clock sharp, and I was right on time.
When I met the older man’s gaze, I smiled for the first time that morning.
Riley O’Connell had been my salvation when I’d been sure that my old man would beat me to death before my fifteenth birthday. He’d seen me on the street in the gutter one day, searching for change, and offered to buy me a meal. At the time, I was suspicious as hell. The only men that wanted to buy me anything were those attracted to my long hair and lean body – and that definitely wasn’t for me.
