by Carter Blake
Griff’s voice sounds lighter, happier than it has since I’ve known him.
But there’s still a weird layer of stress underneath that’s also new to me.
This is not a man I’ve known to be stressed. At least, not in any way that really rang true.
Not in any way that made me feel stressed as well, which is exactly what I’m feeling at this very moment—in spite of Griffin’s attempt at a warm, jovial smile.
My own attempt at returning that smile likely rings just as hollow as I take a few careful steps to the settee.
I stop just short of setting myself down on the elegantly upholstered cushion, as Griffin just suggested.
This must be a tradition for us: taking a long, silent moment to watch each other. To admire or maybe study each other.
This time, sadly, it seems to mostly involve the latter. Even though we’re both smiling, and I’m sure there’s something of a sparkle in my eye to match the slight glint in Griffin’s, there’s that odd sensation of mystery, of mistrust, that’s coming so strongly off of Griff that I’m starting to feel it myself.
Didn’t we just get much, much closer to each other on multiple levels?
“Is all of your wardrobe coordinated to match the settee?” I quip, trying to break out of the moment.
He does look damn stylish sitting there, but that goes without saying at this point.
“Does this really seem color coordinated to you?” he retorts.
“Not color coordinated, that’s not what I said or what I was talking about!” I sound so intense of all a sudden—I try to pull it back. “Come on, Griff, I know you understand aesthetics on a much deeper level than that. You know how to make yourself into the perfect display no matter where you are, don’t you?”
Griffin’s lips stay still—there’s not even the faintest hint of a smile.
He pats the surface of the settee next to where he’s sitting. The sound is purposeful, like he’s willfully ignoring what I said because he has something oh-so-important he just needs to share.
“I guess you don’t want to give away all of your secrets,” I mutter while reluctantly taking the spot next to him.
“All of what secrets?”
Griffin’s trying to sound casual and only mildly curious at best, but the edge in his voice keeps growing.
“I’m just talking about your fashion secrets, Griff. I know all the rest of them.”
“Oh.”
Still no sign of a smile—he just stares forward for a pregnant moment before looking at me with a seriousness that almost makes me laugh.
“What is it? Do you really not want me to cook?” I lean in closer, my hands sinking into the cushion between us as I try to jokingly make a face even more earnest than his. “Or does this riad have an amusement park for real that you’re trying to hide from me?”
“I’ve been having fun, Kalista.”
I sit myself back upright. “That doesn’t sound too convincing…”
“It’s the truth, though, and it’s important you know that.”
Feeling genuinely confused, I absentmindedly look away from Griff and search the architecture surrounding us for a few seconds.
Just where the hell is this going, anyway?
“Griffin,” I implore, looking back towards him and trying to match his serious tone, “why is it important that I know that? Because, love, I’ve been having fun, too.”
Griff begins leaning towards me the same way I tried to get closer to him a moment ago, but he seems to abruptly change his mind as he straightens his posture to keep me at a relatively cool distance.
It’s a rare moment for him, coming across as less than totally confident and in control.
“Past tense, huh?” I’m trying to get him closer to making his point, whatever it is.
“It’s been fun, and work can be—and often is—fun for me. But some jobs don’t allow for that as much.”
I truly believe that Griffin doesn’t mean to be as condescending as he’s coming across. But he’s still obviously floundering.
“What are you trying to say, Griffin? Spit it out.”
His stoic face finally starts to twist—not in laughter like I was trying for earlier, but in discomfort.
“I can’t afford…none of us can afford anything to go wrong on this job. It’d be disastrous…” I feel my face starting to fall in disappointment at his words, and he notices. “And that has nothing to do with you, love. Except…do you really want to be part of this world? Because it is about to get a lot more real.”
I’m back to half-studying the architecture in a confused panic. Of course, I’ve been thinking about this, but—
Why does he have to put it like that?
So severely?
It’s not only confusing my feelings, but I’m not even sure of his motivation.
“Honestly, being here—I mean, being with you, where you go, has worked out a lot better for me than, well—I thought something like this could…”
“So far, Kalista, but only so far. That’s the point I’m trying to make, and it’s not like it’s been that smooth a fucking road up until now, either…”
“I know,” I answer coldly, realizing that I’m staring forward at nothing.
“Look, I’m not trying to convince you of anything, and I think you get the point, and…how much do you think you’re worth?”
A sparse puff of anger rises through me before I even understand what’s going on. I’m suddenly looking right back at Griffin again, feeling my eyes narrow and my cheeks flush.
“You know that Forbes top billionaires ranking is not all-inclusive.”
“I know,” Griffin responds calmly.
“If they ever did include me,” I say, sounding strangely calm myself, “which I hope they don’t, but if they did, and you looked up the ranking online, you wouldn’t have to scroll far to find me.”
“That’s starting at the top of the list, with the wealthiest…”
“Of course that’s what I mean.” My voice is a quiet, barely controlled hiss. Yet I feel like this conversation’s getting ahead of me, and I don’t even know why I’m feeling what I’m feeling.
I don’t even know what I’m feeling, really, but anger seems to be trying to rise to the surface for some reason.
“Wouldn’t it be…” Griffin leans in, smiling now but looking fake, almost causing me to recoil. “How much of that do you think your parents would give up to, you know, get you back?”
The regret washing over his face is immediate, but I only see a fucking flash of it because everything is suddenly overpowered by the anger I’m letting take over me at last.
Maybe he tries calling after me as I storm away—I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care.
I gather my things as quickly as my red haze of disgusted rage will allow. It’s like I’m floating through a nightmare as nausea, shock, and the urge to fucking scream take turns trying to overpower my senses.
I keep it together just enough to pack, calmly and quietly, and even leave a note.
That lasting haze of anger is still there as I leave the Riad for good—taking the Kalista Canary with me.
Chapter 31
Kalista
I can’t believe that’s it. After all that time together, thinking I had been getting to know Griff, getting to love—
I don’t even want to think about how close I was to loving that con artist.
What a stupid waste of my time. I should have gone back to my parents from the start—or at the very least after my father had called me, begging me to come home.
Well, you can be damn sure, I won’t be making that same mistake again.
Griffin made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t worth his time or attention, so I’ll show him the same courtesy.
It’s time to get back to the life I so easily—and idiotically—gave up for him.
And so I find myself checking into a glamorous, very expensive hotel. I’ve missed hotels; as lovely as Griff’s pied-à-terre and saf
e houses were, nothing can really beat a good hotel.
Room service. A mini bar and clean sheets every day. Heaven.
And since nobody could possibly know how I got here or where I’m going in the first place, there’s no way the phone lines could be tapped.
Which means I can call my parents.
Which means I can go home.
I glance down at my jacket pocket where the Canary ring hides, innocuous and invisible. It kind of feels like I’m doing the ring a disservice—shoving it into my pocket like a gum wrapper—but it’s hardly as if I left Griff with any semblance of a plan.
I frown. I don’t want to think about Griffin. I don’t want to acknowledge his existence for the rest of my life, if that can be at all arranged.
I just want my parents, my old life, and to forget about everything Griff had been leading me to believe was real.
And yet my heart twinges painfully at the thought.
I hadn’t thought I was the type to be so easily hoodwinked, and yet here I am—a fool. A complete and utter fool.
I wipe away the bitter sting of tears from my eyes before they can fully form. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, anything to center myself once more.
Griffin’s code name for me was pretty apt, after all. Like a phoenix I will rise, reborn, as a new version of Kalista von Knopf.
A version who doesn’t know nor associate with Griffin Abernathy or his friends.
I check into the hotel without issue and head up to my suite, languishing on the balcony in the fading sunlight for an hour or so before making my way to the phone. I key in the number I’ve known since I was a child—my home phone number.
The phone rings once, twice, then three times as I nervously hold my breath. I hope my father picks up. I don’t know if I have enough of a hold over my emotions to speak to my mom right now.
“Hello?” a voice says.
I breathe out heavily—it’s my dad.
“Long time no speak, Dad,” I say with a laugh, already struggling to hold back tears. God, being on the run really has been so exhausting.
“Kalista! Kali, honey, how are you? Where are you?”
“In a hotel, Dad. I want to come home.”
I can almost see the relieved grin on my dad’s face at my words.
“Kali, of course! Just tell me where you are and I’ll arrange transport back home immediately!”
I frown at that. I don’t actually have a passport under my own name with me, after all. But I do have several under false names—not that I can tell my dad that.
“Dad, can you have someone pick me up in Barcelona instead? With my passport?”
My father must have realized that that means I don’t have my own identification since he readily agrees far quicker than I expected.
“Okay, honey. What time?” he asks.
I check the time on my phone: early evening. I could get a late flight and hang around Barcelona airport for a few hours until my dad picks me up in the morning.
“Let’s say eight in the morning? I’m going to book a flight now,” I reply, allowing a smile to color my tone of voice.
There’s a pause, and then my dad murmurs his agreement.
“Of course, honey. I just wish it could be earlier. I’ll be at the airport to personally pick you up.”
I know there are tears streaming down my face at the notion of seeing my dad again—I don’t bother to clear them away.
“Thank you, daddy. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Kali. So much.”
I take a few moments after I hang up the phone to collect myself. I can’t go down to the reception area with red, bleary eyes after all. I have an image to uphold.
When I do head down to speak to the concierge, my hair is flawlessly brushed and curled. My make-up has been touched up. And I have replaced my clothes with a tight-fitting summer dress that shows off my figure—despite the encroaching evening chill.
The concierge—a tidy and reasonably handsome man probably in his twenties—can barely keep his eyes off me. Talk about satisfying.
I don’t need Griff, I decide once more. I can charm anybody I want without breaking a sweat.
“Hi there,” I croon, smiling radiantly for the concierge, “I don’t suppose you can book me a flight out to Barcelona that leaves in, say, five hours or so? Suite 902.”
He doesn’t do anything for a moment, making no attempt to hide his eyes roving up and down my figure, before tearing his eyes away from me to type on his computer.
“It is a shame for you to leave so soon,” he says in heavily-accented English, glancing back up at me as he does so.
“It really is,” I reply, giving him a sorry smile in response.
He doesn’t pick up on the insincerity.
“There’s a flight leaving in four hours. Shall I book it?” he replies after a few moments of typing.
I nod in assent before thanking him, rewarding him with a beautiful smile before heading back up to my room.
I repack my belongings, order some food from room service, and then commit myself to an hour long nap before I have to head to the airport.
That was my intention anyway.
But, naturally, I can’t sleep. It was foolish of me to think I could.
I refuse to think about Griffin, so instead, I focus on how happy my mom will be when she sees me. I wonder what she’ll think about my hair—it hasn’t been this short since I was in grade school.
But, eventually even happy, hypothetical reunion situations aren’t enough to distract me. So, I shamefully allow myself to dwell on what happened earlier as I jump in a taxi to the airport.
Something still isn’t sitting right with me. Why did Griff wait until that exact moment to ask me what I thought my life was worth to my parents? What caused him to ask such a question in the first place?
I thought—I hoped—he was falling in love with me.
Clearly, I was dead wrong.
Such shameful, embarrassing thoughts are still swirling wildly through my head as I tip the taxi driver. I take my belongings out of the trunk and turn to walk towards the airport.
Such shameful, embarrassing thoughts are still in my head as I take out my burner phone—my final relic of the life I led with Griffin—and snap it in two.
And such shameful, embarrassing thoughts are still coursing through my head as I’m grabbed from behind and a cloth is wrapped around my mouth. Chloroform stings my nostrils as I fall into a sudden, panicked, and fearful state of unconsciousness.
If only Griff could see me now, right back where I started.
Chapter 32
Griffin
I amble around my house aimlessly, picking things up and putting them back down, trying to keep myself busy and my mind occupied. I need to calm down and center myself before the team gets here.
They’re going to have some questions, that’s for sure.
Immediately, my eyes dart to the wine glasses in the sink—the two glasses—and I’m brought back to last night with Kalista. The way she looked, the way she felt, and the way we fought.
I walk through the hallway and make my way to the bathroom, and I fill up the sink with cold water. Leaning down, I scoop my hands with cold water, close my eyes and splash my face with it.
I gasp as the cold water hits me, and I do it a few more times for good measure, enjoying the sting and shock.
I actually feel a bit better.
The good feeling is gone just as soon, however, when I open my eyes to reach for a towel and see one of Kalista’s tops hanging on the towel rack. Obviously, I’d forgotten it there from our romp the night before.
I haul it off the towel rack and toss it into the hamper when I hear the doorbell ring.
I curse under my breath.
Great.
The guys are here, and I still haven’t figured out dinner. Kalista was supposed to be cooking for all of us—which certainly isn’t fucking happening now—so I’m going to have to address that.
I make my way back into the main entryway and put on my suit jacket, buttoning it up before the door opens, and Jackal walks through.
He looks around, and his brow furrows in confusion as he sniffs the air and glances back at me.
“I don’t smell anything cooking. She’s not making us wait all night, is she?” he quips with a smile, tossing his coat on the chair in the entryway.
He strides into the living room and looks around, confusion washing over his face when he sees that it’s empty. He strolls back into the entry way with a questioning look, all the while eyeing every inch of the house.
“What’s going on, Gryphon?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, walking by him into the kitchen.
“She’s not here. She’s gone. I’ll order in something.”
I pour myself two fingers of scotch and lean back on the counter, taking a sip and watching the amber liquid swirl around in my glass like a whirlpool.
I wish things had gone differently.
Jackal rounds the corner and joins me, pours himself some, and sits down on the bar stool.
“What do you mean, she’s gone?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me and scoffing.
Seriously? How difficult is it to understand that she’s not here?
“I mean she’s not fucking here! What else would I mean?”
I snap at him and shake my head at his ridiculous question, glaring at him from over my glass.
“Alright,” he says under his breath, taking a sip of his own and leering at me. “So what does this mean for tomorrow then? Is the plan still a go?”
I’m annoyed that his only concern seems to be the job tomorrow, but of course, why would he care? He didn’t want her here in the first place, and—realistically—it’s probably better off this way.
“Yes, yes. The plan is still a go. Nothing’s changed except she won’t be there.”
He nods and thinks for a moment before looking back at me and speaking. “What happened?”
The doorbell rings again.
I release an exasperated sigh, glaring back at him as I move to answer it.
“It doesn’t matter what happened, all right? The point is, she’s not here. She’s not going to be here. And it’s for the best anyway.”
