by Nia Arthurs
She’s staring at me like I’m yesterday’s trash and I wonder if it’s obvious that I don’t belong.
“Who did you say you were here for?” she asks in a dry voice.
Beach blonde hair tumbles down slim shoulders.
Icy blue eyes slice over me, flicking from my hair to my skirt.
“I’m here to see Mr. B—”
“Cobie?”
I glance to my left and collide with a familiar pair of brown eyes.
Griffin’s eyes.
With an astonished chuckle, he breaks away from his colleagues and jogs toward me.
My breath catches in my throat and my feet become two cement blocks baked into the ground.
“Cobie,” he says again.
His lips curve up in a smile that makes my body throb.
Time shifts so he’s running toward me in slow motion.
I feel like I’m in the middle of a perfume commercial.
Why? Why would God make a man that beautiful? To terrorize us all?
His shoes skid against the tile as he comes to a sudden stop in front of me. Griffin’s barely winded from the run, but I see the swell of his chest beneath that snug-fitting blue shirt as he sucks in a breath.
Brown hair lays messily over his forehead, softening the cold, businessman aura given by his formal attire.
“Mr. Bech.” The receptionist rearranges her boobs—right there in broad daylight in front of God and everybody—so her cleavage sits perfectly at the slit in her shirt. “You’re back.”
He focuses on me. “What are you doing here?”
I tap the envelope. “Figured something this important should be delivered in person.”
He doesn’t even spare the contract a second glance. “I’m glad to see you.”
I can tell he means that, which makes the tingling in my body ten times worse.
Remember, he called you out. He’s a judgmental prick.
“I can’t say the feeling’s mutual,” I reply crisply.
Instead of getting offended, Griffin smirks. Brown eyes glimmer with amusement. One corner of his pink lips tilts higher than the other.
He just got hotter. Oh Lord, I played myself, didn’t I?
“Were you heading upstairs?” he asks.
“Yes, but since I caught you here, I’ll just hand this off.” I shove the envelope forward and glance behind him, noticing his colleagues who are standing around and watching us. “You look busy.”
“I’m not too busy for you.”
My breath catches. Is he… flirting?
I shiver from the thought. “You don’t have to lie. I’ve already signed the papers.”
He chuckles and it is, hands-down, the sexiest, most manly laughter I’ve ever heard in my life.
I ignore the ache that’s traveling somewhere it shouldn’t.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.
“About?”
He glances behind him and ducks close to whisper, “In private.”
I have a clear and crisp vision of what I’d like him to do to me in private.
Calm down, Cobie.
It’s getting too hot in this building. My cheeks burn and my body’s acting like it’s never been in the presence of a man before.
Yesterday, Griffin wasn’t this charming.
Curious? Yes.
Critical? Absolutely.
The jerk.
There was a wall between us that allowed me to admire and hate him from afar, but something’s changed. There’s an affability and openness to him today. It knocks me off balance.
Way off.
I’ve got enough experience to know this attraction is a bad thing. There’s no way Griffin is anything more than a player at best and a bully at worse.
How do I know this, you ask?
Simple.
Hollywood.
Hollywood movies are basically PSAs against attractive people. They’re the tyrants, the jerks, the intolerant queen bees who knock people down and major in wet willies.
Men with faces like Griffin wear arrogance and pride like a custom-fit tux, believing they’re God’s greatest gift to women.
Whether that’s true or not is in the eye of the beholder.
“Come on.”
I shift back. “Where?”
“Come on,” he stresses with a glimmer of a smile. His hand slips to the small of my back. Electricity skitters through the fabric of my blazer, past the thin silk blouse, straight to my skin.
My heart beats a staccato rhythm, and I’m pretty sure even High Fashion Elsa over there can hear the racket.
“You’ll need a visitor’s pass,” she says stiffly.
Griffin strides confidently to the desk and swipes one. “Thanks.”
She glares daggers into my head as if I’m the one who stole it.
Griffin leads me past the group of gaping businessmen and nudges me into the elevator.
I shake off his touch and slide to the other side of the lift so I can regain my bearings.
Griffin’s appearance can’t, no—it shouldn’t—change the fact that he hurt me.
And if he thinks a few dazzling smiles and a softer demeanor will let him off the hook, well… he has another thing coming.
8 Griffin
I close the conference room door behind me. The thick carpet swallows my footsteps as I stride to the mahogany table where our meetings are held. Black chairs hover near the desk, solemn and empty.
I’m sorry. That’s all I need to say, but the words lump in my throat.
I can’t cough them out.
Tension fills the air as I stare past the ceiling-to-floor windows with a stunning view of the freeway and the surrounding high-rises. It’s hard for me to look at Cobie so I’m choosing to focus on something else while I get this over with.
Apologies aren’t my forte, even though I’ve been doling them out for most of my life.
Sorry for being too fat.
Sorry for being too ugly.
Back then, it felt like I was constantly apologizing for my existence. It’s given me an aversion to the deed, but that’s no excuse.
I know I did wrong and Cobie deserves to hear me say that.
“There’s some people you need to meet, but I didn’t want an audience for this conversation,” I explain, starting off easy.
My words bounce off the glass.
Return to me as a cold and unwelcome frost.
Silence.
The tension rattles higher, snaking past the faux leaves on the potted plants in the corner.
I turn, expecting Cobie to be right behind me.
She’s not.
Instead, she stands stiffly near the door, slender hands wrapped together and fastened in front of her short skirt. White teeth snag on her plump bottom lip. Eyes skitter on every facet of the room except for me.
“What do you want?” she says.
“To apologize.”
That earns me her full attention.
Slim shoulders, covered in a thick blazer, straighten.
Brown eyes narrow.
She looks me up and down.
“Really?”
“I’m sorry for what I said that day.”
She pauses. Seems to consider my words. “Do you even remember what you said?”
“Not really.”
She scoffs. “Then what are you apologizing for?”
“For hurting you.” I take a step toward her. “I was out of line.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “That’s it?”
“Were you expecting something else?” My eyebrows furrow.
This isn’t the reaction I was looking for.
I figured Cobie would let me off easy.
Since I’ve been in this body, I’ve been allowed to say, think and act however I want.
Especially with women.
“What’s wrong with my apology?” I ask.
“It’s not my job to figure that ou
t.” She points. “It’s yours.”
“I’m being sincere.”
She taps her chin, brown eyes skittering to the ceiling, and mumbles, “Maybe if you get on your knees and beg…”
Annoyance courses through my veins.
I try to mask it with a chuckle. “I hardly think what I did was so severe.”
“You don’t?” She arches an eyebrow. “Well, let me explain it to you. First”—a finger pops up—“you came to talk about my natural hair products without knowing anything about natural hair. That tells me you either didn’t care about this project or you thought it was so inconsequential that it wasn’t worth preparing for.”
Ouch. “No, that’s not—”
“The second infraction,” she cuts me off, “was when you pushed your way into my apartment after I kicked you out…”
“You sicced Ms. Shirley on me in revenge. We’re square with that.”
“And,” she continues as if I haven’t spoken, “you judged me.” Her eyes burn into mine. “You made up your mind about who I am and what I’m about without getting to know me at all.”
My mouth opens, but no words fall.
My hand clumsily rises to press against the sharp pain in my chest.
That last accusation stings.
How many times have I railed against snap judgments growing up? All I’d wanted was for someone to look beyond my heavy-set body and my cystic acne and see me.
Just once.
The fact that I made the same mistake with Cobie is inexcusable.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“For what?” There’s still an edge to her words, but it’s a little more subdued now.
“For all of it.” I slip my hands into my pockets.
She steps toward me, her gaze level on my face. Stopping a few feet away, Cobie offers her hand.
I stare at it and then look into her eyes.
Her lips arch in a wry smile. “I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine. Ms. Shirley was out of order. If the roles were reversed, that wouldn’t have been cool. I’m sorry too.”
I take Cobie’s hand. It’s warm and soft.
Slender fingers gently drape against the back of my knuckles.
I press deeper into the skin between her thumb and forefinger and pump her hand once, holding on for a beat longer than I should.
She pulls back and brushes off the hem of her shirt.
Dark pupils dilate.
Lips slightly part.
Nostrils flare as she takes in a deep breath.
I’ve seen this reaction enough to know that she’s flustered around me.
And that’s a huge ego boost.
Cobie’s given me nothing but hell since I knocked on her apartment door and it’s good to know that her feelings aren’t entirely negative.
“It’s fine.” I smile down at her. “Ms. Shirley’s kind of cute.”
“If you’re serious, I can give you her number.” Cobie whips out her phone. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. She’s been complaining that men never call her back.”
“Let’s not get too hasty.” I snatch her wrist and hold her hand just above her head.
Cobie’s smirk grows even more mischievous. “You don’t need a grandma hookup?”
“I’m happily single.”
Her eyes bore into mine and she’s silent for a moment before she says, “If you say so.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, but I’m going to take you at your word even if I have suspicions to the contrary.”
“Now who’s the one making snap judgments?”
Her eyes flash to where I’m still holding her wrist. “Some things are just intuitive.”
“You can’t have it both ways.” I drop her hand. “You either offer each person a chance to prove who they are or you don’t.”
“Snap judgments are one thing. Having common sense is another. If you say you’re single, I’ll believe you. It’s not any of my business one way or the other.”
“But your impression of me will impact the way we relate. It’s important that we’re on the same page here. Both our professional lives are riding on this project.”
“You think you can change my mind?”
“Yes, I do.” I smirk.
“How?”
“Have dinner with me.”
She laughs. “And what exactly is that supposed to prove?” Her words are light, as if she believes I’m joking, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes and it gives the impression she’s considering it.
“That I’m not the playboy you think I am.”
“I never said you were a playboy.”
“You didn’t have to.” I nod. “I can read between the lines.”
“Apparently, you blur them too. Are you allowed to fraternize with clients?”
“No.” I step closer. “But you strike me as a rule breaker. Figured I could take the chance.”
“More snap judgments?”
“Only one way to change that.”
She lifts her chin. The way the sun hits her brown skin and with that big, elegant bun sitting on her head, it feels like I’m standing before a queen.
And I am.
Cobie and her friend, Chandra, were the queens of our high school.
And Cobie’s still a queen to me.
But I’m no longer the chubby kid who could only watch her from the sidelines.
I’m not the guy in the hoodie, praying that she doesn’t notice me getting slammed into lockers while my peers called me ‘piggy’ and ‘pizza face’.
With this face and this body, I’m so far from that insecure loser it’s like night and day.
There’s no way she can resist me.
Cobie smiles. “No.”
“Alright, I’ll pick you up at—” I pause. “Wait… did you just say no?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“No.”
I massage the bridge of my nose. “You’re saying no to the date?”
She nods.
The disappointment is crushing and I honestly have no idea what to say. I haven’t been turned down by a woman since… high school.
Fat loser.
No one wants you.
I suck in a breath.
Come on, Griff. Pull yourself together.
Awkwardly, I rub the back of my neck. “That’s fine. Forget I said anything.”
“There’s another way I can tell if you’re a playboy or not.”
“Yeah?” I glance at the door, itching to escape the room and dispel the dark thoughts crowding my mind. “And what’s that?”
Moving so close I can smell the subtle fragrance of her sweet perfume, Cobie sets a hand on my shoulder.
Looks me in the eyes.
Rises on her toes.
Pouty lips a breath away, she murmurs, “Kiss me.”
9 Cobie
Griffin’s staring at me like I’ve gone mad.
And maybe I have. But he’s the one who started spiraling into insanity first, asking me on a date out of the blue.
I almost fell for it.
Almost.
Thankfully, I managed to pull myself back from the abyss in time. That sexy face has HEARTBREAKER written all over it and I’ll be damned if I offer myself up as his next victim.
But just because I’m not interested in a relationship doesn’t mean I won’t consider having some fun.
Griffin’s been filling my head with all kinds of thoughts lately. Since the day he glanced my way, I can’t seem to look in another direction.
One kiss and I should be able to lay these crazed desires to rest.
My eyes trace his face.
Angled. Chiseled. Hard.
He’s obscenely tall and standing on the tips of my toes brings me only a few notches up his chest. Taunt muscles contract beneath my fingers. I glance down, noticing their barely contained shape in a formal shirt.
He’s a model in a business suit.
A hunk trapp
ed in a world of signatures and paperwork.
He’s my own personal disaster.
A flashing warning sign topped with lips so soft they practically demand a taste.
Goosebumps skate across my skin as I inhale his woodsy scent.
The kiss was just a stupid dare at conception. A silly way to win an argument that I already know the answer to.
But hell.
Now I really need those lips on mine.
Griffin jerks back, probing every inch of my face.
I stare him straight on, daring him to move.
Our breaths intermingle, dancing in the hazy attraction that taints the air.
His eyes slowly go dark. I watch it happen in real time. Like the process of melting unsweetened chocolate. Swirling, heated brown. Glittering. Almost black.
My fingers tingle and I scrape them against his shirt, struggling for purchase.
My ankles are shaking. These heels weren’t meant for function as much as for style, so I can barely keep my balance.
Griffin reaches up and slides his palm down my arm, starting at just above my elbow. Heat skitters up every inch of my skin. Fine hairs shoot to attention. His palm is smooth, but the way it presses against my flesh is commanding, searching.
He’s checking, for my approval, my consent.
He’s making sure I’m okay with this slight, innocent invasion.
The entire journey, his eyes remain on mine.
I don’t move. Just allow him to take control.
Sensing my surrender, his demeanor shifts into something so dark and enticing my toes curl. I flatten my feet against the floor before gravity and attraction thrust me flush against him.
I’ve lost a couple inches, which is disappointing, but Griffin doesn’t seem to mind. His touch becomes more confident as he guides my hands to clasp around his neck.
His fingers wind around my waist, flattening the fabric of my blazer and meeting at the small of my back, not too far down that he’s touching my behind, but low enough that he could get there without much effort.
“Do I look that easy to you?” he asks. His voice is a growly timbre.
“You won’t like the answer to that question.”
He drags me closer.
My heels whisk against the tiled floor.
Our bodies collide.
Heat flushes my chest.
I should have just kissed him myself. Instead, he’s squeezing out every second. Torturing me. Determined to be a jerk even now.
