by Jane Henry
“If you were paying attention, you wouldn’t have bumped into me.”
Her eyes now flashed at me in anger. “I already apologized for that. Will you let me continue, or do you intend on interrupting me for the remainder of our conversation?”
I eyed her thoughtfully. She had spunk, this one. I was used to people cowering when I spoke to them, skirting away when I entered the room. Not this girl, however. And her formal trick of speech was oddly…attractive. I leaned against an examination table pushed up against the wall and crossed my arms.
“Go on, Annabelle,” I stated. “You have one minute.”
She started, and my eyes dipped to her name tag. She looked down and groaned, then took it off as she talked.
“My sister was supposed to be supervising my mother, who is not supposed to be driving, but she snuck the car keys and went out anyway.”
“Why shouldn’t she be driving?”
The bravado left her eyes, then, as she looked at me and her voice dropped. “She has early onset dementia. She forgets things, and frequently gets herself in trouble.”
I refused to pity her. I despised pity.
“I see. And she is safe where you have her?” I asked.
She crossed her arms on her chest. “Excuse me, but that’s none of your business.”
Anger coursed through me. This girl had nerve. Did she not know who I was?
“None of my business?” I repeated, getting to my feet, enjoying how she shrank back when I towered above her. “It’s none of my business that your mother plowed into my car, totaling it? She could have killed me, herself, or any other innocent who happened to be in her path. And that car is an Aston Martin, little girl.”
Her eyes narrowed. “She did not hurt anyone,” she said hotly. “She merely hurt your car, and for that I apologize, but certainly a man like you can file a claim? I mean, if you could afford a pompous, showy car like that, surely you can afford insurance?”
I raised a brow at her. “You call that an apology?” I asked, angry now that she had the nerve to come in my room and toss pathetic excuses at me. My palms itched to spank that sass right out of her, to teach her to watch her mouth.
Her gaze flitted away from me for a moment. “It is an apology,” she insisted, as if she just realized the error of her ways.
“Is that right?” I growled, drawing closer to her, so close I could smell the faint citrusy scent that hung about her. “Then clearly you need a lesson in sincere apologies, and it would be my pleasure to teach it to you.” And just like that, the air in the room changed. Desire coiled low in my belly, and the girl looked up at me, an innocent who’d made her way into my lair.
Her hand went to her throat, and she swallowed, her gaze never leaving mine, but when she spoke her voice was husky. “Oh?”
She was fucking aroused.
Shit.
I took a step closer to her. “Oh.” We were now mere steps apart, so close I could see the little bridge on her nose wrinkle when she shivered, and the pulse beneath the thin skin at her temples. “Lessons in humility,” I said, not caring that I was living up to my reputation as a monster, a man bent on incurring the hatred of those around him with little concern for societal norms or expectations. “Lessons in safety,” I said, stepping even closer to her. “Lessons in obedience.”
She blinked. “I thought we were talking about my mother,” she whispered.
I narrowed my eyes. “And I thought we were talking about apologies.” I watched as her chest heaved up and down, and the pink-tipped edges of her fingers traced along the naked skin at her collarbone. Her shoulders were slight, but her body was all lush curves, from the swell of her breasts to the voluptuous rounded thighs. I enjoyed watching her fear, reveling in the knowledge that I was the one who’d brought this on.
I’d lived alone for a full decade, a bachelor and a recluse, bent on staying apart from others, and now here I was, the one day I ventured into town an absolute disaster. It seemed I’d go down in flames.
Annabelle stood with her back straight, her dark brown eyes trained on mine. “Then let’s stay on the topic at hand, Mister…” her voice trailed off.
“Gryffin,” I supplied, taking one step closer to her. “And yes, you may call me Mister Gryffin.” There would be no casual exchange between us. I would have the upper hand.
She swallowed. “Very well, Mister Gryffin. I wanted to ask how I can repay you.”
I crossed my arms on my chest and fixed her with a stern glare. “Annabelle, are you aware that the car your mother destroyed was worth over $200,000?”
Her jaw dropped open. “Two hundred thousand dollars?” she gasped.
“Yes,” I answered. “The suit alone cost three thousand.” Custom-made, shipped directly from Italy. I owned half a dozen just like it, but she didn’t need to know that.
She closed her eyes briefly. I could see it, then, her desperation, the hopelessness she wore like a second skin. If I were a good man, I’d have granted mercy. I’d have come up with a way for her to give what little she could, capitalize on my insurance payout and live happily ever after.
But I was not a good man.
I did not need the money. I needed her for a very specific purpose, but she’d learn about that on my terms.
“I’m a businessman, Annabelle. A man used to closing deals in his favor. Would you like to negotiate with me?”
I don’t know what came over me. I have no idea where the thought came from, but one thing I knew for sure. I had come to town hoping to maintain obscurity, and her foibles threatened to drag me out into the light of day.
I would hurt her for that.
“Your mother is the one that owes me, not you,” I explained, trying the sympathy tact so I could hedge my bets. “I could have her work for me to pay off her debt.”
Her eyes widened. “My mother cannot work for you!” she protested, which was exactly what I hoped she would say.
“I — I could work for you, Mister Gryffin,” she said, as if she were the one that had the thought, as if it hadn’t been my intention from the very beginning.
“You?” I asked, attempting to appear disbelieving.
“Yes,” she said, insistent now, emphatic. “I can work to pay off what we owe you.”
I pretended to think it over, when instead what I really did was hide my glee from having lured her straight into my trap. “Very well, Annabelle,” I said. “Why don’t you come to my house tonight at eight o’clock. I’ll take your cell phone number, and have my driver pick you up.”
I jotted down the number she gave me and slipped it into my pocket.
“And Annabelle? Don’t be late. If you are, I might have to give you your first lesson.”
She blinked hard, but nodded with a smile. “I am never late, Mister Gryffin.”
I smirked to myself. Really? We would see about that.
Chapter Three
Annabelle
Getting Mom situated at home proved easier than I anticipated, the events of the day wearing her out.
“I did not cause that accident,” she insisted, and even though I had eyewitnesses and a big, glowering man who said otherwise, I merely placated her and urged her to go take a nap while I prepared dinner. She finally did, and I pulled out veggies and started chopping, as Melody joined me in the kitchen.
“Annabelle, this is crazy,” she said, her voice low. Neither of us wanted to disturb Mom, and we definitely did not need her in on our conversation.
“What?” I said, pulling out a can of tomato sauce. I cracked the lid with the can opener and set it on the counter, chopping up onions to make a pasta sauce. I turned around to face her, wiping my hands on my apron. She sat at one of the three small chairs that hugged our tiny dining room table. My sister had recently dyed her hair with purple streaks, freaking mom out, but apparently her new boyfriend totally dug it. She twiddled one of the five silver rings on her fingers, and bit her lip.
“You did say Mister Gryffin?”
/>
“Yes,” I said, turning my back to her again.
“The Sawyer Gryffin?” The little hairs on my arms stood on end.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, before I remembered vaguely that Lucy had said something this morning about the guy I’d spilled coffee on.
“That guy hasn’t left his house in like a decade,” she said. “In fact, he’s not even allowed to as far as I knew. I thought he was on house arrest or something.”
A cool sensation tickled the back of my neck. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice dropping as I tried to stay nonchalant, stirring the sauce on the stove.
My breath grew shorter, a horrible sense of foreboding overcoming me as I turned to look at her.
“He killed his fiancée, Annabelle. Years ago. They were never able to prove it, but he became a recluse, and yeah, he wasn’t arrested, but that man is a murderer.”
Murderer.
The words echoed in my mind’s eye. I could picture him in front of me, the dark eyes beneath heavy brows, the chiseled jaw, his enormous stature, hands so large they could snap me in two with ease. He dwarfed the small hospital bed.
But did he have the eyes of a killer?
Was that something you could see on a person?
And if he really was a killer, why wasn’t he in jail?
“Well, whatever, Melody,” I said with false bravado. “He’s not in jail or anything now, and maybe you’re confusing him with someone else.”
“Just be careful, Annabelle. Please,” she implored. “Seriously, sis, Sawyer Gryffin is bad news and I’m not crazy about you going up to his house.”
I closed my eyes, a headache forming at my temples. I rubbed my fingers over my forehead, trying to stave off the pain. Hoping to wash this whole damn day away.
I turned back to the stove and shrugged. A part of me was curious. Not only did I want to see where he lived, but I couldn’t deny the fact that the man affected me. The way his deep voice scolded, his dark eyes never looking away. The expression on his face, harsh but…I couldn’t put my finger on it. There was something about the man that attracted me. I swallowed.
“Mel, do you realize his car that Mom totaled cost over $200,000?”
I jumped as her hand slapped the table behind me. Turning around, I wasn’t surprised to see her scowling. “What kind of dumbass buys a $200,000 car? Huh? And then expects someone who makes hardly anything to pay him back? Doesn’t he have insurance that would cover it?”
“I’m sure he does, and I asked him that very question,” I said. “But…well, I hate to admit it, but I spilled coffee all over his suit and ruined it.” I swallowed, squinting one eye as I looked at her sheepishly. “And he says the suit alone cost three thousand dollars.”
Mel’s jaw dropped. “Did you, like, walk around all day trying to find ways to ruin Sawyer Gryffin’s life?” Her eyes twinkled though.
I barked a laugh. “It seems like it, huh?” I turned back to the stove, and shook some salt into the sauce. I had to approach this topic carefully, as my younger sister’s protective instincts were clearly on overdrive. I covered the sauce and cracked the lid a bit, allowing it to simmer, then came to sit beside her. The table was bare except for a small set of ceramic salt and pepper shakers I’d made in a summer art class years ago, back before my father died. I traced the edge of one, a clumsy, clunky blue piece my mom refused to get rid of. “You know, it isn’t just about the money, Melody. Really.” I turned the shaker in my hand. I remembered making it in a ceramics class we took at school once, how proud I was to bring it home, and how my dad had always said his food tasted better when seasoned with salt from this little shaker. “But I was afraid that if I didn’t cooperate with a guy as wealthy and influential as Mister Gryffin, that if he began to pry, and found out how few assets we have…”
It was a gross understatement. We did not have any “assets.” We lived in a tiny house, and on a shoestring budget. Melody made hardly anything sacking groceries at the local store in between classes at the community college, and I wouldn’t take her money for bills anyway. My salary barely made ends meet, and Mom had medical expenses that ate away at my meager income. We made our food from scratch, shopped at thrift stores, shared the one car, and made do with as little as we could.
My voice dropped to a whisper. “What if he pried about Mom, Mel? What if he told someone she ought to be in a home or something? I think I can at least hear his plan out, see what he has to say, and maybe we can avoid owing him money for the rest of our lives. Maybe he’ll let me off easy.”
She frowned. “Listen, back in my freshman year I had to research local legends, and he was one of them. I honestly forgot all about him because he never comes around. I thought he moved or died or something, until you mentioned his name. Big guy, right? Like, huge?”
I snorted. “Enormous.” My stomach dipped a bit as I remembered standing toe-to-toe with him.
“Yeah, so the Incredible Hulk had a famous fiancée, some rich chick from overseas whose dad owned a clothing company. They were engaged. Rich meets rich, they get richer, and everyone lives happily ever after, right?”
I shook my head, still laughing. “Right. Not exactly in my line of experience, but okay.”
“And they had like this huge, epic fight, and people say that he pushed her off a cliff near his home.”
I suddenly didn’t find the story very funny, as I imagined those huge hands of his and those dark, angry eyes. I swallowed. “Oh?”
“Yeah. He claimed it was an accident, and with the kind of money that guy makes, you know he’s got top-notch lawyers on his payroll. So to make a long story short, he was acquitted. But the townspeople never believed him. So he’s been locked away up there in his ginormous mansion for like an eon. Word is that he has two servants who work for him, but they never talk to anyone about anything ever.” She looked me square in the eye. “I seriously don’t like the idea of you being anywhere near him.”
I got to my feet then, and headed back to the stove, lifting the lid and stirring the sauce. “Hey, I don’t like it either. But I highly doubt this guy is going to push me off a cliff or anything.” Though I was trying to make light of the situation, I shivered. It was an eerie thought, and one I did not relish. “Anyway, like I said, I have good reason to go, Mel. I can’t stand the thought of anyone taking advantage of Mom, or, God forbid,” I turned to face her and dropped my voice. “Making her go to a home or something. You’re going to have to stay here and watch her tonight while I meet with Mr. Gryffin, and then we’ll have to make sure she’s supervised. Got it?”
Melody shook her head. “I still don’t like it.”
At this point, my stomach was tied in knots at the thought of meeting Sawyer Gryffin, and it aggravated me. “I actually didn’t ask you to like it,” I said, meeting her gaze squarely. I was, after all, the big sister.
Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded with pursed lips. “Fine. Just be careful, dammit.”
My phone buzzed, and I picked it up, nodding to her. “Yep. No long, romantic walks along cliffs. Check.”
I frowned at the phone, not recognizing the number at first. I’m sending a driver to pick you up at 8 o’clock on the nose. Do not keep him waiting. I’ll be checking back.
I swallowed, turning my back to Melody so she wouldn’t see my hands shaking as I stirred the sauce.
I would not be late.
I stared at the pile of clothes on my bed and glanced at the time. What exactly did one wear when meeting a huge, filthy rich, supposed murderer for…what? Dinner? A bargaining arrangement? I had no idea what to expect from Sawyer Gryffin. I finally settled on a sensible outfit, a simple skirt and pink top with a pair of ballet flats, and ran a brush through my long, wavy brown hair, the one feature of mine I actually liked. It hung down nearly to my waist, though I never wore it like that, always braiding it or tucking it into a bun. I glanced quickly at the time, wondering if I had time to put the clothes away bef
ore I left. I hated leaving messes behind.
Damn. Two minutes to spare. Two minutes? Where had the time gone?
Do not keep him waiting. I could practically hear the man’s deep, growly voice admonishing me to get my shit together and get downstairs. I quickly slapped some lip gloss on and ran a mascara brush through my lashes, when it dawned on me. Why was I rushing around like a madwoman to do what this guy told me? He wasn’t my boss. I planned on meeting him to discuss ways to compensate him for damages. He was not going to fire me. And he could breathe fire all he wanted, but he was not in charge of me. Shaking my head, I put away my make-up in my bag, and grabbed some hangers. I was going to hang my clothes up, and damn him and his driver.
I paused, a little summer dress in one hand, a hanger in the other. “Well I’m not going to go running like I’m Cinderella and my clock strikes at midnight,” I muttered to myself.
For some reason, the very thought of the growly Gryffin being Prince Charming made me laugh. I shook my head, and continued hanging clothes up in the closet.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I picked it up, feeling a strange surge of power as I glanced at the screen.
My driver has been waiting. Do you want to negate our arrangement this early, Annabelle?
Negate our arrangement? What the hell? I only wanted to knock him off his high horse a bit.
I shoved my phone in my bag, and left my room. Melody was waiting by the door, her arms crossed on her chest, shaking her head. I ignored her reminder that she didn’t approve.
“Okay, I’m outta here. If I’m not back by tomorrow morning, call the police.” Though I was totally joking, her eyes grew concerned and widened.
“Annabelle—”
“Oh my God, I’m joking,” I said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Be good.” And with that, I left our tiny bedroom, and walked downstairs, my heart tripping in my chest. What did the night hold for me? Did he expect an answer to his bossy text? I huffed, opening the door, expecting to see some kinda Mercedes or something waiting for me. My jaw dropped when I saw a huge, gleaming black limousine waiting out front, with a well-dressed, stocky man leaning up against the door. His arms were crossed, and he bowed when saw me.
