Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I’m sure, to a man like him, a protective streak a mile wide would be romantic. But to me? I don’t know.
Sensing my doubt, Mr. Conniver adds, “If I thought my Georgina were in danger? Let’s just say that I am not a man who would merely fight the world for her. I would set the world on fire to keep her warm and leave it in ruins to ensure her safety. Without hesitation. Such a primitive mindset is not an easy thing to understand, and some would consider it monstrous. She simply sees that as . . . me. She understands that our life will come with harsh realities and hard situations, mostly with my own inner demons, to be honest, and she loves me, not in spite of them but because they have shaped me into the man I am. She accepts me, sins and all. And in return, I love her more deeply than any other man possibly could.” He pauses, making sure he’s caught my gaze before finishing with, “I think Mr. Mahoney and I have much in common. If you can understand the love behind his actions and forgive, he could be your best ally, and you would be his biggest strength.”
“Yeah, what he said,” Dom echoes, pointing at Mr. Conniver. “Ditto, or whatever. Fuck, I should have studied more in college. That was some insightful shit.”
My brother is right. The words Mr. Conniver just spoke are poetic in a way I wouldn’t expect from someone I’m afraid might actually murder me. He’s a study in contrasts, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that a man who can control the city from the shadows is keenly intelligent. He’d have to be, or he would’ve been overthrown, violently and dramatically. I’m sure, in his line of work, the value of a well-spoken turn of phrase is priceless, whether a threat or, in this case, advice.
The two men stare at me, waiting while I hotly debate with myself. Mostly mentally, of course, but there’s some talking to myself, too, which I’m sure looks a bit crazed.
“OhmaGod, what have I done?” I finally whisper, hands covering my mouth as I realize the truth. All my talk about flags this, flag that . . . I want Griffin—the good, the bad, the ugly, the mistakes, and the sweet gestures. The man I’ve fallen for, exactly as he is.
“Nothing unfixable, but I can’t keep playing couples’ counselor for you two. I know I’m good, but you’re going to have to figure out your own shit eventually, and quit depending on me to solve all your problems,” Dominic teases. “Plus, I expect a special thank-you toast at your wedding for bringing the two of you together.”
Our what? my mind screeches.
I stare, about to argue with so much of what he just said, but ultimately decide Dominic can have his illusions of grandeur. Rising to my feet, I try to maintain some semblance of professionalism, but I’m pretty sure I sound hysterical when I say, “Mr. Conniver, could we possibly reschedule this meeting to discuss your ring’s design?”
He’s a busy man. One who’s probably unaccustomed to being blown off for personal drama. But he nods easily, unperturbed. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of love. Especially when it appears this ring has already brought together the two of you. I hope it will do the same for me and my Georgina.”
“I’ll make sure it does. I’ll send you some sketches?”
“Go!” Dominic shouts.
I jump, a smile blooming on my face. I’m going after Griffin, and we’re going to get some things straight so we can move forward . . . together.
“He probably went home.” Dominic holds up a finger, cautioning me. “Oh, and tell him not to worry about your door and the neighbor. I’ll take care of them today.”
I freeze. “What’s wrong with my door? And what neighbor?”
Dominic waves me off with a shit-eating grin. “Long story. Ask Griffin. More importantly, blame him.”
“You have to let me up,” I tell the security guard in the lobby of Griffin’s building. I’m basically hanging on his desk, pleading with my whole heart, and he thinks I’m some rabid puck bunny fan.
“I’ll call upstairs,” he says blandly, picking up his phone.
“No!” The shout echoes through the empty lobby, making me sound more desperate than I am. Well, okay . . . maybe as desperate as I am. “I’m mid–romantic gesture here, and you’re screwing it all up!”
Behind me, the elevator dings as someone exits. The security guard and I both glance that way, thinking the same thing.
“Ma’am—”
His warning tone won’t stop me. Nothing will stop me!
I bolt for the elevator, slipping through the closing doors at the last second. I push at the buttons, hitting ten for Griffin’s floor, along with nine and eleven in my overexuberance. And then . . . nothing happens. No whoosh up into the air. No beeping. The elevator simply stays put, the doors closed, mocking me.