“I suppose.”
“I’m teasing you, Griff.” What the heck? Did something change in the last couple of hours? I shift on my feet, feeling a bit unsure of myself. I tug on the bottom of my hoodie, trying to make it cover more of my stomach.
“That you are.” There he goes, growling again. My stomach flutters at the sounds as another strange sensation ripples through my body. It’s the same one I felt when he touched my hand.
“Are you over there screwing this up?” Mrs. Putnam asks from across the room. The hell? She’s got the second tower half built now.
“I’m not screwing anything,” he mutters. “Dinner is at seven.” He turns and leaves my room. I stare after him.
“You’re not changing,” Mrs. Putnam says.
“But–”
“Trust me, sweet girl.” She winks at me, leaving me unsure of what to do.
Instead of dwelling on it, I grab a toy and go test it on the mama, completely forgetting about dinner or any schedule at all.
7
GRIFFIN
“You’re certain these are her favorite foods?” I watch over Mrs. Putnam’s shoulder as she places the bubbling dish of macaroni and cheese onto the counter.
“I told you I’d handle it. Why can’t you leave me be?” She tries to swat me away with her oven mitt.
“I just want to be sure is all.”
“Well, I’m sure, and that should be good enough for you.” She flips up her middle finger, then goes back to the stove where a pot of chicken and dumplings is simmering.
“Where did she even get chicken and dumplings? I’m certain her boarding school didn’t serve that.”
“She saw it on some cooking show.”
“Wait, so she’s never actually had it?” I ask.
“Nope. But she told me she’s certain it’ll be her favorite and hopes one day she’ll get the chance to try it.”
I had no idea how Mrs. Putnam even knows a recipe for the dish. It’s not as if she’s ever made it for me. “Wait, why don’t you cook like this for me?”
She snorts a laugh. “Because your favorite foods are domination and revenge. Neither of those are on the menu here.”
“That’s business. This is food.”
“Quit your belly-aching.” She stirs the pot, the simmering sauce promising a hearty meal.
I check my watch. It’s almost seven. She may already be in the dining room. Why are my palms sweaty? I’ve gone into a million boardrooms and destroyed grown men without so much as batting an eyelash, but somehow Vivian has me worrying about whether she’ll like the food, or, more importantly, the company.
Smoothing my hand down my shirt, I smirk when I look at the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. She wanted me casual. So she can have me that way. I, on the other hand, want her naked. She was wearing this fucking adorable kitten outfit that showed me her soft skin. I wanted to just run my fingers along her sides, feel her shiver beneath my touch.
“Griff, are you going to start drooling?” Mrs. Putnam says sharply, and I realize I’ve been standing here for a while, just thinking about Vivian.
I need to get my shit together.
“You need to get your shit together,” Mrs. Putnam chides.
Instead of snapping back at her, I stride from the kitchen and into the dining room. It’s right at seven, to the second. I’m never late. It doesn’t befit a man like me.
I sit at the table in my usual spot.