He steps in front of me, blocking me from entering. “Listen, lady, this isn’t the kind of building where people just rent out their apartments. I’m going to need you to stay here while I get some confirmation.”
I just stare at him in shock, my voice for once completely absent, my mind blank. I had thought I was going to be able to take the rest of the night off, and instead I’m being accused of…what, exactly? And who the hell is he going to call?
Chapter 9
#LetMeShowYouWhatYouMissedOutOn
The next thing I know, the guy is actually getting on the phone and contacting someone—the cops or the FBI—about me and my evident transgressions.
And I’m not even kidding when I say that I’m starting to get truly pissed off. Look, I’m a nice southern girl. I learned manners before I learned how to walk, and I’ve been raised in the sort of genteel, sweet-tea-drinking sort of world that only exists in areas of the south that have maintained the traditions and the values of our ancestors.
I’m not talking cotton plantations and horrible social practices, either. I’m talking calling everyone ‘sweetie’ and making sure you always have clean gloves to wear to church on Sunday.
So yeah, I have that in my box of tools. But I was also raised by a freaking strong woman who didn’t believe in being taken advantage of. And she made sure I had that in my toolbox as well.
Which means I’m gearing up to start actually spitting anger at this guy, my shoulders straightening and my chin coming up, and though I know it’s probably the wrong thing to do—and that it’s most likely not going to solve anything—I physically can’t stop myself. I’m too frustrated, too horrified at what he’s trying to imply. And I know for a God damned fact that I’m not going to stand for it.
I’m just starting to put breath to my voice, my first line already becoming clear in my head, when a strong firm hand comes down on my shoulder.
I jump and whirl around, about ready to lay into whoever the hell is trying to interrupt me, when I spot Griff standing there, all charcoal gray suit and matching tie, his hair gelled into place, his face looking completely neutral. His eyes, though. His eyes are flashing, and when I look a bit closer, I notice that his mouth is actually tense at the corners, like he’s angry at something.
“Frederick, you’re not bothering this nice lady, are you?” he asks tersely. “You know your job is to let occupants in, not keep them standing on the sidewalk.”
He lightens this statement with an attempt at a smile, but even an idiot would be able to see that he’s forcing it.
Frederick—the doorman’s name, evidently—looks up at Griff and seems to go a shade paler. “Mr. Hunt,” he says, his voice sort of wobbly. He takes the phone away from his ear and covers the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry for the disruption, sir, but this woman was trying to get into the building. She doesn’t live here.”
Griff’s face smooths out a bit. “Ah, but she’s here for the weekend. Or did she not tell you that?”
Frederick shakes his head firmly. “I didn’t receive any notification of that. Do you have proof?”
Griff, all charm and smooth goodwill now, leans toward Frederick and gives him a quick grin. “She’s staying in Andrew’s apartment, actually. I’m sure if you contact him, he’ll be happy to confirm that.”
I glance from one to the other of them, too surprised—at Frederick’s attack and now at Griff’s heroism—to really have anything to say. Besides which, I’m thinking Griff might just have this handled. And further, that I won’t help by busting in, when Frederick obviously already doesn’t like me.
Frederick, though, firms his mouth, evidently not falling for Griff’s charm. “No one told me. And without confirmation, I’m afraid I have to lodge an official complaint.”
At this, Griff reaches out, grabs the phone from Frederick’s hand, and ends the call. “As this building’s biggest resident, I’m going to guess that my word counts for something. Just as it would if I lodged an official complaint about one of the building’s employees giving a guest a hard time.”
I arch a questioning eyebrow in Frederick’s direction, who is now even paler than he was before. I have to admit that I have a hard time not smiling at his face. But that would give Griff some sort of satisfaction, and I don’t like the guy. I do like seeing him in suits, though.
Frederick, seeming to realize that he’s outmatched by Griff’s rank and ability to argue, backs down with an apology and takes several steps back. He doesn’t apologize to me, which makes me furious, but whatever…que sera, sera.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say to Griff.
“I know. But I did it anyhow. You looked like you wanted to get back to the apartment for a glass of wine rather than standing there arguing with the doorman about whether or not you were here to rob the joint.”
I flash him my best gratitude smile. We stand staring at each other, the silence stretching. I want to walk away, but I’m unable to move. “That’s what I get for wearing my cat burglar outfit, I guess,” I say ruefully. “It gets me every time.”
He gives me one up-and-down look, taking in the black pencil skirt and white blouse, combined with the ridiculous hat, and raises one eyebrow. “You sure do dress well when you go burglarizing.” Then he leans in until he can drop his voice. “I have to say, that skirt seems like it would make most things really difficult. But you look amazing in it. Nice legs.”
“Somehow I can feel your mind churning. What are you thinking?”
He smiles. “They’d look great over my shoulders. Now, have dinner with me.”
And at that, I think it’s time for me to turn and make a graceful exit. Because this is getting way too close to flirting, and I’m still not sure whether I want to go that far with him or not. I mean yeah, my body thinks it’s a great idea—and the throbbing already starting up between my legs is enough to make me remember exactly how good his lips felt against mine—but my brain isn’t quite there, yet.
So I lean in and say, “Thanks for the help, Prince Charming.”
“I’m not Prince Charming. I bite and lick.”
Okay, he can’t say things like that to me. My sex drive is entirely too high for the amount of sex that I’m not having, and now I’m imagining all the sexy things his mouth can do to me.
I clear my throat. “Well, the next time I need someone to save me, I’ll make sure your number is the first one I call…oh wait, I don’t have your number.” I shrug at him. “I guess I’ll just have to take care of myself.”
Then I turn and walk away from him. Knowing he’s watching. Knowing he’s got another smooth line on the tip of his tongue. And because of that, I put a little sway into my hips and then stroll through the elevator doors, a grin on my face.
Chapter 10
#HereWeGoAgain
Rushing through the lobby has essentially become second nature to me at this point, and as soon as I’m a good distance away from Griff and striding across the marble floor, I let out a long breath and increase my pace. God, I just want to get to the apartment that I’m calling mine for the weekend, get out of this freaking skirt—which is just as difficult as Griff thought it might be—and get some wine.