Making Up Page 14

  “Whoa, hold on a second.” I box her in to keep her from trying to escape. Her hair slaps me in the chest as she whirls to face me, her anger almost entertaining. “Why are you so pissed off? You’ve been to my suite, you see the car I drive, and the restaurants I take you to aren’t on par with McDonalds. You’re already aware I have money.”

  “Yeah, but every time I ask about your job, you brush it off as not important. Why not come out and tell me instead of dancing around it? You made me believe you were some kind of hot nerdy numbers guy who got a hard-on over stats and worked for a company that had some seriously awesome freaking perks.”

  “I am that guy, and my job isn’t a riveting topic of conversation.” I’m still dancing around the subject.

  She props a fist on her hip. “You’re a hotel mogul and a freaking billionaire!”

  “My father is a billionaire, not me.”

  She pins me with an unimpressed glare. “Semantic, Griffin. You’re an heir to the Mills Hotel dynasty.”

  “Why is this suddenly an issue when it wasn’t before?” I don’t like the hot feeling creeping up my spine, although it could be because I’m wearing a suit in an enclosed space with little in the way of ventilation.

  “I didn’t know before you got up in front of my class and presented to all of us.”

  “Untrue. You didn’t know specifics. This shouldn’t change a damn fucking thing.” Now I’m pissed, partly because she’s reacting like this and also because in some ways I did keep this from her intentionally. I didn’t offer it up because she didn’t press.

  “Why not be honest with me, though? Why all the vagueness?”

  “Because I didn’t want it to change the dynamic between us, or the way you see me.”

  Cosy rubs her temple. “I didn’t expect for you to be one of the presenters. I’m a college student and you’re like”—she motions toward me, eyes moving over me in a foreign way—“a freaking God. Also, my teacher wants to ride you like a roller coaster.”

  “Fuck your teacher.”

  She arches a brow.

  I wave the comment away. “I can’t change the family I was born into, and I thought you were above all the petty shit that doesn’t matter.”

  “I am above it,” she snaps.

  “Well, you’re sure not acting like you are,” I shoot back.

  She frowns and her stance shifts. “It would’ve been a lot easier to handle if I’d had some warning before now. You presenting caught me off guard.”

  “You know what caught me off guard? That fucking kid practically trying to sit in your damn lap every time you gave him a shred of attention.”

  “What?”

  I’m digging myself into a hole, but now I’m frustrated and annoyingly insecure. “Who is that kid? Does he know we’re involved? Because it sure didn’t seem like it.”

  “You mean Landon? He’s a classmate who can’t take a hint.”

  “Well, maybe he needs you to be more explicit. You know what else might help?” I tug at the hem of her dress. “If you weren’t at risk of flashing him your fucking panties every time you sit down.”

  Her eyes light with fire, and an angry sneer curls her lip. “So you’re saying I’m inviting his unwanted attention because of the way I’m dressed?”

  “What? No.”

  She tips her chin up farther and cocks her head to the side. “Are you sure about that? If I remember correctly, you sure didn’t seem to mind how much skin I had on display when you came into STW. In fact, you seemed to like it a lot then, and you still seem to like it now.” She cups me through my pants to make her point.

  She’s not wrong. Which makes me an asshole in this situation, twice. Still, I try to find a way to justify myself. “That kid was staring at your legs through the entire presentation.”

  “So were you.”

  Shit. She’s right again. “I’m your boyfriend. I’m allowed to get hard over your legs; that little fucker isn’t.”

  Her eyes flare with surprise. “Boyfriend?”

  “We’re dating exclusively, are we not?” A hot, nearly violent spike of possessiveness makes my jaw and fists clench.

  She seems taken aback by the question. “I guess.”

  “You guess?” I’m in her space again. In the back of my mind, I acknowledge that this isn’t supposed to get serious. We’re dating casually, both of us leaving for new adventures in a matter of weeks, but I want to be certain that I have her all to myself until then, at the very least. “Is there someone other than me that you’re interested in?”

  She puts a hand on my chest, preventing me from getting any closer. “No.”

  “Anyone else you want to sleep beside at night?”

  She swallows hard. “No.”

  I trail my fingers from her hip to the hem of her skirt, which incidentally ends a good eight inches from her knees. I brush my thumb along the bare skin. “Anyone else you want touching you like this?”

  “No one else,” she whispers.

  “Me either. I think that qualifies me as your boyfriend.” I drag my fingers up her thigh, bunching her skirt.

  “Griffin.” It’s just my name, a warning, a plea.

  We both look down as I lift her skirt to expose her panties. It doesn’t take much in the way of shifting fabric because her skirt is short—and she knows it. When they come into view, I chuckle. They’re not lacy or satin or sexy. She’s wearing a pair of cheap cotton panties with a cartoon eggplant emoji pattern. “Really, Cosy?” I slip a finger under the elastic.

  “What’re you doing?” She’s breathy and panicked.

  “Touching you.”

  “We’re in a supply closet.”

  “Ask me if I give a fuck.”

  “I need to get back to my group, Griffin.”

  “Tell them you got lost. Better yet, tell them your boyfriend dragged you into a supply closet so he could finger you because he was feeling threatened by some punk kid and decided you might need a reminder as to who rules this body.” I cover her mouth with mine before she can get mad at me again for that dickhead comment and drag a finger along her slit, going low until I can push inside.

  “Jesus, Griffin.” Cosy grabs my shoulders. Her legs part, though, inviting me to keep going.

  This is a stupid location for this, more along the lines of something my younger brothers might do with their significant others. But watching that kid trying to flirt with her for a goddamn hour pissed me off. Not to mention how unreasonable she’s being about my family’s financial status. It’s not as if she didn’t have some sort of inkling without all the actual details—even if she’s right that I should’ve told her already.

  In all my years of working with my father, I have never locked someone in a supply closet to fuck around. I’ve never even had office sex and my ex used to stop by for lunch all the time. Clearly I’ve been missing out.

  I stroke inside her a few times, so soft and warm and welcoming, before I add a second finger. Moving her panties to the side, I press my palm against her clit and curl my fingers forward.

  Cosy’s eyes flare and she moans.

  “Shhh, baby, you don’t want to get in trouble, do you?” I scold.

  “No, but, oh God—” She clamps a hand over her mouth at my next finger curl. “Holy shit, what’re you doing?” Her eyes roll up.

  “Reminding your pussy who it belongs to.”

  “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” she gripes, but that turns into a low moan when I hit the sweet spot. She claws at my suit jacket, looking for something to hold onto as her legs threaten to give out.

  “I got you,” I assure her.

  She sags against the door and lets me take her weight, sinking into my palm.

  “Tuck your skirt into your belt.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can see what I’m doing to you.” I wait until she complies before I increase the speed.

  Her mouth drops open and her eyes flare. “It’s so . . . God.”

 
I clamp my free palm over her mouth to muffle the moan that follows when she comes, dropping it when she retracts her teeth.

  “Geez, that was intense.”

  I free my pocket square, satisfied with myself. “I told you I ruled this body, didn’t I?”

  “Oh my God, you’re horrible.” She adjusts her panties and smooths out her skirt. “Don’t think for a second that just because you performed some kind of magic voodoo on my vagina that I’m not still annoyed. We’ll continue this discussion later, not in a supply closet, and you will keep your fingers to yourself until we’re done talking.”

  I don’t know what we still need to talk about, but I agree anyway. I open the door and check the hall before I usher her out. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes have that glassy, sated look to them. I doubt that douche Lance or whatever his name is knows what orgasm afterglow looks like.

  I close the door behind me and check to make sure my suit is in place. The lapels are a bit wrinkled, but nothing too obvious.

  “I can’t believe you did that. What’s with you and the public fingering?” Cosy touches the back of her hand to her cheek. “I need to wash my hands and so you do.”

  “I happen to like the smell of your orgasms.” I rub the fingers that were inside her over my lips and laugh at her horrified expression. She spins around and stalks down the hall, going in the wrong direction. “Bathrooms are the other way,” I call after her.

  She stops, does an about-face, and glares at me as she passes. Once she’s finished washing her hands, I escort her down the hall in search of her group. “Here, you should take this, that way if you’re done before my afternoon meeting is over, you can meet me in the suite.”

  She grabs the key card from me and shoves it quickly in her bag, eyes darting around to make sure no one sees her. We find her class in the kitchen. My intention is to drop her off and slip out undetected, but the door creaks, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “Mr. Mills! Can I get you something? We have a lovely selection for lunch if you care to browse the menu.” Chef Emilee looks like her head is about to explode, probably because I generally don’t arrive in the kitchen without warning.

  The entire room turns as a collective. Cosy cringes and sidesteps away from me, trying to blend into the group.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” I smile and raise a hand in what I can only assume is an awkward wave. “Hello again, I hope you’re enjoying your tour. I’ll leave you to it, Emilee.”

  I’m fully prepared to leave the kitchen without further addressing Cosy, but I chance a glance in her direction. The girl who was sitting beside her gives me the side-eye, as if she knows what happened in the supply closet. Cosy’s bright red face may be a tip-off. I can deal with her suspicion and Cosy being embarrassed.

  But that clueless little punk gets right up in her personal space again and throws his arm over her shoulder. Cosy looks at his hand as if it’s some kind of poisonous spider and swats it away. “I’m not your armrest,” she murmurs.

  Instead of backing off, he pulls her in closer. “Aw, come on, you’re the perfect height, and I need someone to lean on.”

  “And I need you to stop touching me.”

  He laughs, like it’s a joke.

  What I want to do is punch the kid in his face for laying a finger on Cosy and ignoring her blatant attempts to get him to leave her alone. I also want to lay claim to her by doing something even more archaically possessive than finger-fucking her in a supply closet. However, I’m aware that she’s already pissed off at me for not expressly admitting I’m the heir to a multi-billion dollar empire, so I’m thinking that would only dig my hole deeper.

  Instead, I pin the kid with a glare. “Lester, is it?”

  His eyebrows pop, and he looks around, pointing to his own chest. “My name’s Landon, Mr. Mills. It’s so great to meet you, sir.”

  I take a step in his direction, forcing him to drop his arm and step away from Cosy. I take his offered palm with the one I didn’t wash and attempt a polite smile as I put a hand on his shoulder and lean in close. “In the business world when you touch a woman the way you just did without her permission or an invitation, it’s called sexual harassment.” Consider me a hypocrite since I dragged the very same woman into a supply closet and told her I owned her pussy.

  “We’re friends, s-sir,” he croaks.

  I squeeze his hand harder than I need to. “It doesn’t give you a license to maul her, especially when she’s making it clear she would prefer it if you don’t touch her.”

  He blanches. “Of course not, sir.”

  “Excellent, Landon.” I pin him with a dark smile and clap him on the shoulder before I release him, give the class another wave, and head for the door. Cosy looks like she wants to murder me, again, and Landon looks like he’s going to puke.

  I’m confident he’ll stay the hell away from her now, though, so I’ll deal with Cosy’s ire later.

  Chapter Fourteen: Sugar Not-Quite Daddy

  Cosy

  “What the hell just happened?” Helix whispers. “Where have you been?”

  “Discussing my relationship status in a supply closet.”

  Helix’s eyes widen. “I want details when we’re not surrounded by all these ears.”

  Ms. Castor gives me a look as Chef Emilee resumes her review of what’s entailed in running a kitchen in a casino hotel. I peek over at Landon who’s white as a ghost and looks like he’s going to crap his pants. He’s actually sweating and tugging at the collar of his golf shirt.

  When we finally break for lunch, I tell Helix I’ll meet her in the restaurant where they’ve set up a buffet. I don’t bother with texting. Griffin answers on the second ring.

  “Hey, baby. You done already? I have another meeting in an hour, and it could be a while.”

  “No. We’re not done; we’re breaking for lunch.”

  “How long do you have?” His voice has an excited edge.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, you can stop now. What the hell did you say to Landon?”

  “Who?”

  “Not cute. He looked like he was going to shit himself after you left. Now tell me what you said or I will be getting on that stupid yellow school bus and sleeping in my own bed tonight. Alone.”

  I can hear his teeth grind together. “He was all over you. He’s lucky I didn’t break his damn hands.”

  “Seriously? Violence is unnecessary and very not you, so can the territorial caveman ridiculousness. Don’t you think I can handle Landon? I mean, I can handle you, can’t I?”

  “I’m sure you can, and yes, you handle all of me very well, in every capacity. However, I didn’t like the way he was hanging off of you, so I informed him that in my world, it constituted sexual harassment.”

  “And what do you call locking a college student in a supply closet and finger-banging her?”

  “I call that foreplay since that college student happens to be my girlfriend, and I think that despite her current audacity, she loved every fucking second of it.”

  I tug at my collar, feeling suddenly hot all over again. I still can’t believe he did that. Also, he’s correct. I did love every second of it. “Why are we referring to each other in the third person now?”

  “I’m not sure. You started it, though. Anything else you want to be mad at me for right now, or are you planning to save the rest of your wrath for later?”

  “I think I’ll let it fester.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to the cathartic angry fuck this evening. Enjoy your afternoon. I recommend the lobster bisque if they’re serving it.”

  He hangs up before I have a chance to say anything else. Not that I know what to say. But we are definitely talking about this later. Dealing with Griffin is nothing like dealing with clueless college boys, that’s for sure.

  I don’t get a chance to fill Helix in on the supply closet details because there’s no privacy at lunch since we’re seated at tables of eight. Griffin is right, the lobster bisque is
delicious, and Landon avoids me like I’ve suddenly contracted every single fatal airborne disease known to man. I spend the rest of the day completely distracted, and irritated, and oddly horny.

  At four, we’re finally free to either get back on the bus and return to the college or find our own transportation home. Obviously I’m not going anywhere. Ms. Castor still seems like she wants to grill me, but she has to get back on the bus, thwarting that potentially awkward conversation.

  What the hell do I say if she asks me more questions about Griffin and how I know him? “Oh, you know, we’re seeing each other, he popped my cherry, and today I found out that he’s the heir to the biggest hotel chain in North America” seems farfetched.

  Also, now that the surprise of seeing Griffin present to my class has passed, I’m able to process everything better. I feel like an idiot for not cluing in before that he’s one of the Mills brothers. All the signs were there. It’s possible I chose to ignore them so I could stay blissfully oblivious in my bubble. I may have done the same thing back in high school with my one long-term boyfriend who ended up dumping me so he could get his manwhore on in college.

  I walk through the lobby and take the dedicated elevator to the penthouse floor. I’m still annoyed with Griffin, but also with myself. And now there’s this whole girlfriend thing. I don’t even know how to deal. I wish he weren’t so . . . sure and persuasive. Doesn’t he get that by calling me his girlfriend, he’s inviting feelings, and those are dangerous?

  The suite is empty when I arrive, but someone has clearly been here. It smells like the room has been doused in perfume—except it’s not the kind of scent that makes your eyes water. There’s a rainbow trail of rose petals leading to the bed, which is covered with more petals.

  I bend to pick one up, rubbing the satiny petal between my fingers. They’re definitely real. Griffin had to have murdered hundreds of roses to make this happen. On every table surface is an artfully arranged vase of flowers, not just roses this time, but every kind imaginable, including orchids, which could explain how fragrant it is in here.