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“I will definitely be hunting him down and beating his ass. If you’re not worried about you, what are you worried about?”
“You going on a firing rampage because people gossip. See your reaction to Rob for details.”
His lips thin in a line, which is impressive considering how full and pillowy they are.
I run my palms up over his broad chest and lace my fingers behind his neck, bringing my body flush with his. He’s right, I don’t care that everyone who walks by his office can see us. “I’m in this with you, Griffin. Just remember that we’re a team and we take things on as a team. You don’t get to white knight me. If I start working for Mills Hotel as an intern, it needs to be on a regular intern salary, not some insane inflated paycheck. And I won’t work under you since I’ll be under you enough as it is.”
“You’re better than the typical intern salary, but if that’s what you want . . .”
“That’s what I want.”
“Then that’s what you’ll get.”
He’s half an inch away from kissing me when a knock startles us both. His brother Lex is pressed up against the glass, fake humping it.
I lift a brow. “Everyone in this family is super serious, aren’t they?”
“They used to be.”
“What happened?”
“My brothers fell in love.”
“And you?”
“I found my soul mate and finally figured out what love really was.”
I drag him back into the bathroom and shut the door for privacy. “Did you say what I think you did?”
“I found my soul mate?”
“The other part.”
He smiles softly. “This shouldn’t be news to you, Cosy. I think my actions speak a hell of a lot louder than words.”
“I like words,” I whisper.
He brushes his lips over mine. “I want you to move to New York. I want you to work here so I can see you every single day, and when I travel, you’ll travel with me so I never have to miss you again, because I love you, Cosy Felton, and I don’t want to spend another day without you.”
“I love you back, Griffin Mills, so much, even though you have zero game.”
“I’d rather have you than game.”Chapter Twenty-Five: Could the Real Asshole Please Stand Up?Griffin
Dinner with my family is an embarrassing event, not for Cosy, but for me, thanks to my brothers’ endless razzing. By the end of the evening Cosy has exchanged contact information with Amalie and Ruby, and they’re already planning some kind of girls’ night. My mother also pulls me aside and requests that I don’t go eloping while we’re back in Vegas because she would like a hand in planning our wedding. I would call it a successful family introduction.
The next morning Cosy wakes me up with her mouth. We have lazy Saturday morning sex, and afterward Cosy pops cream puffs my mom sent home with us while I make coffee. After we’re caffeinated and dressed, Cosy declares that we’re going shopping for penthouse decorations since we never managed to fit it in yesterday on account of the family dinner. We hit a flea market first—at her insistence—where she finds all kinds of budget treasures she thinks fit my personality.
After that, we check out an estate sale on the outskirts of the city, near where Lincoln’s family lives. Cosy has a great eye for art, picking out eclectic pieces. She’s also very adept at haggling, although I think it’s mostly that people are instantly enamored, and they’ll do just about anything to get a smile out of her. By the time we’re done, we have four new pieces of art, two table lamps, and a bunch of decorative bowls—what their purpose is eludes me, but she likes them, so I bought them.
We’re both starving, having only eaten cream puffs for breakfast, so we stop at a café for lunch before we head back to the penthouse with all of our old-new things. We’re halfway across the parking lot when Cosy jerks me into her.
“What—”
Her eyes shift over my shoulder for a split second, then she grabs me by the collar, pushes up on her tiptoes, and glues her mouth to mine. I indulge in the kiss for a few strokes of tongue before I cup her face and disengage.
She runs her palms over my chest and presses her body against me. “You know what? I think food can wait. Why don’t we go back to your place and order in? We can hang new art and get naked, not necessarily in that order.”
While I’m not opposed to this option, there’s something off in her tone. Her gaze darts past me again, and she grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s go.”
I let her pull me a couple of steps toward the car, glancing over my shoulder. It’s my turn to come to an abrupt stop. Across the parking lot is Imogen. She looks significantly more pregnant in the short weeks since I last saw her.
