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Recalling memories from last night with Griffin on the sofa sends a surge of heat across my skin. Now, I’m really a mess.
Thinking about Griffin’s body on top of mine, the way he pinned me down, like he was in control, but then he let me use him to find my release makes my heart hammer in my chest. I don’t know what changed last night. We’d been ramping up our touching and kissing this week in preparation for this interview, but nothing like last night has happened since Vegas. Since Griffin told me he thought we should keep things platonic. Now, I don’t know where we stand. I don’t know what it means or if it was a one-time thing. All I know is I liked it. Aside from Vegas, it was the most erotic experience of my life and he didn’t even touch me.
I try to steady the rhythm of my pulse, but it’s near impossible. Not when Griffin’s sitting next to me, holding my hand so I don’t chew off my manicure.
That’s the thing about him, one minute my panties are wet, and the next my ribcage is tightening at his sweet gestures. It’s all so confusing.
When we arrive at the warehouse building, Nakita greets us at the main entrance, then takes us up to the third floor.
“Coffee? Tea? Champagne?”
“I’ll have tea,” I say. There’s no way I can do champagne on an unsettled stomach.
“Water, please,” Griffin adds.
Nakita disappears behind a door on the far side of the small space.
Not a minute later, the elevator door opens and Kandi Kline exits.
I’ve seen pictures of her, so I know it’s her, but she is even more intimidating in person. Short, jet-black hair, flawless skin with rosy cheeks and fine arching eyebrows. She’s dressed in wide-leg trousers and a fitted blazer, the soft lavender a stark contrast to her sharp features. Her dark eyes focus in on us.
“Bonjour, ravi de vous rencontrer.”
Oh, shit. Was I supposed to learn French?
I’m frozen to the spot, uncertain of how to respond when Griffin steps forward to extend his hand.
“Vous aussi, Madame,” he says confidently.
She looks between us.
All I can do is smile. Yes, my husband speaks French. I totally knew that.
“Vous êtes tous les deux assez beaux ensemble,” she directs at Griffin.
“Merci. Nous sommes heureux d’être ici.” While I can tell he’s not fluent, hearing Griffin speak French is making me flustered.
A smile spreads across Kandi’s face. “Charmed. I just returned from Paris. That city gives me life.” She extends her hand to him and he kisses it, then she turns her attention on me.
“Emma Warner. Pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine,” I tell her, taking her hand. It’s unnaturally smooth. I wonder what moisturizer she uses.
Nakita appears with our drinks, then leaves again to get Kandi a cappuccino.
“Take a seat, I’m going to grab my notes.” Kandi indicates for us to sit in the chairs.
“You know French?” I whisper to Griffin, when she’s out of earshot.
“I studied it in undergrad for my language credits. I don’t remember most of it. Mostly short everyday phrases.”
“Say something else.”
He looks toward the ceiling, clearly thinking about it.
“Tu es á moi,” he says, finally.
“Tu es á what?” I ask, reaching into my purse to grab my phone so I can write the phrase down and Google translate it later.
