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22
Gunner
One Bishop, Two Bishops, Three Bishops, More
Isit on Libby’s ratty couch wearing gray sweats and holding a coffee in my hand.
A coffee Libby made.
With one eye on her ass, and the other on the TV, I watch the news.
Griffin. Griffin. Griffin.It’s always on loud, always on repeat.
I love the empire I’ve built, and worked myself close to death to achieve what I have, but it annoys the shit out of me that people feel entitled to my business. I am not a publicly listed company. I do not have a board of directors or a fleet of corporate assholes to report to. Griffin Industries is not a company made up of stocks that are for sale, I am my only boss, and I am the only person that will make decisions for Griffin.
The world thinks my aversion to the media is a ploy for more attention. But in reality, I just want to be left the fuck alone.
Women claim relationships with me every single week. Women I’ve never met,influencerswho want screen time, models that want attention, or decoys who’ve been hired by other companies.
It’s insane that people go after my private life, but it’s gratifying that they interview my current ‘mistress’ right now. Live and on the front steps of Griffin Plaza, she tells them of our night together… last night. She tells them how she’s an aspiring model, and knowing me has helped her.
It would normally be annoying, but Libby bangs around in the kitchen and laughs. “I wonder how she knows you were a good lay last night? I didn’t text her the pictures yet.”
“She’s assuming. You’ve seen my body, right? You can tell just by looking that I fuck like a champ.”
She snickers and tosses a pan onto the stove. She made me coffee. And now she’s making lunch. I feel like a king.
“And you’re so humble about your… prowess. It’s truly sexy how humble you are.”
I bring the coffee up and sip, while Kylie – the chick on the TV – avoids the more detailed questions the interviewer is asking. Things like; what does the inside of my apartment look like?She wouldn’t know, she’s never been inside. Or, how long has she and I been friends?We aren’t. Instead, she plugs her own interests, and when she has absolutely nothing worth listening to in regards to the elusive Theo Griffin, they pan away and speak about my net worth instead.
Steak sizzles on the stove in the kitchen, and the smell of clean protein wafts through the small apartment and makes my stomach jump with hunger.
We’ve done nothing today but lay around and enjoy this thing we have. We bask in the promises we’ve made, and the comfort that we’ve both agreed to compromise. No decisions have been made yet, neither of us will relocate or change jobs right this second. We’re going to take a minute to discuss our options, and when we decide our next move, we’ll make it together.
It’s the weekend, so though Annaliese is back to providing me with hourly updates, none of them are urgent enough for me to open a laptop. My phone is enough for now.
“So, I was thinking…” Libby leaves the steak to cook, and winds her way out of the galley kitchen in the sexiest pair of skintight gym shorts. They’re the kind women wear to cross-fit classes, because they’re easy to move in, and they’re like catnip on a man’s brain. Her ass – as Dolly so eloquently spoke of mine – sits like a shelf. Her tank top is baggy, but tied in a knot at the side, so it rides up and shows off one and a half abs. “Gunner?” She waits for my eyes to leave her stomach. “Wanna get away for a bit?”
I hit mute on the TV and set my coffee down. She surprises me, so I turn and give her my full attention. “Huh?”
Her cheeks burn as she drops down on the couch opposite me. Bringing one leg up, she leans forward and makes her stomach roll. “I don’t meanawayaway. I don’t mean traveling somewhere foreign. I mean, can we agree to take a week or two together? It’s just…” She hesitates. “We don’t really know each other. We skipped a whole bunch of the stuff we’re supposed to do. We haven’t dated, we haven’t eaten a real meal together. We haven’t done laundry together, or showered at the same time. We haven’t spent time where we do absolutely nothing, so how can I know that you don’t chew weird while I read?”
The red sweater that is always present in our world is tucked half under the back cushion of the couch, and as though in natural reflex, Lib grabs it and begins fussing with the zipper.
I can picture twenty years of her doing that without thought. She has no clue she’s even touching something that once belonged to me. She has no clue that she reaches out for me without thought.
“We can stay here if you want,” she continues, “or we can go to your apartment in the city. I can put in for time off at the station. In eleven years, I havenevertaken leave, so X won’t mind. I want it to just be us. No work, no one else. Here, or there. At the beach, or a cabin in the woods. Absolutely anywhere, but there must be rules.”
I lift a brow and grin. She wouldn’t be Libby Tate, a cop’s daughter, and a cop herself, if she didn’t have rules. “What kinda rules?”
“Like, it has to bejustus. No one else is invited. Not an assistant, not a driver, not a chef or personal trainer or whatever other weird staff you have because you’re too lazy to organize your own life.” Her eyes drop to my phone. “You can have email communications, since obviously Griffin still needs their CEO sometimes, but you have to limit how often you check. We can head to the city first, you can organize your people and tell them you’re on honeymoon or something. Then we’re out, and you’re exclusively mine for at least long enough that I can get annoyed with how you chew.”
“Youwantto find something to hate about me.”
She snickers. “I won’t have to search hard, I’m sure. It doesn’t have to be an extended time, but… a week minimum. I know a week is a long time to you, but I’ve waited a long time for this, so I think I’m entitled to that, no?”
“Okay…” Swallowing, I act as though I’m giving her request genuine thought. “So in exchange for my week with no one to cook or clean for me, I get…?”
