Griffin
The decade gap I usually ignore between Cosy and me becomes glaringly obvious as I stand at the podium and take in the sea of eager faces, knapsacks tucked at their feet, tablets, and an occasional notebook poised in their hands, waiting for me to begin. A few at the back are clearly texting based on the way their heads are down and they’re not paying attention to anything but their laps.
Cosy, however, is sitting in the first row, directly in front of me. Judging from her expression, she’s as surprised to see me up here as I am to see her in the audience. Maybe I shouldn’t be, considering she told me she was on a facility tour. I just didn’t piece it together with what I’m doing right now.
Yesterday, the speaker ended up having to cancel, which left them short a presenter. So when I was asked to take his place, I said yes, even though I prefer presenting in a boardroom.
And now there’s a very sexy distraction sitting in the audience, wearing a gauzy blue shirtdress, belted at the waist. Like pretty much everything Cosy owns apart from jeans, it’s on the right side of too short. A lot of inches of thigh are exposed, and she keeps tugging at the hem to keep it from riding up. She’s paired it with gold ballet flats, and for some godforsaken reason her outfit is making me hard. Which isn’t great considering I’m standing in front of a room of twenty-somethings, and I need the blood flow to stay in the head on my shoulders so I can manage this presentation.
The girl on Cosy’s right—who I recognize from the sex shop—whispers something, causing Cosy to blanch visibly. On her left is a guy; remnants of teen acne litter his jaw. He’s wiry and blond, the opposite of me. He leans into Cosy’s personal space every time he speaks to her, which is often. Back the fuck off, Bieber wannabe, she’s mine.
I drag my gaze back to Cosy, who’s busy giving me the stink eye. She mouths What the fuck. I think what’s happening here is pretty self-evident, and it’s not as if I have control over the situation.
Nancy, my assigned assistant, calls for the attention of the room and introduces me. For the next twenty minutes I give a presentation on autopilot and try not to stare at Cosy, whose eyes are locked on her tablet screen. Her knuckles are white and her jaw is tight.
The most annoying part is how often the kid beside her leans over to whisper in her ear. Every time he does, she subtly shifts closer to the girl on her other side. I don’t know if it’s because I’m standing up here, a witness to his obvious attempt at flirting, or because she’s truly opposed to his attention. Either way, I’m going to find out what the deal is.
Once I’m finished presenting, I take a seat at the table and the on-site hotel manager steps up to the podium. I slip my phone out of my pocket, thumb typing a message to Cosy under the table. I realize after I hear the faint buzz coming from where she’s sitting that she can’t check it during the presentation without looking rude.
She shoots me yet another glare and then goes back to being tight jawed and tense. I have to sit there for another twenty minutes while the rest of the panel presents, and then we field questions from the students. Once it wraps up, they’re supposed to split into two groups so they can tour the facilities and see how things run behind the scenes.
I have a plan to pull Cosy aside, but I’m bombarded by a group of students and one of the female teachers who keeps touching my arm every time she asks a question. It’s annoying. Eventually I manage to get my ass out of the room so I can go in search of Cosy and find out what all the angry glaring is about.
I send her another message asking for her whereabouts.
I get a response a few seconds later.
MILLS HOTELS???? REALLY??? WTF?
It’s followed by half a dozen emojis ranging from anger to surprise and that weird one with the what the hell hands. I’m not sure why this is such a surprise, or why it warrants shouty caps and all the emojis. I fire one back with a single question mark.
I follow the trail of knapsack-clad students and finally spot Cosy trailing behind the rest of her group, phone in her hand, frown firmly in place. She slows and punches at the screen, falling farther behind the rest of her group. I use her distraction to my advantage. Taking her by surprise, I thread my arm through hers and guide her toward the closest open door. I close it behind us for privacy and realize a second too late that it’s a supply closet, not an empty office.
“What the fuck, Griffin?” Cosy shouts.
“Shh. Keep your voice down.” This would probably look bad if someone accidentally stumbled across us.
Cosy’s expression shifts from surprise to disbelief and then annoyance. “You scared the crap out of me! What do you think you’re doing dragging me into a damn supply closet?”
“Why are you so angry?”
She blinks a bunch of times and throws her hands up in the air. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it would’ve been nice to know I was dating a guy with more money than freaking God!”
“Pretty sure God doesn’t deal with dollar bills.” Even I can admit that was weak.
“This isn’t a joke, Griffin. I need to get back to my class before they notice I’m gone, and you need to get back to running the goddamn world.” She shoves my shoulder and turns around, reaching for the door handle.
“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.