1
Griffin
“About fucking time, Forest,” I say.
I set my gin and tonic on the table and accept the thick envelope from my assistant, Bellamy Forest, when she arrives at my table. I’m enjoying celebratory drinks with my younger brother and business partner, Ryker, because we closed a big deal this afternoon. Our eldest brother, Damon, was also here, at least until he caught sight of some sultry redhead at another table a few minutes ago and took off for a closer look.
Bemelmans on the Upper East Side isn’t exactly the place for conducting business, especially with both the pianist and the crowd in full swing, but I need to spend a good chunk of my weekend reviewing these documents before the closing on Monday. Sucks for me, but it’s tough out here for a real estate mogul who wants to stay on top of his game. True, I could have arranged for a courier to deliver the documents, but Bellamy is my right-hand person. One of the very few trustworthy people I know. Has been since the second she walked into my life a year ago. And she might as well earn the big bucks I pay her to keep my trains running on time. Even if it is both her twenty-sixth birthday and a Friday night, as evidenced by the spiky heels and little black dress she seems to be wearing under her blue shawl.
“Guess I’ll cancel that missing persons report I just phoned in,” I add.
An asshole comment? Of course. But I’m an asshole. Ask anyone. Luckily, Bellamy’s salary includes a hardship premium for dealing with me, and we’ve developed a system. I make a comment like that, she responds with a sarcastic little reminder of what a jackass I am, something like “Sorry, boss. Didn’t realize there was traffic in Manhattan” and we keep it moving. I’m a busy guy. I don’t have time to make friends. She understands that. That’s why we get along so well professionally. We have our roles and we stick to them.
Which is why I’m surprised when she says the following:
“Sorry, boss. Cops put a boot on my magic carpet. It was double-parked. Are we done here? I’d love to enjoy my twenty-sixth birthday before my twenty-seventh rolls around. Unless you plan to ruin my entire night.”
I’d just tossed the envelope onto the table and started to reach for my drink again, but now I freeze. Exchange startled looks with my brother just to make sure I really heard that edgy tone coming from her mouth. Glance up and take a good look at Bellamy for the first time, wondering if I’ve been imagining the way she’s gotten under my skin in the last several days.
Bellamy is crisp. She is cool. She is eminently professional. The thing she is not? Challenging. The thing she does not do? Make me think about her as a person.
As a woman.
But no, there it is. The veiled What are you going to do about it? in her stiff posture, squared shoulders and glinting brown eyes.
And, I gotta tell you, I find it fascinating.
One other thing I should mention? Bellamy Forest is easy on the eyes.
Look, I’m a heterosexual guy. I’m into women. Into everything about women. All women are beautiful.
But Bellamy Forest is beautiful. About average height, she’s a perfect figure eight, with plenty of boobs in front, tons of ass out back and a tiny waist in between. She’s fit, with toned legs and shoulders.
I love a fit woman.
And let’s talk about her face for a minute. Big brown eyes, like I said. Cute little nose. X-rated mouth. English rose complexion. The kind of long and sun-kissed wavy brown hair that belongs in some glossy magazine ad for a high-end salon.
I’m not going to lie. I noticed all that about Bellamy the second she walked into my office for her interview a year ago. I also noticed her summa cum laude degree from Barnard College, her full-time gig as a tutor that helped her finance said degree and her ambition to work her amazing ass off and save money for law school. I can control my baser impulses when necessary, and it was necessary if I wanted to hire the best candidate for the job. Not to mention the fact that I don’t want to get sued for sexual harassment. So I put my dick on lockdown, my attraction to her on a shelf and hired her.
Things have worked out great. Until now.
Now? My attraction is off that shelf. It didn’t ask for my permission to jump down. It just did. And my dick is starting to seriously resent the lockdown.
“Actually, we’re not done.” I stare her dead in the face, eager to see what she’ll do next. Not a good idea, for which I partially blame this second gin and tonic. “I’m going to need you for a bit longer tonight. You might want to let your friends know you’ll be late.”
Confession: I went to the office kitchen earlier for a cup of coffee, during which time I overheard Bellamy discussing tonight’s plans with another staffer that she’s friendly with. Naturally, they hushed up when I walked into the room, but not before I heard mention of drinks, dinner, a club and some sexy guy everyone wants Bellamy to meet. Not that anyone asked my opinion, but I was fine with all of it. Until I heard about this sexy guy. The idea of Bellamy hooking up with some faceless sexy guy rubs me the wrong way.
Matter of fact, it rubs me so wrong that it wrecked most of my afternoon while I tried to convince myself that I’m not jealous.
This was an unexpected and unwelcome development. I can’t figure out when things went sideways on me. Can’t stop wishing I could get this runaway genie back in the bottle.
Don’t get me wrong. Bellamy is a grown woman. I’m sure she’s had sex since she joined my company’s payroll. I never thought about it. Never cared. Until this afternoon, when the information about her personal life whacked me on the back of the head like a nail-studded two-by-four swung by Barry Bonds.
The bottom line? I don’t like the idea of my Bellamy (not that she’s my Bellamy, but you know what I mean) spending her birthday fucking some loser, and I’m not crying over the fact that I have the power to put the kibosh on those plans, at least temporarily.
I’m not crying at all.
She blinks. Reins in her frown with what looks like a significant amount of effort. “How late?”
“Hard to say,” I say, shrugging. “Will that be a problem?”
To her credit, she manages a smile. A crooked smile, but still credible.
“Not at all,” she says, glancing around just as a nearby couple get up and leave their table. “Why don’t I just sit over there, since there’s no room at this table? Damon. Ryker. Hope you two have a great night.”
“Hope you get to enjoy what’s left of your birthday, Bellamy,” Ryker says.
“Don’t let him give you too much shit, Bellamy,” Damon tells her.
“Don’t worry,” she says, laughing. “I’ve got this.”
With that, she turns to go while also unwrapping that blue shawl and giving me a spectacular and mouth-watering view of the body she normally keeps tucked inside her business attire. Tonight? It’s poured into a little black dress with heavy emphasis on little. It’s got no sleeves. No nothing other than a stretchy tube that bares a fair amount of cleavage before clinging to her hips and ass and trailing off well before it hits her knees. But before I can lament the fact that I can’t see much of her legs, she takes another step, revealing a slit and a juicy stretch of thigh.
The sort of thigh a man wants wrapped around his waist when he’s buried deep inside a gorgeous woman.