Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) (21 page)

She shook her head.

“I need to say something.” He looked around the small hallway. “But not here.”

Relenting, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. She reached over and flicked on the light. Griff walked in behind her and closed the door. He blinked. The half-painted wall in front of him made his middle sink. “Gray?”

“It’s a reflection of my heart, remember?”

He felt sick; he’d done this to her. She’d brought him light and love. He’d brought her sadness and heartache. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For deceiving you. Revenge was more important than the people involved.”

“I know, Griff.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

She stood facing him with her arms crossed over her chest. God, she looked adorable nearly swallowed up in his jacket. “When did you think about me?”

“Always.”

“Ha! Before or after we were married?”

“From the first night we met. I was always trying to protect you.”

That must have sunk in; she frowned.

“I wanted you then. Do you have any idea what you look like when the firelight plays in your hair and over your skin? I sat at my desk half the night because I didn’t trust myself.” He smiled. “You begged me to sleep with you.”

She swatted him. “I did not.”

“Then when we’re in bed, you roll over and press yourself against my back.”

“Griffin James, or whoever you are, you are so in trouble.”

“You put your arm around me and held my hand all night long. That was the night I fell in love with a pixie.”

Her wide, green questioning eyes gazed up at him. “Is that the truth? I don’t know what is anymore.”

“From me?” Pain slashed through him. “I know. I did that to you. To us.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you for what you did.”

Griffin cupped her face in his palms and tenderly kissed her soft, sweet lips. “I don’t think I could if I were you either.” Reluctantly, he pulled away, easing his jacket off of her shoulders. Deep inside, he knew there was more to come. Much more. “I’m sorry, Pixie.”

His heart ached so much he thought it was breaking all over again.

Griffin avoided the bed. He couldn’t lie down there, couldn’t torture himself with thoughts of making love to Priscilla there. Instead, he showered, shaved, and changed only to find himself back in his study and sitting in her pink chair with his feet resting on the matching ottoman.

He sighed, letting the tension siphon out of him like a deflating balloon. Closing his eyes, he welcomed the rest that came. But his dreams plagued him: red-headed pixies and monsters with fangs chased him.

A bell jolted him awake. It rang again. Griff got up, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he headed to the front door. He opened it to a delivery driver.

“You Griffin James?”

“That’s me.”

He handed him the clipboard and pen. “Sign here for your delivery.”

“I didn’t order anything.”

The guy checked the paperwork. “Priscilla King James did. You related, right?”

“My wife,” he said, liking the sound of it.

The middle-aged guy chuckled. “Well, you know the missus probably wanted to surprise you.” He shrugged. “Paying us time and a half, too. The instructions are for us to unload, bring them in, and open the crates. Um…let’s see, in the study.”

Griffin frowned, figuring it was a late delivery for the house. Why else would she have sent him a present?

The heavy wooden crates, one tall and bulky, the other short and squat, proved more work than any of them imagined. Getting them off the truck and on the cart was the easy part. Wheeling them over the threshold and down the long hall slowed their progress so they could avoid marring the freshly painted rooms.

“Where do you want it?” the younger, dark-haired guy asked.

Griff nodded to the blank wall. “Over there.” He had no idea what could be so big.

The two men eased it down, and then took out their crowbars, yanking nails half-way out and with each board exposing a little bit more of the mystery. When they were done, Griffin stood in awe.

“A jukebox?” His uniform shirt had Jr. on it.

“Unbelievable,” the older, balding man chimed in. “I remember these. Look at that curve, neon lights…what a beauty. Hey, the other crate must be the vinyl. Oh, man, the good old days.”

Within an hour, the delivery men had it loaded and ready to play. “Here, let me plug it in and see if it works.” Jr. found the cord and the wall socket, making the connection. It lit up.

Griff shook his head. It was the perfect match for the one in the best burger shack he’d taken her to after their first ride on his Harley. Big, round top with vibrant orange, red, and green neon lights, it shouted life and fun. She’d listened to what he wanted: music in his life, classic rock. And she certainly delivered on it.

Why couldn’t she go back and replay every one of their conversations and listen to Griff’s words? He never out and out lied to her. Never. His lies were by omission only, for her protection and her sisters’.

The older guy, Sal, the uniform name read, dropped a quarter in. The metal coin jingled as it made its way to the box. A few seconds later, the arms moved, selecting the 45. Bob Seger’s voice blast out.

“Cool,” Jr. said.

“The best, hands down.” Sal smiled. “Man, they don’t make music like that anymore.”

Griffin’s heart tumbled. He thought, they didn’t make pixies like that anymore either. His pixie.

***

Sunday afternoon and with the store closed, it felt like a ghost town on the first floor. Griffin bolted up the halted escalator to get to the second floor. He smiled at the discovery he found there. “Finished?” he asked the foreman, who directed the guys on clean up.

“Just waiting for the paint to dry fully. Should be another couple of hours. We’ll get the LED lights mounted under the shelves then.”

“To be safe, we’ll restock early in the morning before the store reopens. I’ve scheduled a team to come in already.”

“It went smooth. No major hiccups.”

“Good job.” Griff shook the guy’s hand. “I like how you work and the quality of work your company does. Are you interested in more projects like this, overnight remodels for King’s?”

“Who wouldn’t with overnight pay, free lunch, snacks and drinks thrown in?”

“I’ll get back to you in another week to plan the next one. I foresee about seven to eight more over the coming months.” Priscilla had submitted redesigns for all the departments. Her sisters hadn’t given her talent much merit, until now. She’d outdone herself.

“Perfect. Steady work—we’ll take it.”

“I’ll have my assistant, Peg, call you to set up a meeting to go over the details.”

Griffin knew this remodel, small yet impressive, would change the tone of King’s. The slight difference would bring in more business. That, along with Priscilla’s expanding ideas on investing in more innovative ideas for the different departments in the store, would secure their hold in the market. More interest, more business, and more sales.

Pixie dust
.

His pride for his wife grew more and more every day. It was too bad he’d never be able to tell her that again.

***

Griff gathered the blueprints and lists from the remodel area, while leaving the set-up plan-o-gram pages tucked in a neat little folder taped to the glass door. The sales staff in the early morning hours tomorrow couldn’t miss the instructions.

He had reports on his desk for Charlie to see. He might as well grab those, too, before dumping the remodel paperwork on her desk.

In less than fifteen minutes, Griff strolled down the empty executive hall to Charlie’s office. The nice, cozy room was empty. Not surprising since Charlie and Alex agreed Sunday was the one day they put aside for themselves, especially now that the twins were coming.

He set his things on one corner of her desk, trying to contain the clutter. He found a rubber band to bind the documents together. “Better.” He glanced around for a sticky it note. He could always go back to his office, but he thought he’d give the top drawer a try.

It stuck. Easing down in her chair, he looked at the area on each side of the drawer. Nothing seemed amiss. He felt along the edges: nothing rough or uneven. Frowning, he reached back, running his hand over the exposed slats. “Nothing unusual.” But then he felt something metal in the far back. He touched it, releasing a lever; the metal struck wood. “What in the world?” He tugged on the drawer. It shifted on that side. He found another latch on the other side and flipped it. The drawer came out smoothly now.

At first he couldn’t figure what the latches had held. But the side wood panel slid away when he put pressure on it. Griff sucked in a sharp breath as an old heavy envelope spilled to the floor. He snatched it up, feeling the weight of it. On the opposite side, he slid back that panel. Two more envelopes dropped out.

Griff lined them up on Charlie’s desk, wishing to rip them open and be done with it. But, a part of him held back. He’d hurt the King daughters. He’d deserved to be kicked out. They hadn’t done so. Charlie and Francie still believed in him; they’d spoken of the proof he’d already given them of his hard work, devotion, and making King’s a success. It was too bad Priscilla didn’t. Either way, he vowed they would be the ones to discover the contents. Not him.

It was time they took the reins in every sense of the word.

***

Monday morning came too early for Priscilla. She rolled over into a fetal position, cursing herself for not bringing out a warmer blanket last night. An ache shot through her; she missed Griff. His warmth, his presence… She shivered, burrowing under the covers and trying to block out the pain of her bruised and broken heart.

A knock on the door startled her.

“Go away,” she called.

“It’s me, Rico, and you’d better let me in if you know what’s good for you. I have that new chai tea you like.”

“You are such a sweet talker,” she said, shoving back the covers and racing for the door. It took five seconds to unlock and open it, and then she scurried back to the daybed and under the covers.

“Well, sleepy-head, hello to you, too,” Rico said. “And to think I ran all the way here to show you your hot man.”

She sat up straight now. “What about Griff?”

“See? I told you.” He tsked. “You still love him.” He dug out his new tablet from his backpack and waved it at her. ”He’s on here.”

“Don’t tell me he signed up on your site.”

“Better. Yours.”

Priscilla shot out of bed. “Where? Show me?”

Side by side on the couch, she sipped tea while he powered on, found King’s website, and brought up her design blog. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Griff took it hostage for today. You read. I’ll drink my cafe mocha. You’re going to be shocked,” he ended in a sing song way.

Butterflies fluttered in her middle. Her heartbeat raced when she stared at Griffin’s picture—obviously he’d taken it of himself at his desk—but the rest of the pictures were of his study, capturing her decorating. “I can’t believe he did this.” Off-limits, he protested, every time she went too close to his inner sanctuary. Now, he’d willingly opened the door on his private world.

“It gets better,” Rico said in that same sing-song voice.

Priscilla began to read. She sucked in her breath. Griff poured his heart out, describing his life as a child growing up with his loving father, his difficult time in the foster-care system, the chip he had on his shoulder, the run-ins with the law, and his bad attitude. She gulped when he confessed to legally changing his name and joining the military to start a new life. He had a purpose. He had a drive to defend his country. But, like most everything in his life, it ended. His shoulder wound and the pain sent him spiraling down.

She knew he glossed over his revenge; he never mentioned his plans to destroy her mother. That Priscilla was grateful for; it would have exposed the family to much more. But he did say his narrow-minded ways had done several things: made him a gazillionaire, as his wife called him; brought him enormous success in his field; pushed people away; closed off his heart; and cost him the love of his life.

Tears smarted her eyes. She tried to swipe them away, but they fell nonetheless.

“He loves, loves, loves you, girl,” Rico said, pointing to the screen. “Keep reading.”

“Griff,” she said softly at the words he’d written about her. He never believed in love at first sight, but, it had happened to him. Only he didn’t know it at the time. He spoke of her adventurous nature and her excitement at discovering new things and how that had made him see the simplest things in a different light. Also, her eye for design. Room by room, she’d transformed his home. However, day by day, she’d shown him nothing but love, transforming and healing his heart. Until then, he’d only had a mission. She taught him how to dream. Only for him, it was too late; he’d pushed her away. But he would always love her. She would always hold his heart.

Priscilla cupped her hand over her mouth. “He put everything out there.”

“He did that for you, girl.” Rico nudged her arm. “How romantic. I wish I could find a man who would do that for me.”

“He loves me. That wasn’t a lie.”

“Duh! He’s still wearing his wedding ring. You’re wearing yours, too, for that matter. And I told you all of this when you cried on my shoulder the other day. But, would you believe me? No.”

“What am I going to do now, Rico? He hates my mother—”

“Ah, excuse me, most people do, so what’s the diff?”

“How can I ignore that or everything he’s done?”

“Listen, you don’t want him, then I’ll take him off your hands.”

She swatted his arm. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“I am being serious.” He smiled.

Priscilla chuckled. “Quit, will you? I have a dilemma here.”

Rico shrugged. “Only if you want it to be a dilemma.”

Frowning, she asked, “What does that mean?”

He tapped the screen. “Take a note from your hubby. It’s all in the way you see things. Missions or dreams? You choose.”