“Myself.”
“You don’t scare me.” He didn’t.
“I do.”
“You scare yourself? That’s just McGruff. He’s easy to spot and—”
“Easy to tame?” He reached for her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm.
Tingles scattered where his lips touched and raced over her flesh. “If you’re a pixie.”
***
Priscilla stood staring into space at his kitchen sink. The lukewarm water rushed through her fingers.
Griffin came up behind her and turned off the faucets. Gingerly, he wiped her hands on a towel. “Is it that difficult to imagine?”
“Marriage? Yes. It’s so drastic. Can’t we just get pretend engaged?”
His stillness vibrated around her. “I doubt that will stop your mother from interfering. Planting stories in the press, pictures maybe. Even doubts about cheating—me, probably. It would benefit her cause to set up the sordid details with the focus on me to gain sympathy for you, the victim. It could get very ugly.”
The breath whooshed out of her lungs. The copies of the gossip column headlines he’d shown her rushed back. Her mother had stooped so low with Francie and Marcus. With only one unmarried daughter left, who knew what she’d try this time as desperation took hold? Her repeated calls testified to that already. Griff was right, of course.
He drew her into him, her back against his front. Warmth and his scent surrounded her. She melted. “I don’t want anything, not material things, from you. I’ll sign a pre-nup. That should stop most of the rumors. I admit marrying you will help my position at King’s. It will make it easier for me to make the necessary changes without a lot of resistance from the loyal employees. But, Priscilla, I can do that on my own. It will just take longer. I’ve done it before, so don’t think I’m using you for that.”
It had crossed her mind, briefly, and then she’d shaken it off. No, Griffin James, self-made gazillionaire, wouldn’t need anyone or anything to help him advance his career any more than he could do on his own. He’d done it on his own thus far. In fact, taking over at King’s almost seemed like a downgrade.
Sighing, she turned in his arms. She leaned her head on his chest, hearing his strong, solid heartbeat. Right now, her heart ached. Lifting her head, she gazed into his eyes. “I don’t think I can marry you or anyone else.”
***
Dazed, Griffin threw himself into his job. He forced himself to run on autopilot, relying on his days of just surviving. The store benefited from his razor-sharp focus and the extra attention. He’d tweaked the website, drawing in more immediate online sales. On the floor, he’d initiated a challenge among the employees. King’s needed their help, their expertise. Suggestions poured in. Griff assigned and delegated duties and hand-picked mentors to groom the new leaders among them.
He’d set the wheels in motion to launch not only a continuing line for the Charmings brand, but for King’s as well. It was about time they developed and created their own products to sell. The public clamored for anything related to the King daughters. And the spin the store had taken on with the recent marriages of the two oldest generated a refreshing sizzle in town and among the industry.
The store buzzed with excitement. The air crackled with electricity. A new day had begun.
He’d plotted to ruin King’s for years; now he doubted he could carry through with that quest when so many people would be harmed.
Was it even in him to try to fail? he wondered, too numb to care about the answer at the moment.
Griff may have shifted his outlook on the store itself and empathized with the employees’ fate. However, he continued to sharpen and fine-tune his revenge against the woman who stole his childhood and robbed him of his father. She would pay, somehow and in some way. Agnes King would not get away with what she’d done to him and his family.
Through it all, despite all he’d done to eradicate it, one thought persisted.
Priscilla had turned him down. That hurt more than he realized. It derailed his latest plan, but it was the invisible wound to his heart that cut the deepest. God, he was falling for her. Correction, he already fell. Hard.
How the hell did that happen?
Now, he cursed under his breath.
“Holy moly, the paint’s peeling off the walls at that one,” Peg said, scooping up a file from the corner of his desk.
Griff pulled up short. “Sorry, Peg,” he muttered.
“Nothing I haven’t said or heard before, Boss.” She scooted out of his office. “I’ll just leave you to,” she waved her hand and wrinkled her nose, “whatever you want. Throw something maybe?”