Taming McGruff(32)

Propping his elbows on his desk, he dropped his head into his hands. The pounding in his temples persisted.

The door clicked open. “Forgot. Meeting in ten.” She closed it again.

Silence reverberated. His mind swirled with thoughts; memories of his father and the day Griff was taken away to foster care drummed over and over again. But his heart tore wide open. No one stays.

That sexy little pixie had crawled in and around his defenses and stole her way into his heart.

He blew out a hot breath.

It had been days since her refusal. She dodged him at work, staying holed up in the salon as the packing continued around the regular appointments. After King’s closed Saturday night, the construction crew would return, work all through the night, all day Sunday, and finish up by Monday in time to open again. It was a grueling schedule, but one that had to be adhered to in order to cause the least disruption to the salon and the store.

Avoiding her had taken its own costly toll. He couldn’t afford to lose anymore. Failure was not an option.

Griffin shoved away from his desk, stood, and then marched to the door and flung it open. On the way by her desk, he said, “Peg, cancel the meeting.”

“You got it.”

A few minutes later, he arrived at the salon. The young girl at the desk gulped when she spotted him. “Mr. James. I didn’t know you were coming.” She ditched her bag of chips and then brushed the crumbs off her skirt. “Ah, we’re short-handed, you know. I was just finishing my lunch.”

He didn’t have time for explanations. “Is Priscilla King here?” Gazing around at the curtained-off area, he noticed preparations for the remodel already in progress.

“She’s right behind you.”

Griffin turned around to see Priscilla, accompanied by Rico, enter the salon. Their heads were together and they were laughing at something. A jolt went through him when her green-eyed gaze landed on him.

“Ah…ah,” she stuttered. “Mr. James.”

“If it isn’t Griff,” Rico said, coming up and tapping him on the arm. “My, you look spiffy today. I like the black suit with the dove gray shirt and tie. Don’t you, Prissy?”

She remained silent. Her friend jabbed her with an elbow.

“You have questions I need to answer?” Griff asked.

“I’m busy.”

“No, we’re good,” the girl behind the desk volunteered. “The phones aren’t ringing and my next appointment’s at two, so I can still cover the desk for you until you’re done.”

“I’ll help,” Rico offered, going around the desk and touching her hair. “Love your color. But, we gotta do something with that style.”

“Really? I thought this worked.”

“Doesn’t quite go with your face shape. You see, you’re an oval, but that length is dragging you down, girl.”

Griffin tuned them out and focused on Priscilla. “Shall we?”

“Where?”

“Your office.”

She looked stricken. Instead of replying, she led the way to the back of the salon. His middle tightened at the gentle sway of her hips. In black leggings, the black suede boots she wore the first night they met, and a long, purple silk blouse, she really did look like a pixie. She entered the tidy little space off the supply room.

Stepping inside, it felt more like a coat closet.

“There’s no door,” she said needlessly, and then offered him the lone visitor’s chair beside the desk.

Griff sat down, crammed between the end of the desk and the wall. He eased back as much as he could, and then rested his right ankle on his left knee while leaning back with his right elbow on her small, but neat desk. “Nice place,” he drawled.

“Funny,” she retorted, dropping down into her chair.

“Please tell me that as part of the remodel you get a bigger office.”

“Technically, it won’t be mine. I’m the temp manager by default. Rico’s in the wedding boutique now and no one else here wanted the position. We’re in the process of hiring a new salon manager. And I’m supposed to redo a house. Unless, of course, you’ve come to tell me the remodel for your house is shut down.”

He eyed her closely, noting the light purple smudges under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping either. That should give him some comfort. It didn’t. “That’s to be determined.” He checked his watch. “I intended to meet with Charlie and Marcus, about five minutes ago, to discuss it. I canceled.”

She swallowed hard. Leaning toward him, she asked, “What will it take to convince you to go through with this?”

“You know the answer to that already.”