Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 41

Chapter 41

That kiss–fuck! That

kiss

burned me alive.

And now I’m sitting here, surrounded by glass, steel, and hundreds of employees, all while pretending my entire world hasn’t shifted around a woman who still doesn’t even know what I am.

I abruptly push out of my chair, almost causing it to crash into the antique executive credenza behind my desk, and pace to the window, with my arms crossed and my jaw as tight as a rigidly coiled spring.

I want to call her. No. I need to call her.

But.. L. Don’t. Have. Her. Fucking Number.

1, Thane Draeven, who has a dossier on every head of state, criminal, and corporation leader on three continents, do not have the phone number of the woman who curled into my chest in the back of my car last night and fell asleep to the rhythm of my heartbeat.

1 press my thumb and index finger to the bridge of my nose and bark, “Griffin.”

“Yes, sir?” he answers s innocuously.

“Get me the bookstore’s contact file. I want everything she has listed–emails, business numbers, and next–of–kin, if they exist.”

He hesitates, and that damn almost–smile returns, before he says, “Of course. Though I imagine it would’ve been easier to ask her before you let her fall asleep on you.”

At his apparent insubordination, I swing around towards him and demand, “Did I ask for commentary?”

“Ne, sir,” he answers plainly, unfazed by my rising irritation.

“Then shut up and move,” I order, fed up with his bullshit.

Griffin leaves, a serene smile lingering on his face, and the door shuts behind him with a click that echoes louder than it should.

The silence around me is unbearable. My office, usually also a sanctuary of order, power, and control, now feels empty too. Her laughter isn’t resonating around me. Her scent isn’t permeating my office space. Her smart mouth isn’t sassing me at every turn.

I sit back down behind my desk, and the laptop screen blinks at me. There are fourteen emails, two flagged as ‘urgent‘, and none of them matter.

Instead of answering anything, I rip open the top drawer of my desk and slam it shut again almost immediately.

Every phone call is barked into, and every suggestion in the moming meeting gets shot down. The Singapore proposal gets sent back five times, each time with a new list of nitpicky corrections that would make my own legal team cry. By mid–morning, two employees ask to reschedule their meetings, and one even fakes a dentist appointment. Griffin stays calm through it all, even when chew him out for bringing the wrong report I didn’t ask for until five minutes ago.

He just patiently stands there like a man watching a slow–motion train wreck happening in real–time.

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