Page 34 of The Billionaire's Beauty

10

Griffin

I’ve been cursedby a recurring nightmare for a good chunk of my life. One of the most insidious things about it is that it comes and goes on its own schedule, like a case of malaria. You think that maybe this time it’s gone for good, because it’s been six months, a year, or four years, and your life seems good, but then it roars back to smack you down again.

It goes like this:

I’m a little kid roaming the dark halls of the west wing, but my mother’s not there. No one’s there.

I’m ashamed to say that that’s pretty much it, but it’s enough.

I cry out and startle myself awake to lengthening shadows, a stuttering heartbeat and a jarring sense of disorientation. It takes me a second to realize that I fell asleep stretched out on the leather sofa in the library and that—I check my watch—I’ve been knocked out for a good couple of hours.

Fucking nightmare. I blearily rub my face and try to regulate my pulse.

Why would it come back now?

There’s no sign of Bellamy, which is a relief. Nightmare aside, I need time to collect my thoughts and figure out what the hell I think I’m doing with her.

After the memorable interlude up against that door over there, I gave her the nickel tour of the place. We hit the gardens. The stables. The beach. After a late lunch, she insisted on coming back here to check out the books. The last thing I recall is watching her settle in with Pride and Prejudice, reading a few pages of my own favorite book, The Call of the Wild (I haven’t found time for pleasure reading for the last couple of presidential administrations) and deciding to rest my eyes for a minute or two. I’m not much of a sleeper anyway, and God knows there wasn’t much of an opportunity for sleep last night.

Now here I am, reeling from Bellamy’s powerful effects on my life, much as I’d prefer not to notice them.

She has me doing the following, in no particular order: smiling, laughing, cooking, singing, taking the weekend off, reading and relaxing. Now she also has me sleeping well, because of course she does.

At this rate, I wonder if I’ll take up organic tomato farming and pottery if she sticks around much longer.

I don’t do change. When you’re a little kid and you wake up one morning to discover that your mother has voluntarily walked out of your life, you tend to avoid change the way you avoid sharing your toothbrush with other people. I like my life nice, neat and orderly. If I’m in the mood for change, I can order a suit from a new tailor. Beyond that, significant change gives me hives.

Yet here I am. Slowly transforming into a new person while she’s around. Even though I know she won’t be around for long.

What the fuck is happening here?

For the life of me, I can’t figure it out. Nor can I chalk it up to that honeymoon period when you wallow in an exciting new lover. I’ve had exciting new lovers before. Plenty of them. None of them have made me feel like this.

To make matters worse, I can already feel the gloom from our pending separation gathering over my head. Not the separation coming in the fall. I don’t want to think about that yet.

No, I’m talking about the separation looming sometime tomorrow when we exit our perfect bubble here in the Hamptons and return to the city and our regularly scheduled lives. Much as I hate to admit it, I’m missing her already. I’ve gotten used to having her at arm’s reach. I like knowing she’s in my bed and will be there the next time I reach out for her or wake up in the morning. I have no idea how much time she’ll want to spend together once we go back home, or whether we’ll spend our time in my apartment or hers. As for the question of how we’re going to hide our relationship in the office, I have no clue. I’ve got a decent poker face, but my self-control is sorely lacking where she’s concerned. Every time I look at her these days, I’m sure it’s with those zinging heart eyes you always see in old cartoons. So I’m betting it’s only a matter of time before our relationship gets outed, one way or the other. Which, of course, puts me and the company at risk of some sort of sexual harassment lawsuit.

But I’m already at risk, aren’t I?

And the risk with Bellamy feels like it has nothing to do with anything going on at the office and everything to do with the growing ache inside my chest.

A smart man would mitigate any potential damage by ending things at the conclusion of the weekend. The world is littered with bosses and employees who enjoy casual affairs at, say, conventions or trade shows. This could fall into that category except for one small problem.

I’m not fucking doing that. I’ve already tried the one-and-done strategy. It didn’t work. I’m smart enough to learn from my past mistakes, and it was a mistake to think that I could work her out of my system that easily. The upshot? I’m not giving Bellamy up one second sooner than I need to, and even then, it’s not looking good.

So where does that leave me?

It leaves me needing to take it down a notch or two. We’re having a casual affair. Enjoying each other’s company within a few clearly defined limits—namely that this relationship is never going to go anywhere. Like I mentioned before, even if she wasn’t moving to the opposite coast, she’d get sick of me and my assholery soon enough. A good woman like that deserves a good man. Which means she doesn’t deserve me.

A casual affair.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Maybe we’ll see each other during the week. Maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll grab dinner sometimes. Maybe we’ll be too busy for that. No big deal either way. That’s the thing about casual affairs: they’re casual.

The one thing I’m not going to do—the thing I can never allow myself to do—is get all wrapped up in Bellamy or any other woman. I don’t need the hassle, and I damn sure don’t need the heartache of letting someone in when they’re probably going to leave. Look at what happened to my father. Hell, that poor schmuck received a solemn vow in a church before God and everybody, yet he still got his guts ripped out. Bellamy hasn’t made me any vows. She never will.

The bottom line is that we can enjoy each other and have fun while it lasts knowing it won’t last for long. One night wasn’t enough. The rest of the summer will have to be. Because she isn’t mine to keep. I’ll be fine if I remember that and keep it casual.

---