Page 33 of My Secret Santa Daddies

“That’s good.”

“How about you? How’s work?”

“Good.”

Now, I know that’s an understatement. From what I’ve read and seen Griffin is worth millions, if not billions at this point. He could be anywhere in the world, and he had decided to come back here.

For a moment, none of us knows what to say, and an awkward silence descends on us.

Then Cody, always the one to break tension with bluntness, speaks up. “So, what’d you think of the Secret Santa drawing the other night?”

I pause, my cheeks flushing at the memory of Griffin’s slurred words, the way he’d called me out in front of everyone. “It was… eventful.”

Wyatt smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “You say that like it was a bad thing.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Griffin’s jaw tightens slightly, and I can see a flash of something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or frustration. “I meant what I said, Sierra. I wasn’t trying to make things worse.”

“You could’ve picked a better time,” I shoot back, the bitterness in my voice surprising even me.

“I know.”

Cody, sensing the tension rising again, grins and leans forward. “So, who do you think got who?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“For the Secret Santa,” he clarifies, nudging Wyatt with his elbow. “I bet Wyatt here got Betty Thompson.”

Wyatt snorts. “And what makes you think that?”

“No reason other than my gut feeling.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. It’s a small, awkward sound, but it’s genuine. “You two really haven’t changed at all.”

Cody leans back, his expression softer now. “Neither have you, Sierra.”

I want to deny it, to say I’m not the same girl who fell for Griffin all those years ago, but the words stick in my throat.

“And who did you pull, Sierra?” Griffin asks, his voice low, and careful. There’s an edge of curiosity there, but also something deeper—something he’s trying to hide.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Maybe.”

Wyatt’s voice breaks the tension again. “Come on, Sierra. You’re not going to tell us who you got?”

“Nope,” I say, my tone firm but playful.

Cody rolls his eyes dramatically. “Fine. But you better show up for the exchange, or we’ll come drag you there ourselves.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I ask, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“It’s a promise,” Griffin says quietly.

10

WYATT

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