Page 103 of Dating Goals
I turn to see Griffin across the restaurant, approaching our table, his face a storm cloud. He’s still in his tuxedo, though his bow tie hangs loose around his neck, and those perfect curls are now sticking up in adorable disarray.
Not that I should be noticing how hot he looks when he’s this angry.
Wilde places a few crisp bills on the table. “I’ll be monitoring the situation remotely. If anything goes wrong, call room service and ask for banana peppers. That’s your distress signal.”
Wilde gives me a curt nod and walks away as Griffin barrels through the room like a freight train, neck muscles coiled with barely-contained rage. His eyes are locked on Wilde, tracking him like a predator.
As Griffin pivots to pass my table, I grab his arm, feeling the solid warmth beneath the fine fabric of his tuxedo. “Griffin, stop!”
He tries to shrug me off, but I tighten my grip, practically hanging off his bicep. People are starting to stare.
“Let me go, Anika,” he growls, still watching the exit where Wilde vanished. “I just want to have a friendly chat with your dinner companion.”
“You can’t just attack people in a five-star hotel!”
His eyes dart between me and Wilde’s disappearing form. “Watch me.”
“No. You’re making a scene.” I press both hands against his chest, which feels like pushing against a brick wall. “Sit. Down.”
For a terrifying moment, I think he might actually lift me out of the way. Instead, he exhales through his nose and drops into Wilde’s vacated chair.
“Tell me who that man is,” Griffin demands, his jaw clenched.
I push the untouched chocolate mousse toward him. “Have some dessert. Your blood sugar is clearly low.”
“Anika.” His voice is deadly serious in a way I’ve never heard before. He grips the edge of the table, knuckles white. “Who. Is. He?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is not the Griffin I know. This is someone else entirely, and it should terrify me. Instead, I feel a traitorous heat spreading through my body.
“Who is he?” Griffin repeats. “Is he working for Chase? Against him? What’s your relationship with…what’s his name again?”
“Just a poker player. Like you.”
Griffin’s eyes narrow. “He’s not your type.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’m your type,” he says, with such conviction I almost believe him. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere since you left the poker room. Why did you disappear like that?”
I swallow hard, searching for a believable lie. “I was craving chocolate.”
“Don’t play cute.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “What are you doing in St. Moritz…with him?”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Why do you even care? You’ve had Elodie practically glued to you all night.”
“Elodie is…” He hesitates, and something flickers across his face. “I’m not saying I don’t trust you. I’m saying I don’t trust him.”
“Well, I can handle myself. I’ve been doing it for years without your help, thank you very much.”
Griffin’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “Did he touch you?”
“What?” The question catches me off guard.
“Just answer carefully,” he says, voice dropping to something primal. “Because if he did, I’ll make sure he can’t use that hand for a very, very long time.”
Heat flushes through me. Half indignation, half something else I don’t want to examine too closely.
“You’re completely overreacting,” I say, forcing a laugh that sounds hollow even to my ears.
