20 Questions

Chapter 117

Want to know what it's like having a seven-foot-tall brick shithouse escort you everywhere you go at work, including the bathroom? It's about as much fun as getting kicked in the face by a horse, maybe more. Not to mention the number of female staff that have conveniently dropped by my office this week to check the master schedule, get candy from my jar, tell me what a great boss I am and get my advice on a patient. They're about as subtle as a hand grenade. I know what they really want.

Any opportunity to gawk at the giant in my office. His arms look like cannons, his chest is wider than the Grand Canyon, his legs are as thick as tree trunks and his ass...I'm a happily married woman, but even I can appreciate how his dark green cargo pants hug those thick ass cheeks like a glove. Griffin is a beast of a man and he has the whole dark and mysterious vibe working for him...and working well. He has the kind of deep voice that vibrates your bones when he speaks. His eyes are icy blue and dramatically stand out next to his thick, long, jet-black eyelashes. His short hair is black as night and his scruffy jaw is so muscular, he could crush bricks with one chomp.

And does he have the charming personality to match his stunningly masculine physique?

I wouldn't know.

In the time that I've known Griffin, even with him living in my house, he has said a grand total of five words to me.

Not a shot in hell.

Yes, that is the extent of our interactions and it followed my request to fly solo to the grocery. Obviously, he is a man of few words and those few words haven't been wasted on him telling me about himself. On our drives to and from the hospital, Griffin remains silent while I take calls from work, Hunter, Helen, Molly or my parents. My parents are still in the dark about all of this, of which I'm grateful for, but it hasn't been easy. They wanted to come to the house but explaining to them why we have three very large and scary men living with us was off the table, so we went to theirs instead, our security keeping a close but safe distance to us.

When I finish payroll, I glance up at Griffin. He is sitting in one of the patient visitor chairs, but his enormous size makes it look like one of those seats you would find in a kindergarten classroom. He is pecking away at his phone, probably playing some simulation game where you slice limbs off people for black balloons, multicolored Iron Maiden's and gold tongue tearers. The dude is terrifying.

"Why don't you like me?" I blurt out because I can no longer handle the cold shoulder and silent treatment he's been giving me every day since we met.

If we are going to be spending this much time together, I, at the very least, deserve a good morning or a kiss my ass.

He lifts his face, clicks off his phone and stares through me. His glare is hard and intimidating and makes me instantly regret asking my question. As his frosty blue eyes squint, I realize that I am no longer that concerned with his opinion of me. I just want him to stop looking my direction like he's getting ready to earn himself a whole jackpot of Iron Maiden's. I gulp and if I thought my chattering teeth and wide eyes would soften him, I seriously underestimated his desire to scare someone shitless. He doesn't let up and he never speaks a word. After a fifteen second stare-off, I drop my eyes, grab a pen and pretend to scribble something on the pad of paper in front of me. Evidently, I won't be getting an answer to my question. And apparently, he didn't appreciate me asking.

Because he's stealthy, I don't notice him rise from his seat and approach me until his hands land on my desk, straddling my pad of paper. I slowly lift my eyes. When they lock with his, his face is mere inches from mine. I want to sit back in my chair, but I am paralyzed with fear. He still doesn't speak; he simply takes in the features of my face. He studies my eyes, my nose, and stops when he sees my parted lips. He inhales, as if he's a predator taking in the scent of his prey before dismembering them. His cologne is spicy, his breath smells of cinnamon gum and his overall presence is making my palms sweat so profusely that my pen slips through my fingers. His lips part ever so slightly as his eyes move back up to meet mine. For the first time since I've met this man, his eyes flash something other than hostility. There's a hint of pain in them. A pain that puzzles me.