Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

“That family is worth like eleventy billion dollars. Score, girl.”

I’d like for that to be an exaggeration, however I’m not sure it is. “Look at me winning the jackpot.”

Griffin smooths a hand over his tie and takes a sip of the water from the glass on the podium. His expression is serious, and there’s something in the way he’s fidgeting, as if he’s nervous. But he squares his shoulders and the hint of a smile makes him slightly less intimidating and a million times hotter.

He scans the audience until his gaze finally falls on me. Surprise turns into disarmed understanding. He’s presenting to my class.

The only man who has ever been inside me, the one I’ve started falling for, is a hotel mogul. And now here I am, sitting among my peers, holding my tablet hard enough to crack the screen, the divide between us as vast as an ocean.

I pin him with a hard glare and mouth What the fuck.

Because really, what in the actual fuck?Chapter Thirteen: Supply Closet ConversationsGriffin

The decade gap I usually ignore between Cosy and me becomes glaringly obvious as I stand at the podium and take in the sea of eager faces, knapsacks tucked at their feet, tablets, and an occasional notebook poised in their hands, waiting for me to begin. A few at the back are clearly texting based on the way their heads are down and they’re not paying attention to anything but their laps.

Cosy, however, is sitting in the first row, directly in front of me. Judging from her expression, she’s as surprised to see me up here as I am to see her in the audience. Maybe I shouldn’t be, considering she told me she was on a facility tour. I just didn’t piece it together with what I’m doing right now.

Yesterday, the speaker ended up having to cancel, which left them short a presenter. So when I was asked to take his place, I said yes, even though I prefer presenting in a boardroom.

And now there’s a very sexy distraction sitting in the audience, wearing a gauzy blue shirtdress, belted at the waist. Like pretty much everything Cosy owns apart from jeans, it’s on the right side of too short. A lot of inches of thigh are exposed, and she keeps tugging at the hem to keep it from riding up. She’s paired it with gold ballet flats, and for some godforsaken reason her outfit is making me hard. Which isn’t great considering I’m standing in front of a room of twenty-somethings, and I need the blood flow to stay in the head on my shoulders so I can manage this presentation.

The girl on Cosy’s right—who I recognize from the sex shop—whispers something, causing Cosy to blanch visibly. On her left is a guy; remnants of teen acne litter his jaw. He’s wiry and blond, the opposite of me. He leans into Cosy’s personal space every time he speaks to her, which is often. Back the fuck off, Bieber wannabe, she’s mine.

I drag my gaze back to Cosy, who’s busy giving me the stink eye. She mouths What the fuck. I think what’s happening here is pretty self-evident, and it’s not as if I have control over the situation.

Nancy, my assigned assistant, calls for the attention of the room and introduces me. For the next twenty minutes I give a presentation on autopilot and try not to stare at Cosy, whose eyes are locked on her tablet screen. Her knuckles are white and her jaw is tight.

The most annoying part is how often the kid beside her leans over to whisper in her ear. Every time he does, she subtly shifts closer to the girl on her other side. I don’t know if it’s because I’m standing up here, a witness to his obvious attempt at flirting, or because she’s truly opposed to his attention. Either way, I’m going to find out what the deal is.

Once I’m finished presenting, I take a seat at the table and the on-site hotel manager steps up to the podium. I slip my phone out of my pocket, thumb typing a message to Cosy under the table. I realize after I hear the faint buzz coming from where she’s sitting that she can’t check it during the presentation without looking rude.

She shoots me yet another glare and then goes back to being tight jawed and tense. I have to sit there for another twenty minutes while the rest of the panel presents, and then we field questions from the students. Once it wraps up, they’re supposed to split into two groups so they can tour the facilities and see how things run behind the scenes.

I have a plan to pull Cosy aside, but I’m bombarded by a group of students and one of the female teachers who keeps touching my arm every time she asks a question. It’s annoying. Eventually I manage to get my ass out of the room so I can go in search of Cosy and find out what all the angry glaring is about.