With wobbly legs, I made my way over to his massive house.
I spoke to the guard. “Hi . . .” Jesus, I nearly forgot my supposed name. “Mirada here to see Cole Archer.”
“Yes. He’s expecting you.” He directed me to head to the front entrance.
As I continued toward the door, I wondered what “Cole” wanted with me anyway. Griffin didn’t know my identity. He thought he was inviting a random woman for dinner. Did he do this all the time? Was he attracted to me? Or was he just being hospitable? I couldn’t figure out why he’d invited me here. Before I was able to ponder it much, the gigantic wooden door to the Spanish-style house opened. A short woman dressed in housekeeper’s garb nodded at me as she let me in.
Griffin was nowhere to be found. My heels echoed against the marble floors as I looked around the impressive foyer. Some framed vinyl records adorned the walls. This was definitely what I’d imagined a rock star’s house to look like.
All I could think right now was I’m so proud of you, Griffin.
His voice startled me. “The record label sends those to me. Might as well hang them up. I’m really not an egomaniac. I swear.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all. You should be proud. You’ve really done well.”
When I turned to look at him, I noticed he’d changed into sleek black pants and a fitted gray T-shirt. His hair was wet. He was seriously hot as fuck. I couldn’t believe this was my Griffin.
“Depends on how you define done well. I’ve definitely accumulated wealth and managed to impress a certain percentage of people with my music. But it can be hard sometimes. It can be a very lonely life.”
That tugged at my heartstrings. “Yeah. I can imagine.”
“Can I get you something to drink, Mirada?”
“Sure. Anything is fine.”
“I have a bar bigger than Cheers. What suits your fancy?”
“A glass of wine would be nice.”
Griffin led me into the massive living room. All the furniture was white. I just knew I was going to dirty it somehow before I left. He ventured over to the large bar in the corner of the room and prepared my drink himself.
He returned and handed me a large glass of red wine. “Sorry . . . dinner is a little late. My chef is off tonight, and, well, I didn’t want to poison you with my cooking, so I’ve ordered out. Hope that’s okay.”
“That sounds delicious.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“That’s true. But I’m sure it will be good.”
“You sure have a lot of blind faith in me.”
What did he just say?
Blind faith?
He must just use that term freely. I wouldn’t read into it.
I cleared my throat. “Apparently.”
He clapped his hands together. “So . . . dinner. Hope you like scallops wrapped in bacon? I’ve chosen that for an appetizer. Then garlic pork roast with thyme for the main course.”
Pork? Is he kidding?
I swallowed. “Sounds delicious.”
He squinted at me. “You look so familiar. Are you sure we haven’t met?”
Nervously twirling my hair, I laughed. “What do you take me for, a groupie?”
“Ha! No, no, no. I just felt this familiarity from the moment I met you.” His eyes were searing into mine.
I was seriously starting to burn up from the intensity of his stare.
Can he possibly know it’s me? How?
My plan was to tell him the truth, but the longer this charade went on, the harder it was to blurt it out for some reason. I kept waiting for the perfect window to confess, but it never seemed to come. Not to mention, his penetrating stare sort of left me speechless.
“Who is that man you’re traveling with?” he asked.
“He’s a good friend.”
“So no funny business going on there?”
“Gosh, no. He’s only my traveling companion. I don’t travel alone.”
“Ah. Gotcha. Yeah, traveling alone is for the birds.”
Birds.
“Right.”
He smiled. “So did you recognize me? You didn’t seem like you did.”
My heart was beating out of my chest. “You mean . . . did I know you were . . . Cole Archer?”
Griffin tilted his head. “What else would I mean?”
I blew out a relieved breath. “I did actually know who you are, yes.”
“That sucks. I was kind of hoping you didn’t.”
I looked deeply into his eyes. “It must be crazy, huh? Being you?”
“Yes, but what in particular do you mean?”
“Everything?”
He just looked at me for a while before he answered. “Sometimes I just wish I could hide in my house and never come out.”
Sounds familiar.
My heart beat faster.
He continued. “I envy people who aren’t recognized everywhere they go.”
“I can imagine.”
“What is it that you do, Mirada?”
What do I do?
“I . . . A little bit of everything. Sort of at a crossroads right now.”
“Why are you hiding it? If I can be forthright, certainly you can as well. What, do you . . . write porn or something?”