My Grumpy Billionaire
Chapter Thirty
Griffin
On Tuesday afternoon, I lean back in my office and tap my fingers on the desk.
Sierra’s avoiding me.
She didn’t come home until very late on Saturday. She had another shopping spree with her best friend on Sunday, ostensibly for research. How many sex toy stores do they need to hit to gather sufficient data?
Then on Monday, she left for work before seven and didn’t come home until nine. Granted, CEOs tend to put in a lot of hours, but she had no problem leaving the office by six on Friday. Plus, every time she sees me, she has trouble meeting my eyes. Instead, she keeps her gaze focused on my chest.
Why does this bother me?It should make me happy. Bad enough that the apple scent in her house keeps me in a constant state of hyperawareness. My dick snaps to attention every time she’s nearby.
It puts me in a crummy mood, especially since I can’t quit jerking off at night. It’s either that or stay up until morning, and I need my sleep. She hasn’t moaned my name since Friday night, so either she’s being really quiet or there are no more impressive spiders around.
Annoying. Really annoying. It’s like a little tic behind my eyeball. Not the terrible one I get when I’m furious, but a mild one that pulses every so often to make its presence known just for the hell of it.
The worst of it is that I haven’t had a chance to ask her when her birthday is. The undone item on my mental to-do list is nagging at me, making it harder to concentrate.
None of my students come by. Just as well. I’m not in the best of moods, and they’re probably busy analyzing the data from Silicone Dream. The numbers the company sent are interesting—a bit messy, so they need some cleaning up, but that’s a good exercise for my students. Out in the real world, you don’t get a textbook set of data, pristine and ready to be plugged into Excel.
I shake off the weirdly annoying feelings about Sierra and read the latest email from Keith. I review the spreadsheets he’s attached, then make some comments and send it back to him. Although his analysis is excellent, we overlooked a couple of items. Plus, two of the exhibits were misnumbered.
Sometimes the most minor, inconsequential things can derail how people receive a paper. Some reviewers, ideologically opposed to a central idea, will try to claim a study is garbage because one exhibit is mislabeled, and then leverage that into a denunciation the entire body of research. Academia can be as savage as cage fighting.
“There you are!”
I lift my gaze from my laptop at the huffing voice. Todd Beaker is at the door, one hand on the frame, doubled over. Sweat beads around his hairline. He sucks in air like he’s been running for hours.
He looks presentable enough in a pale blue dress shirt and slightly wrinkled khakis. His shoes are well-polished Guccis—probably bought with Sierra’s money, since there’s no way he could afford them on his salary.
His face is swollen and covered with black and blue bruises, like moldy bread dough. Sadly, his nose is unbroken. That tree could’ve done a better job of kicking his ass.
“I thought you might’ve left,” Todd wheezes.
Don’t the English department faculty know how to tell time? Or is it just him? “Why? I still have ten minutes to go before my office hours are over.”
“That’s exactly why,” he says, finally straightening up.
“Just because you leave early doesn’t mean everyone does.” I lean back in my seat, one ankle over the opposite knee. “What do you want?”
“Whatever stunt you’re trying to pull, you need to stop.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Stunt?”
“I know you aren’t dating Sierra.” He practically spits the words.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You might, but she wouldn’t.”
“She was married to you,” I point out. “Perhaps she’s trading up.”
His complexion turns into a weird combination of black and red. “She wants to belong—wants a family! We tried so hard to make babies for her!”
She wants a family with children.I ignore the weird twinge in my heart and try to focus on what he’s saying. She had to have been desperate to want offspring with Todd. Maybe she was drunk.
“But we failed because she’s infertile.”