Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) (2 page)

“Alexander Royale.”
From Royale Enterprises
. He wondered at the irony of unknowingly working in the past with the man who married into the King family, the family that haunted Griff for ages. “He’s good at building upscale shopping malls on time and under budget without cutting corners.”

At the mention of her husband, her smile lit up her face again. Ah, so it wasn’t a marriage of convenience as first reported in the press. She was definitely in love with her spouse. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

Somehow, even though her words were kind, he sensed an underlying resistance. “Tell me what the problem is? You’ve just met me and you say Alex is pleased with my work, so I can only deduce it’s the resume or, as you hinted at, you’ve already chosen your replacement.” He found himself holding his breath. This was his dream, to infiltrate King’s, play on its weakness, and then ruin it all.

Her sigh echoed in the quiet room. Placing the resume on the desk and clasping her hands together, she said, “Frankly, you’re
too
good. You’re overqualified for the position.”

“That concerns you? As opposed to being under-qualified?”

“Ah, under-qualified would either turn to overwhelmed or rise to the occasion. And eager to learn, from my past experiences with people. But overqualified may overlook the smaller market vision, step on our loyal employees’ ideas and input, and rush the changes before this store can find its niche again and grow. Too much, too soon.”

“On top of being a know-it-all,” he said what she seemed too polite to say.

“There is that.” Her voice held a grin.

“It’s a fine balancing act.” He didn’t expect to admire her sound business opinions. But he did.

“So you understand?”

“Or select the right person to do the right job.” He leaned back. “Charlie, your store has languished for years. I believe there was reluctance to move forward—”

“That’s putting it nicely,” she inserted with a groan.

“Your stepmother, yes?” He even hated to bring up the woman at all, never mind name her. “You’ve done a nice job in the last six months. The store has flourished under your guidance. But you have a long way to go to make it stable. You still own it, don’t you?” He knew she did now, but he’d heard she planned to turn it over to the employees.

She got up and came around the desk. Angling the other chair toward him, she slipped into it. Charlie tucked her legs underneath her, tugging down the hem of her skirt over her knees. He shifted to face her. Unsure of what her next unexpected move would entail, he steeled himself.

“Yes.” She brushed her hand over her middle. “The employees are adamant a King remain as the owner. And I find that since I’ve been confined to bed rest for several weeks recently that I imagine keeping it to pass down to my children. They should know their grandfather, his love for this place, the values he taught, know all the people who loved him…” She trailed off, blinking back the gathering moisture in her eyes.

Why did it choke him up when she discussed her children and what she longed to leave them? “The King legacy?”

“No, the dream that their grandfather, Charles King, gave his children and his employees. A home. A place to belong. A family to belong to.”

Something stirred in him at her reverence for her late father. But more so when she spoke of belonging and family. Longing whispered over his heart. He brushed it away. Quiet settled between them.

“Are you a workaholic?” Her personal question took him by surprise.

“I focus on the job at hand until it gets done. So, yes, I am.”

“Do you have a life outside of work? Parents? Siblings? A significant other?” She held up her hands. “It’s not part of the interview and however you answer, it won’t be used for or against you. I’m curious.”

“No one.” His automatic response didn’t seem to faze her.

“Are you free tomorrow afternoon, Griff?”

He frowned. Why would she care or want to know? “Yes.” Even if he’d had plans, he’d change them.

“You’re invited to our house.” She waved a hand. “Casual family get-together. Can you make it?” She didn’t wait for him to answer before she leaned over and grabbed a pen to scribble something on a nearby piece of paper. She ripped it off the pad and handed it to him. “My address. Two, or earlier if you just want to drop by. We can finish our talk then. And you can meet Marcus Goode, the temporary head of King’s. His tenure finishes at the end of this month. I think you two should meet. Besides, Alex would love to talk shop with you.”

Shock rippled through him. This scenario never played out in his mind before. Would he finally come face to face with his sworn enemy? “Family? Will your stepmother be attending?”

Her smile faded and a sad, wounded look filled her dark eyes. “No, I’m afraid due to her recent outrageous behavior, she’s not welcome in the store or at my home. I don’t know if she ever will be again.”

Her regret stabbed at him. He cleared his throat. “It sounds like mostly family. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Please do.”

“Why?” His blunt question didn’t even make her twitch.

“Why, Griff, because I think you just may need a family.”

Priscilla tapped her foot as she flipped through another boring business magazine. Every few moments, she glanced down the hall, even leaning to her side to try to get a better view. Her stepsister was certainly taking awhile talking to the man who rattled her senses.

After quickly dropping off the file on Marcus’ desk, along with another file from her tote bag of her design visions for remodeling the other departments in the store, she’d scampered back to her perch on the reception chair to make sure she’d catch them as their meeting wound down.

She wanted to know who he was and why he was there. Waiting until the morning, or when Charlie was free, didn’t play into her options at the moment.

Thankfully, they didn’t make her wait much longer. Their muted voices floated to her as they walked down the hall. Soon she saw their shapes, his tall and wide shoulders and her stepsister’s tall, thin figure coming toward her. She ditched the magazine on the nearby table and shot to her feet, gathering her tote bag and slinging the strap onto her shoulder.

A wave of glee shot through her at the sight of Charlie. Earlier, her stepsister had stopped by the salon and told her the wonderful news. Twins! In only a few short months, Prissy would be an auntie.

The man noticed her first, slowing his steps. Charlie moved ahead as she became aware of Prissy. “Honey.” She gave her a quick hug, and then pulled back. “What are you still doing here?”

“Yes, I’d like to know the answer to that, too,” he challenged.

It was all she could do to not stick her tongue out at him again. “I showed,” she nodded to the brooding man, “him to your office since I had to drop off the salon remodel file on Marcus’ desk.”

“Oh, so you two have met already.” Charlie glanced at him, and then back at Prissy.

“Not officially,” Prissy said with a smile in her voice. Finally, she’d get her answer. “You can have the honors.”

“Griff, this is Priscilla King. Priscilla, this is Griffin James or Griff, for short.”

“Griffin James?” Where had she heard that name before? Why did it strike instant respect, too?

“King, did you say?” he asked Charlie while capturing Prissy’s stare. “Priscilla King?”

“Yes, my youngest stepsister,” Charlie acknowledged.

“And, you, Griff, is it?” Prissy shook her head, still not placing him.

“He’s the last candidate I’ve interviewed to take over King’s,” Charlie explained.

That’s where she’d heard the name. “Retail giant. Miracle worker.”

“Don’t believe everything you read,” he drawled.

“No, just what you see, right? McGruff, is it then?”

“Pixie,” he said under his breath.

***

They were nestled in the elevator, going down to the first floor. His looming body and wicked stare made Priscilla’s heartbeat trip over itself.

“Need a ride, Prissy? Edward’s here to pick me up. He can run you home on the way,” Charlie offered.

“Thanks a bunch,” she said, meaning it. She wasn’t fond of taking taxis late at night or, worse, the jostling bus ride to her loft apartment.

“And you, Griff?”

Priscilla held her breath, hoping he’d accept just so she could see where he lived.

“No, thank you, I drove.” He must have seen the let-down on her face; he raised his eyebrows at her.

She covered it up in a hurry. “You don’t know what you’re missing. Edward always carries some treats that Dolly, his girlfriend and Charlie’s friend and cook, whips up every day and tucks into the car for him and the rest of us to nibble on.”

Charlie chuckled. “Lately, it’s more saltine crackers and ginger ale for me. I can’t wait to try some real food soon.”

“Between Dolly and Marcus, we have the best two cooks in the city,” Prissy said to him, and then turned to her stepsister. “Don’t worry, Charlie, in no time you’ll have the pick of the menu and two willing chefs to cook anything you desire. Ah, don’t forget to request the chocolate ganache cake and invite me over for some.”

“You got it,” Charlie said as the elevator doors opened and she exited.

Griff signaled for Prissy to go first. “McGruff a gentleman? Who would have thought?” She smiled up at him.

He grunted. “And I thought pixies only flew.”

Prissy caught up to Charlie, and Griff trailed not far behind. She glanced over her shoulder to catch him staring at her. This time she did stick out her tongue.

He grinned.

She sucked in a sharp breath and turned away. Lord almighty, she thought he was dangerous before, but when he smiled his whole face changed, making him more handsome and more lethal. Her middle flip-flopped.

A few minutes later, after saying their goodnights to Bruno, Prissy found herself on the sidewalk in front of King’s, facing the man who made her feel things she never felt before. The light drizzle didn’t dampen her senses when she shook his hand. A blaze trailed along her palm and up her arm. “Mr. James.”

“Ms. King.” He held on for a moment longer until she met his stare.

Those smoky gray eyes made her knees knock. She pulled away and moved toward the car. She waved off Edward’s assistance as he held open the door and the umbrella to shield her. “Thanks, Edward. I’m good. You can see to Charlie.”

“Miss Priscilla, nice to see you again.”

The warmth of the car greeted her and she sank onto the backseat. But inside she quivered. “Drat!”

Charlie was there in an instant, settling in beside her. McGruff strode to the low, sleek black car parked in front of them. Priscilla leaned forward, peering out of the windshield. Edward entered and sat behind the steering wheel. She nudged him. “What kinda car is that?”

“Corvette. Latest model. Most people call them Vettes.”

“Hmmm…”

He picked up the pad on the dashboard and showed her. The nearby streetlight revealed his writing. “His name and address. No priors. No tickets.”

She smacked him on his arm. “You ran his license plate!”

Grinning, he said, “Habit. Sometimes you can’t take the cop outta a person.”

“Can I have it?” She nodded to the sheet of paper.

“Sure, but you be careful. You need backup, call me.”

“I owe you,” she said as he handed her Griffin’s address. She folded it, sat back, and tucked it in her tote.

“What was that all about?” Charlie asked, buckling her seatbelt.

“Oh, I’ve just never seen a car like that before.”
Or a man like that before either.

***

Priscilla’s tummy rumbled the moment she entered her loft, flicked on the light, and then dumped her tote bag on the nearby chair. “I’m starving,” she said aloud, just to break the silence.

When she and her sister, Francie, left their mother’s months ago, living in this loft felt stuffy and cramped. Now that Francie married Marcus and moved out, Prissy couldn’t get used to having the whole place to herself. A stab of loneliness shot through her.

Shaking it off, she marched to the tiny kitchenette, and then opened the fridge. “Nearly empty.” She groaned, realizing she’d forgotten to go grocery shopping again. The wilted lettuce and carrots did not look appealing in the least. The cupboards revealed the same sad condition. “I should have asked Edward for some snacks, but that dang McGruff made me forget everything but him.” She couldn’t shove aside the man or her unwanted and unexpected reaction to him.

“Takeout,” she muttered, trying to shut down her wayward thoughts. She yanked open the drawer and foraged through the piles of menus until she found the one that would make do tonight.

Grabbing the Chinese menu, she returned to the living area and snatched up her tote bag. Dropping onto the couch, she fished out her new cell phone and punched in the number. It rang half a dozen times, cut off, and then rang some more. She slipped out of her boots as the man on the other end finally answered.

“Derivery or pickup?”

“De—” She stopped herself as her gaze landed on the piece of paper sticking out of the top of her tote. Griffin James’ address. “Pickup,” she said, changing her mind. She ordered for two.

Now standing on his front step, Prissy questioned her sanity in coming here. The taxi cab waited at the curb for her signal to stay or leave. What would Griffin think of her showing up on his doorstep after eleven at night?

What if he had a woman with him? Her middle dropped.

The door opened.

She didn’t have long to wait to wonder what her reception would be like. His thunderous expression answered a great deal. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Gulping hard, she held up the oversized takeout bag. “Dinner. Remember? I told you I skipped it?”

Behind her, the taxi cab shifted gears and took off. She twisted to see the red taillights disappear down the road. “I told him to wait,” she muttered, turning back to Griffin. “I swear I did.”