Chapter 19: Griffin’s Story
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When I watch Olivia work, I’m mesmerized. Her mind is a perfectly calibrated machine–strategic, insightful, relentless. In meetings, she cuts through corporate bullshit with surgical precision, leaving executives both impressed and slightly afraid.
It’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.
The first time she challenged me in a board meeting, contradicting my approach to a new product launch, the room went silent. Nobody contradicted Griffin Hayes.
Ever.
I leaned back in my chair, fighting a smile. “Continue, Ms. Johnson.”
She outlined her alternative strategy with such clarity and conviction that by the end, even my most stubborn directors were nodding along.
Later, in the privacy of my office, I pulled her against me. “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to drag you onto that conference table?”
Her laugh vibrated against my chest. “Unprofessional, Mr. Hayes.” “Completely,” I agreed, lips finding that spot below her ear that made her gasp. “But so is thinking about you during every meeting for the past week.”
Business and pleasure. We’d mastered both.
The truth I never told Olivia: I almost married someone else once. Rebecca Winters, daughter of a tech mogul, Harvard MBA, perfect on paper. We dated for two years, and I convinced myself it was enough–companionship without the messy emotions, a partnership of convenience and mutual benefit. The night before I planned to propose, I dreamt of Olivia. Not some fantasy version, but her as I’d last seen her–focused, determined, declining my invitation
to prom with kind but firm resolve.
I woke up sweating, the ring box heavy in my bedside drawer.
Rebecca and I broke up that week. She deserved someone who loved her completely, not someone who was still haunted by a woman he barely knew. Five years later, when Olivia crashed back into my life, I understood why I’d never been able to commit to anyone else. Some people carve themselves into your soul,
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and no amount of time or distance can erase their mark.
Sex with Olivia is like diving into a live wire–electrifying, dangerous, addictive. But it’s the quiet moments that undo me completely.
Watching her read in bed, brow furrowed in concentration. The way she absently reaches for my hand when we walk together. How she hums under her breath when cooking, completely off–key and utterly charming.
“You’re staring again,” she said one morning, not looking up from her coffee. “Can’t help it,” I admitted. No point denying it.
She glanced up then, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s unnerving.”
“It’s appreciation,” I corrected, reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m memorizing you.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent fifteen years trying to forget you,” I said simply. “I don’t intend to
waste another second.”
The way she looked at me then–surprised, tender, a little sad–nearly brought me to my knees.
When I found out she was pregnant, something fundamental shifted inside me. A realignment of priorities, a clarity of purpose I’d never experienced before.
I called my father that night, after Olivia had fallen asleep.
“I’m stepping back from day–to–day operations,” I told him without preamble. “Effective immediately.”
A long silence stretched between us. “This is about that woman, isn’t it?” “Her name is Olivia,” I said evenly. “And no, it’s about our child. About the kind of
father I intend to be.”
Another silence, heavier this time. We both knew what I was saying. What I was
choosing not to repeat.
My father had been physically present but emotionally absent my entire life. The company always came first. His children were secondary investments, expected to yield returns without requiring much capital expenditure of time or affection.
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“I see,” he finally said, his voice oddly strained. “And the company?”
“I’ll remain on the board. Kate’s ready to step up as CEO–she’s been running
things in all but title for months anyway.”
My sister would thrive in the role. She had all my technical knowledge with twice
my patience for corporate politics.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” he said unexpectedly, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn’t identify. It was the closest thing to approval he’d ever offered
- me.
After we hung up, I stood on the balcony for a long time, watching the ocean. For the first time in my life, I felt completely at peace with who I was and what I
wanted.
Olivia found me there an hour later, wrapping her arms around me from behind,
her still–flat stomach pressed against my back.
“Everything okay?” she murmured sleepily.
I turned, drawing her into my arms. “Everything is perfect.”
And for once, I wasn’t exaggerating. The broken, lonely boy who’d fallen for the sharp–tongued girl with the meter stick had finally found his way home.
They say when you’re dying, your life flashes before your eyes. I think falling in love with Olivia was like that—a series of vivid snapshots, past and present
colliding.
The girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day in high school, brilliant and focused. The woman who stumbled into my hotel room, wounded but still standing. The partner who challenges me daily, making me better in ways I never expected. The mother of my child, creating a family I never dared hope for.
I’ve built empires from nothing, turned ideas into billions, but nothing I’ve ever
created compares to the life we’re building together.
Some men spend their lives chasing success, money, power. I got lucky I found
the one thing that actually matters.
Her.
