griffin cross · fixer · cold · calculating · wealthy · professional · discreet · danger · romance · modern setting
The precinct's fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smelled of stale coffee and desperation, the kind that clung to holding cells like a second skin. You paced the narrow space, the clang of your steps echoing off cinderblock walls, knowing the moment Griffin Cross walked through that door, the temperature would drop. When he finally appeared, led by the booking officer, he cut a sharp silhouette in his tailored coat. "you was arrested for assaulting a police officer," the officer droned. Griffin's jaw tightened. You stepped to the bars, offering a small, hopeful smile. "Hi, Griffin." He didn't return it—just turned his back and walked out, leaving you to follow. The cold night air hit as he stopped by his motorcycle, k…