“Well, what about pissing this client off?”
“You aren’t one of my clients.”Go be with your blonde.
“Because you keep pushing me away. Why, Angie? What are you scared of?”
I cough on the knot forming in my throat, choking it back down into the pit of my stomach. He’s being too much. I type in my password to log onto the account. I click onto the calendar and see the blinking dates waiting for my confirmation. Mark wants me for five nights at two hours each, monopolizing my evenings. I lean back against the wooden Ikea bed frame, praying that I can sort out my job situation of juggling temperamental clients. Both of these men need to chill out.
I clear my throat, feeling bold enough to speak. “What do you want from me, Graham?”
“A chance.”
The simple answer pulls at my heartstrings. I can see his face in my memory, his hand most likely resting under his chin in a suggestive way.
“I’m not going away, Angie. I’ll fight for your attention.”
I fidget at the warning tone of his words, allowing them to soak inside my brain. I believe him. He’s going to crack through everything I tried so hard to build. A flood of resentment flashes through me. He needs to find someone else to hunt. Reese Witherspoon looked willing enough.
“I’m sure there are other girls in the database who can strike your fancy.” Blonde ones. Red-haired ones. Your type.
“I want a chance with you.”
“I’m busy though.”
“It’s your choice,” he counters. “Choose me.”
“I can’t. I need to go. Good night.”
I hear his exasperated breath leave his mouth. I imagine him straightening his posture, pacing around the room. The muffled sound of defeat fills the void. For some unknown reason, I am unwilling to hang up first. Part of me wants him to have the last word—if only to let me know that he does not take my rejection personally. But how could he not? I am telling him “no.”
“I’ll be in touch. I am not going to give up on you yet. I want you to get to know me before you write me off without giving me a genuine chance. I need to get to know you more as well.” He pauses, taking a deep breath.
“I just do not understand you. At all. From the moment we met, you have been pushing me away. Now you want to spend time with me. Which is it, huh? This hot-and-cold attitude is making my head spin.”
“I’m not a good person, Angie.”
“So you say. For the tenth time,” I huff, tossing my hands into the air.
“And because of that, I can’t stay away from you. I have tried. Trust me, I have tried. But I am drawn to you. And despite your better judgment, I know you are drawn to me as well.”
“My track record with men has proven to me that I make horrible decisions.”
“I would definitely be a horrible decision,” Graham admits.
“So, I should say ‘no’ then, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, you should. But you won’t. Part of you wants to know what we could be.”
“A disaster, that’s what,” I say with a breathy giggle.
“A beautiful one.”
I roll my eyes. “Good night, Graham.”
“Dream easy, sweetheart.”
My heart skips at the gentle tone of his words. The way the word “sweetheart” falls from his lips makes me melt into a puddle of goo. I whisper a goodbye and click the button to end the call. I slump back on the pillows, placing the phone and laptop on the nightstand. I shut off the lamp, curling up in the fetal position, my mind racing with thoughts of a tenacious blue-eyed man.
He called me sweetheart.