“Truth be told, Miss Reid,” he says, walking towards me reclined in his office chair, “I was confronted by a raven-haired beauty with a sharp tongue and for the first time, I made a mistake in my work life. I have you to thank for that,” he bites out with a light laugh. I hold his stare, even when he leans and takes the chair arms so he is bent over me. Had he wished she was me, or was he hoping to expel me from his mind?
“Raven-haired, you say?” I'm trying not to smile.
“Black as the night.” His eyes darken to molasses, and his hand raises and tucks a strand behind my ear.
“Sounds very dark.” I muse.
“Needs to be to deal with me,” he smirks.
“So this mistake you made. Did you punish who caused it?” I whisper.
“Yes, I signed her life to me when she is already running from a different kind of monster,” he mutters, his finger running down my neck to linger on my scattered pulse.
“Seems a fair punishment. Katryna is the naked version of a hand grenade. Big mistake to make and with all those rules?” I mock.
He takes a seat on the desk, beside my legs, and stares at me.
“Absolutely, hence why I don’t mix business and pleasure. Women catch feelings.” He’s warning me not to catch any.
“Is there anything else you need to attend to or was that it?” I push free from his chair, allowing him to sit in it. He drops down and pulls me back so I’m in his lap.
“A few things, but first, this ‘try before you buy’ tactic, is it any good?” He squeezes my hip.
“Still under review.” I’m grinning ahead, but I don’t let him know I’m enjoying this.
“I'd have thought Greece would have been enough for you to make your mind up.”
“I think our arrangement speaks for itself. Excuse me. I need to nip to the ladies.” I stand quickly. I’m not sure how I feel about Callan fucking one of his employees to rid me from his mind.
“Stalin will escort you.” He stalls me, holding my wrist.
“Why, I don’t need help wiping,” I scoff.
“Very funny. Stalin goes.” His tone is quiet but severe.
“Great.” Rolling my eyes, I slip free and walk across the office to the door.
“Afterwards, we can dine out,” Callan tells me as I pull the door, finding Stalin standing opposite.
“When most people say dine out, they mean a restaurant with other people," I retort from the door.
“Well, we’re dining in/out,” Callan quips.
“In/out?”
“We'll be out but in our own private room.” He winks.
“Okay.” I haven’t got the energy to discuss it any further with him. Callan seems to have his fingers in everyone’s pies. If he says it’s private, then I know it will be. Besides, I know I’ll have a nice evening. Callan has a knack for being able to pull the real me to the surface.
Stalin escorts me to the toilet. I assume I will be using the club toilets, but he ushers me up the large grand staircase to an apartment above. It has Callan stamped all over it. He must sleep here occasionally. I don’t much like that idea, and after being bombarded with Katryna, all I can think is that it was up here that he tried to rid himself of me with another woman. Stalin shows me the en-suite. I slip in and click the door shut, grateful to be alone for a few minutes. I’m way over my head and haunted by too many thoughts to process. By the time I’ve freshened up and returned to his office, Callan is shutting his computer down. His phone rings. He answers it wordlessly, listens and chuckles.
“No, it’s fine. Zara can handle herself.” His comment makes me frown. He shakes his head at me. Disconnecting, he walks to me and holds his hand out for me. “Need you to put a little show on. News of ourrelationshiphas reached downstairs,” he informs.
“So?” What’s downstairs got to do with anything unless he has fucked them all too? I raise my brow, gritting my teeth. “I’m not a performing monkey,” I grate.
“I don't think they believe Katryna, and to save future hassle, I’d appreciate it if you’d humour them.” I slap my hand in his and sigh. This is absolutely ridiculous—asif his employees have come up to get proof. With a wink, Callan opens the door as Stalin rolls his eyes. I can hear the quiet chatter of women, and I drop my head to Callan’s shoulder, groaning. He laughs roughly, and the chatter stops. “Come on.” He tugs my hand, taking the lead. Biting my lip, I suck in a breath and plaster a neutral look on my face, but Callan has other ideas. He wants to engage me in conversation, to add fire to this charade. “We’ll head home and shower. I’ve booked the table for seven,” he says. Discreetly, I chance a look around and find a few women hanging about at the end of the corridor.
“Sure.” I smile, not sure what to say, but feeling exposed and like a big fat fraud. Callan stops and twists, dropping his lips to my face, his body blocking us from view, and he kisses my cheek. I clutch his jacket and stare up into his night-black eyes. He’s playing them. Making out we are kissing. I stare hopelessly at him as he taunts me with his lips twice in one day. Can he see my desperation? My lashes flutter when he sighs lightly. He takes my hand and continues us on our way towards the women, who are staring at me with both recognition and shock.