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We enter the park at the closest entrance, not chatting, just breathing, keeping pace. Jonah is shortening his strides for me, I can tell. When we reach the first set of benches, he asks quietly, “Why didn’t you respond to my messages?”
“I’m not sure I can go to an event.” His jaw tightens at my words. “Even if it’s not like last time,” I say quickly. “I know you’re not trying to humiliate me. I know. I just—I’m not meant to be in the spotlight,” I finish lamely.
Jonah turns on me, his eyes fierce. “I could kill him for making you think that.” His throat works, his gaze searches mine. I try to look away from his knowing eyes, but his hand comes up to my cheek. “Callie,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”
My breath hitches at his words. The same ones he said to me that day when he looked at me with reverence.
“You’re so beautiful. But more importantly, you’re brilliant. Always watching, always analyzing. I wish I had half your ability to read people. How could anyone make you believe that you deserve anything less than their full attention?”
My eyes are hot as Jonah continues. His gaze softens. His thumb brushes over my cheek, warm and slightly rough. “Let me take you. I need your help. But more importantly, let me show you who you could be if you didn’t care what the world thought.”
“Why?” I whisper, tears threatening to spill over.
“Because it would make me happy.” He looks so earnest, in a way I’ve never seen him. His hand is a warm anchor. When he focuses on me like this, it feels like nothing in the world can go wrong.
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. I’m shaky and warm from Jonah’s words. Careful, Cal. I shove the doubts down. “I’ll go with you.”
Relief flashes over his face. He pulls me to him, opening his coat to wrap me in it. We stand there under the streetlight for minutes, Jonah’s lips on my hair, my face pressed to his chest.
“I have a business trip tomorrow. I’ll be back Sunday morning. George will help you with stuff for the event.”
Two days without him. Damn, I’m pathetic. And I’m not sure what help I’m going to need, but I’ll go with it. “Is George getting overtime?”
“Oodles of it,” he says, sounding disgruntled. “Miles is a pushover.”
“Miles is great.”
“Don’t test me, Thompson,” he growls, tightening his arms.
I laugh. I like you. I want to tell him, but I don’t know how he’ll take it. I’m falling for you. The words are bubbling up behind my lips, but it feels insane. Too risky. Maybe tomorrow.
44
Callie
Turns out, “not like the last time” means a massive amount of work. On Friday, I’m told I’m needed at Jonah’s townhouse. Lou picks me up in one of the cars and takes me from the office to the Upper West Side. Lou has driven me a few mornings now, and I usually opt to keep the privacy divider down so I can ask about him what it’s like being a driver for the rich and famous.
Today, he’s got a story about his employer before Jonah, who would make him circle the block for hours while he met his mistress in the car.
“That’s wild,” I exclaim, smiling, as we head up town. “Poor you. Being subjected to that.”
“It was eye-opening to say the least.” He grins and shakes his head. “None of that with Mr. Crown, though. Just early morning wake-ups and the occasional trip to New Jersey.”
“He’s never, ah, had women over?”
“Not since I’ve known him. Not really his thing.” Lou shrugs as we turn onto 87th street. “Seems lonely though, if you ask me.”
I have to agree, but I don’t say it. Jonah does seem lonely, and the picture Lou has painted is not a life I would want. I thank him and step out of the car into the afternoon sunshine. A woman is waiting for me on the steps of his townhouse, with a clipboard and a headset. Wow. I blink. Not what I expected.
“Callie Thompson?” She extends her hand as I mount the steps to the building. She’s in a black sheath dress and heels, with sleek hair that reminds me of the inside of a seashell. All pinks and faded lavender. “Katie Jones. I’ll be your stylist today. We have an exciting afternoon ahead of us.”
I shake and squint at her. “Stylist? I thought I was just getting some files from the home office.”
“Oh no. Follow me. We have a lot to get through.” She breezes through the doorway without waiting for me to follow. I trail her through the lobby, which looks like an atrium. Sun-filled, all glass from the third floor up, and full of plants. I didn’t get to snoop much when I was here that night, and I turn slowly to take it all in. After just two visits, I’ve decided that this is the most beautiful home I’ve ever been in. It’s serene and understated. It even smells like Jonah—citrus and warm wood.
I duck into a massive living room that extends all the way to a garden in the back. It’s indoor/outdoor, with wood that blends seamlessly from the floor onto the deck, and garage style windows. In the living room are racks upon racks of clothes, displayed with shoes under them. Even a little table of jewelry.
George is sitting on the couch, looking bored to tears.
