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But it’s almost like facing him and calling him out broke something in me. Something that’s been holding me back this whole time. Maybe it’s closure regarding what had happened when we were younger … I don’t know. Or maybe it’s that I finally accepted that, despite his teasing and all the rest of it, I had always harbored an attraction to him. It wasn’t the meanness that got me—that was a huge turn-off because I’m not a masochist—it was that he was hot and he always seemed like he had more going on beneath the surface than he’d let anyone know.
Kalen Black was proof of that.
Maybe Callie’s right. I needed this weekend for more than just the money. It was a strange kind of therapy that I could have never bought. Not to mention all the orgasms. I lost count after twelve. An odd thing to count, but I couldn’t believe how my body responded to him, given all our baggage. The way he touched me was practically worshipful. There was no cruelty, no malice. More proof that there was far more to Anderson than he ever let on. He gave me things I didn’t even know I needed.
Still, though, I also need the money.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Callie.”
“Focus on work and get yourself through the day. It may just be a weird banking thing—you know how some deposits don’t go in until after a certain time?”
I nod.
“So, it could be that. When we get back to work, dive into it and shut everything else out. This will all settle itself. You’ll see.” Her cheery tone is betrayed by the look in her eyes. She’s as unsure as I am.
I take another bite of my burger, not willing to call her out for her fake cheer.
-
Chapter 17
ANDERSON
Sitting outside of Christophe’s for my monthly lunch with my father, I watch the freezing rain come down in sheets. One more barrier between me and him. One more reason not to be here. But I know he’s already inside, likely nursing his martini. Punctuality is another of his virtues, alongside honesty and commitment to duty.
I am not looking forward to another lunch where he tells me about how I fall short of his legacy.
I swear, he books these things on Fridays just so he can ruin one of my weekends every month. Weekends I use to enjoy the Boston nightlife or spend in the company of some woman I’ve only just met. With Dad spoiling my mood of the Friday beforehand, I’m down to three fun weekends a month.
And if he had his druthers, he’d ruin those, too.
But he is not the only reason I’m still in my car. I can fiddle with the radio and the settings until I die of thirst, but none of that will distract me from what’s really on my mind.
June Devlin is a maniac in the best way.
I sit back, trying not to get another erection just from thinking about her. It’s not fair that she has such a hold on me. I’d thought to protect her from lecherous men at the auction, but I failed at that. That woman is human Viagra. She brought out the wolf in me. I could not stop touching her, not even when I knew she was falling asleep. I had to hold her, at the very least.
It’s never been like that before for me. She is dangerous.
Not that it matters now. I don’t have her number. I purposefully did not ask for it. Best I cannot reach out to her, or she’d have me over a barrel in a week. There is nothing I wouldn’t have given that woman a week ago. Now, with time and distance between us, nothing’s changed.
In fact, it might be worse now, because I cannot stop thinking about that night.
Get it together, Anderson. Dad’s inside.
That thought is enough to quell my body’s newest addiction, it seems. I’m dressed for the weather, so stepping out of my car is little more than an inconvenience. Even so, I don’t enjoy it. Boston is wonderful for many things, but her weather is not one of them.
Once inside the restaurant, I know where to go. The same table he always takes. Right by the window, overlooking the harbor. We are such regulars that when the hostess sees who just walked in, she offers a smile and a nod, and takes my coat and hat. But I am on my own when I go to the table. I don’t blame her. Dad is not the friendliest man to staff.
The restaurant itself is lovely. He’s always had good, classic taste. White tablecloths, glass and wood in every direction. The music is present, but not overwhelming. Given the weather, though, most of the restaurant is empty. No people watching for me today. I can give Dad my full attention. Hoorah.
Before I can even sit, he begins, “Anderson. Nice of you to show up.”
I sit across from him, noting his half empty martini glass. “Nice of you to be sober.”
He ignores the slight. “Enjoying the weather?”
Wonderful. He’s stalling. “It’s my favorite.”
