Page 28 of Keeping Denver

"No. Because you disrespected my woman and because you're an opportunistic bitch. Now get out." Keeping his hold on me, Callan doesn't spare Joslyn a second glance as he maneuvers me into his office. I wrap my arms around myself while refusing to meet his eyes. "Baby. What you saw was not what it looked like."

I sniffle using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe my face. "I know."

Callan puts his finger under my chin, tipping my head back. "You believe me?" The look on his face is pure anguish.

"Yes. I didn't know at first. But the fact you had security escort her out tells me you didn't want her here. It doesn't make seeing her kiss you hurt any less, though."

"I'm sorry, Denver. She was here waiting in my office when I got back from court. I called security the second I saw her. I told her the last time she was here; she wasn't welcome back. Her pulling this stunt is the last straw. She had no reason to show up here today, considering I ended what we had weeks ago. I wasn't lying when I told you the other night Joslyn and I are done."

"I know. I believe you." My nerves start to calm.

"Good. I told you, Denver, I knew you were it for me your first day here."

"Oh. Well, you sure had a funny way of showing it sometimes," I grumble making light of the situation.

Callan kisses the pout right off my face. "What do you say we knock off early, pick up some takeout and go home?"

"I'd say that sounds like the perfect plan."

12

Two weeks have passed, and the news of Callan and me has fizzled around the office. We have also picked up a routine. We ride into to work together every morning, and aside from a stolen kiss here and there, we are focused on keeping a professional relationship at work, something I like. I've learned that Callan is passionate about his job and devoted to his clients. I've learned he is very much a homebody, preferring to stay home rather than go out to fancy restaurants and clubs.

It's Saturday morning, and the two of us are lounging in bed. Me with a book and Callan on his laptop. I have been working up the nerve the past couple of days to ask him about his family. Other than the brief conversation we had about his mom, he has yet to mention his father or whether or not he has any other relatives. I sense it's a touchy subject, but I find myself wanting to know all there is to know about the man I'm slowly starting to fall in love with.

Blowing out a breath, I close my book, sit up, and set it on the table beside the bed. Callan looks at me expectedly. "Something on your mind?"

"How come you don't talk about your dad? You've never mentioned brothers or sisters, so I am assuming you have none." Callan flexes his jaw, and for a second, I think I have crossed the line. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I feel like I have given you all of me, yet I don't have all of you."

Callan's face softens at my admission. "You're right. My father is not a subject I like discussing." Callan sets his laptop to the side and scrubs his palm down his face. "My father left my mom and me when I was ten. And when he walked out the door, he left us with nothing."

"Oh, Callan. I'm so sorry."

"My father met my mom when he was on a business trip to Vegas. She was a waitress in the hotel restaurant he was staying in. According to her, their romance was a whirlwind. He swept her off her feet in one weekend. They were married three days after meeting, and I was born less than a year later. My mom quit her job, left her home, and moved to New York with my father. The thing I remember the most about him growing up is him hardly being home. I also remember how sad my mom was all the time when he was away, and how much they fought when he was home. Mom was good about keeping that part of their marriage hidden. When I was eight, I overheard one of their arguments. They were fighting because mom had accused my father of cheating. The fighting went on for another two years. Until one day, my father came home and announced right at the dinner table, he wanted a divorce and that he was giving my mom until the end of the month to find another place to live." Callan's features harden as he reflects on his past.

"Oh my god." I put my hand over my mouth. I imagine a ten-year-old Callan sitting down for dinner with his family and his dad telling his mom they have to leave their home. "That's why you do what you do. Why you take on the cases you do?"

He confirms with a tight nod. "The only family my mom had were her parents. They had her late in life and didn't have the means to take us in, not that she would ask. Mom refused to move back to Vegas. I was established in school and she didn't want to disrupt my life more than it already had been. A part of me knew she was holding out hope my father would one day change his mind and come back to us. Even with all the bullshit he had put her through, she was still in love with him." His scowl deepens and his jaw tightens. "My mother worked her fingers to the bone with two jobs to keep me in the private school I had been in since kindergarten because she wanted me to have the best education. The commute from our shitty neighborhood to school was an hour twice a day. Not once did my mom complain. Even when I became a rebellious teenager, and started acting out and being an all-around shit; she still never complained. I was your typical mad at the world kid. I was skipping school and getting into fights. The final stunt that landed me in hot water was the time I skipped school and took the train to the city. I snuck into the parking garage where my father worked and vandalized his car. A car he paid one hundred grand for yet didn't pay my mom a dime for child support. All because he was the rich and powerful Thomas Rowley. He had an endless amount of cash at his disposal and my mom couldn't afford a lawyer."

"What did your father do for work?"

"He owned a media company."

"I read online you inherited all his assets?"

"I did. At first, I didn't want anything to do with his money. My father had reached out to me a month before he passed. He wanted to make amends. I refused to see him. I washed my hands of my father when I was ten. I was pissed when I found out he'd left me everything in his will. His company, his money, his house; all of it."

What did you do?"

"In the end, I took it. I sold off his company and his possessions. I had no desire or use for any of it. The money allows me to do all the pro bono cases I take on."

I sit and ponder what Callan has told me. "So, what happened after you vandalized your dad's car?"

"I was arrested and sent to juvenile detention. The whole incident was caught on camera. My father didn't hesitate to press charges."

"How long were you in detention?"

"A week. That was how I met Judge Marshall, Frances's husband."