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We are in the office, after all.
One and done? Let’s see about that. When her spasms slow, I begin again.
But—
My phone. My fucking phone is buzzing. Callie’s eyes shoot open.
I withdraw my fingers. “I’m sorry. It could be about Dad.”
“I know.” She cups my cheek. “It’s okay.”
As hot as I was a second before, my body is now cold as ice. Still naked, I reach for the phone on my desk. It’s Dale. Damn.
“Yeah?” I say into the phone.
“It’s me, Don.”
“I know. Is Dad okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. He’s fine. I just talked to Diana. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“For Christ’s sake, I’m in the middle of…lunch.”
“Since when do you care if I interrupt your lunch? I purposefully called so I wouldn’t interfere with your work.”
I heave a sigh. “Never mind. It’s all good. What’s up? I thought you had a tasting luncheon today.”
“I do, but Ashley’s handling it for me. I wanted to get the scoop on the Murphy thing. Did the papers get served?”
“Yeah. He’s not happy.”
“I never labored under the delusion that he would be.”
“I’m doing some research into whether the state will reimburse him for lost income. An eminent domain kind of thing.”
“And if they won’t?”
“They will,” I say.
“Meaning…?”
“You know what I mean.” I stay coy as Callie’s listening intently.
“You mean we’ll take care of it.”
“Bingo.”
A pause. Then, “Agreed. We need to clean up our messes.”
“True story,” I say before ending the call.
And then I wonder at my own words.
This is our mess. The fake gas leak. The thing that’s making my stomach do somersaults and my conscience feel like shit.
But what of the rest? The messes our parents may have left for us?
Who will clean those up?
I know the answer.
The only ones who can.
We will.
Chapter Six
Callie
Donny throws his phone back down on the desk. “Now…where were we?”
But my orgasm has ceased, and for now, I’m done. I love Donny Steel, but he won’t get another climax out of me for at least an hour, and—I eye his cock—he’s far from ready to screw me over his desk again.
That phone call turned him nearly flaccid.
“Donny…”
“Yeah?”
“It’s okay. I’m done.”
He opens his mouth—presumably to argue the point—but then closes it. After a pause, “All right. But I’m going to prove you’re multiply orgasmic eventually.”
“Not in the next hour, you’re not.”
“Fair enough.” He walks behind his desk, opens a drawer, and pulls out a box of tissues, handing them to me. “Not a warm washcloth, but it’s all I have here.”
“It’s fine.” I take a few tissues and discreetly take care of myself before tossing them into his wastebasket. Then I grab my bra and panties and begin to dress.
Donny is busy pulling on his boxer briefs and slacks, when his phone buzzes again. He visibly tenses up, and a subtle shudder racks through him.
I get it. Each call could be something about his dad.
“Yeah?” he says.
Pause.
“I’m on it.” He ends the call and tosses the phone back onto his desk.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Nothing important.”
“So your dad’s okay?”
“Yeah. As far as I know. I should check in with Mom.”
I finish dressing. “I understand. Do you have anything for me to do?”
He shakes his head. “Go ahead and take your lunch break.”
I nod. Whatever’s going on, he’s not going to share it with me. I won’t pry.
Seems I think that a lot lately.
Would I be more prone to prying if I didn’t have my own shit to deal with? I don’t know the answer.
Once dressed, I walk out of Donny’s office and hightail it to the ladies’ room to make sure I don’t look like I’ve just been ravaged. A quick fix of my hair and lip gloss, and I look like a normal person again.
Now what?
It’s lunchtime, but I’m far from hungry. Still, I need to eat. I won’t be any good to Donny, Rory, or anyone else who needs me without strength, and that requires fuel.
Rory’s in town today, teaching voice and piano in her little studio next to her former apartment and above Raine’s hair salon. Soon to be Willow White’s hair salon. Will Rory be able to keep her studio there?
I walk down the stairs, out of the building, and then two blocks to the salon. It’s closed now, since Raine’s out of town and Willow hasn’t opened yet, but Rory’s studio is accessible by a staircase in the back alley. I ascend and open the door. Lonnie Jefferson, a young woman who works at Rita’s part time, is sitting in the small waiting area, and through the wafer-thin walls, I hear the keys of a piano plunking.
“Hey, Lonnie,” I say. “Is Janae having her lesson?”
“She is. Almost done, I think. How are you, Callie?”
“I’m good.” Big lie there, but I’m used to it.
“Your family getting along okay?”
The pity. Here it goes again. I force a smile. “We’re all fine. Thank you for asking.”
