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“It’s just been a rough couple of weeks with work.”
“It can’t bethatrough. Benedict has been quiet, hasn’t he?”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not out there, plotting his revenge.” She pauses, and I can feel the unease seeping through the phone. I curse myself internally. “That was stupid of me to say.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. You’re safe, Celine. You know that, right? I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Too much has happened already.”
For the millionth time, I berate myself for the choices I made. Things would have been so much easier if I hadn’t let my dick make the decisions. This could have remained simply business, the way it should have been.
Instead, it’s all a fucking disaster.
“Can we…can we please talk when you get back home?” she asks. “I feel like we haven’t actually talked in a while.”
Fuck me.I know what she wants to talk about, and the thought makes me want to postpone returning home indefinitely. “Yeah. We can talk.”
I say my goodbyes and hang up.
When the line is dead, I rest my forehead against the trunk of the tree. “Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath.
I stay there, breathing softly for a moment, before the chime of the café door draws my attention. When I look up, I see Taylor and Callan emerging.
I’m happy that their meeting didn’t last long, but my happiness is cut short the moment I see him going in for a hug.
A huge part of me realizes how irrational I’m being. I have no right to crash her goodbye. I have even less right to tell her whom she can and can’t be near. But the rational part of my brain feels like it’s on hiatus at the moment. The only thing that’s working is the primal side of me.
The side that’s saying another man has his hands on what is mine.
I cross the street in a few quick strides. Neither of them notices me coming.
“Back away from her. Now.”
He drops his hands immediately and they both turn to me. He looks bewildered. She shifts from surprised to suspicious. I can’t blame her.
“Time to say goodbye, Callan. A distant wave will do.”
Of course, her claws come right out. She steps in front of Callan as though she’s protecting him and puffs herself up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I give her a condescending sigh. “Shouldn’t you be at home packing?”
“Don’t you have someone else to micromanage?” She throws her hands in the air with a huff and then crosses her arms over her chest. I do my damned hardest to ignore how that pushes her breasts together above the low cut of her blouse. “Get lost, Ilarion.”
I shake my head. “Can’t do that. What Icando is stand right here and wait until you’re done with him.” I lean in. “Though something tells me you were done with him a while ago.”
“You—”
“It’s okay!” Callan cuts in. “It’s okay. I don’t want to make trouble. We’ve said our goodbyes; it’s all good. I’m just gonna head home.”
She looks like she wants to stop him, to soothe his bruised ego…but she also looks like she’s relieved he’s finally leaving. “This isn’t how I wanted it to end,” she mutters quietly.
His expression sours. “Come on, Tay. He’s right. Things between us ended before they even started. I’m not about to stick around just so you can use me to make him jealous. At least let me leave with my pride intact. You owe me that much.”
I feel the urge to point out to him that she doesn’t owe him a fucking iota of consideration, but I bite my tongue. I’ll bite it until it bleeds if that means allowing Taylor to start making better decisions—like ditching this Nice Guy who clearly doesn’t respect her boundaries as much as he claims to. He doesn’t offer me a glance as he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumping as he rounds the corner.
A more sensitive man might have just kept his mouth shut. But not me. “Aww. Poor fella.”
