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“Who the hell had the balls to tell you where I live?”
“Come on, Mills. I get you’re not too happy I’m here, but don’t blame the guy who told me.”
She closed her eyes and tried for that place of calm she knew was buried inside her somewhere. It was gonna take a minute, but she could do it. She’d been practicing.
“What guy?”
“What are you going to do to him?” Cal asked softly.
“Kill him,” Millie replied without missing a beat, opening her eyes once more and hoping like hell the shit going inside her body wasn’t showing up on her face.
“That might cause you some problems.”
“I’ll decide if it’s a problem or not.” She grimaced. “What. Guy?”
A ghost of a smile played around the corners of Cal’s mouth, and Millie clenched her teeth. God, he was so sure of himself.
“Well, if you can do without a cook, I suppose you could kill him.”
“Caplan,” she all but spat.
Cal nodded. “George.”
She should have known. The man was Cal’s biggest fan, and he’d nearly had a heart attack when one of the servers told him Cal Bridgestone was back in town.
“Idiot,” she muttered. That ghost of a smile on Cal’s face widened a bit more, but she had his number. She knew all too well the power he held over women. There was no denying it; he’d been born with an overabundance of charm. Heck, she’d fallen for it same as the rest. But she’d learned her lesson, learned it but good, and no way was she falling for his crap again.
She squared her shoulders. Millie Sue Jenkins might still be in love with Cal Bridgestone, but she also disliked him more than any person on the planet. His weapons were useless. He could smile all he damn well pleased.
“I don’t have the time or the patience for you, Calvin. Just say whatever it is you came to say and leave me alone.”
“You look like shit.”
Okay, that wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. And was his grin wider?
She clenched her hands. “You drove all the way out here to tell me I look like shit?”
“No,” he drawled, “just an observation is all.”
“Well, you don’t look so good yourself,” she shot back. She noted the bloodshot eyes and the shadows beneath them. Cal might smell good, but he was running on empty.
“I had a late night.” Cal shifted his feet, gaze falling from hers. “It was…” He paused as if searching for the right words. “It was weird being back there. Without Bent.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so Millie remained silent. And vigilant. She needed to be sharp so as to avoid the charm that simmered beneath the surface.
“Could we do this inside? I promise I won’t stay long. But you look like you need some coffee, and I could use a cup.”
“You expect me to make you a coffee?” The man was unbelievable.
“No,” he replied gently. “I’ll make the coffee while you shower and…” His eyes dropped to her chest area. “Get into some warmer clothes.”
She didn’t have to follow his gaze to know her nipples poked out like two headlights in the dark.
“Eyes above my chest,” she ground out. Millie realized that Cal wasn’t leaving until he said what he wanted to say. She turned on her heel and marched back into her house. She disappeared down the hall to her room without another word and slammed her bedroom door shut. It was a bit dramatic, but she couldn’t help herself.
Cal Bridgestone still pushed every single button she owned, and it was going to take more than a hot shower to make it go away. But at the moment, that was her only option. She took her time, shampooed her hair twice, and decided it was as good a time as any to get the razor out and clear away the weeks’ worth of hair on her legs. By the time she’d combed out her hair and left it to hang down her back in a wet rope, pulled on an old pair of sweatpants that were two sizes too big along with the matching sweatshirt, she’d been closed up in her bedroom for nearly forty-five minutes.
As she opened the door, she thought that maybe, if she was lucky and every single god that had ever lived was looking down on her, he’d be—
