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Do I detect a hint of…perverse satisfaction in her voice? I do. I know I do.
"Ah, so this is my punishment for offering to fire you. I assume this was Kelsey's idea?"
"We have a saying,o peixe morre pela boca," Camila says in response, though I can hear the amusement in her voice.
"And what does this saying mean?" I ask, making a mental note to make her speak to me in Portuguese forever. It's way more beautiful coming from her than from my translation app.
"Fish die through the mouth. Basically, keep your mouth shut."
"So it was Kelsey." I grin.
"Maybe, maybe not. Why? Is it a problem?"
Yes. Yes, it is absolutely a problem. If bears shit in the woods, they definitely hunt in the woods. And I may be big, but I'm notfight a fucking bearbig. Not to mention, last time I was in the woods, Jonas damn near shot me. Never go duck hunting with a crazy Canadian.
"No," I lie. "No problem at all."
"Excellent," she says.
And even though I fully intend to spank her ass for this just as soon as I earn the right to do so, I'm a little…proud. Because she doesn't sound upset right now. In fact, she sounds happy as a clam. If spending a night in the woods makes her happy, then I'm spending a night in the fucking woods.
"Go out with me," I blurt.
"Gray, we've been over this. I don't date clients."
"I'm not a client yet," I remind her.
"Gray…"
"I'm not Derrick Lovelace, angel," I murmur into the phone, sitting upright on the couch. "I'm not a manwhore. I don't treat people like shit. I hurt you this morning and I'd really like the opportunity to make it up to you. I'd like to get to know you."
"Kelsey told you about Ana and Derrick?"
"She did."
Schrödinger jumps down from beside me and wanders over to the fireplace before plopping down in front of it. He's moping because my bag is sitting by the front door. He doesn't like me much when I'm here, but he likes it even less when I'm not. Cats are weird, man.
Camila's quiet for a moment and then she sighs. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"I said something that upset you. What was it, Camila?"
"It was nothing. Sometimes, grief just hits like that."
"Camila."
"Gray," she says, mimicking my tone. Only she sounds like a ninety-year-old asthmatic. It's fucking cute, though I hope that's not what I sound like to her. Whispering dirty shit in her ear when I'm making her come undone for me will be problematic if it is.
"Angel, tell me."
"Kelsey didn't warn me that you're so bossy," she complains. "And growly."
"Me diz, Camila," I say, hoping I said it right.
"You know Portuguese?" she asks, her tone soft.
"I'm learning."
"Since when?"
