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“I’m just confirming the schedule for tomorrow night,” I said, ignoring the stifling curiosity. Inquiring minds did NOT need to know. The pictures weren’t on TMZ and that’s all that mattered. “I wanted to advise you about--”
“I took care of the picture.”
I gulped, not sure what to say. Not sure what he expected from me.
“Hello?” he snapped. “Still there?”
“Y-Yes,” I turned my chair to the corner and dropped my volume. “What do you want me to say?”
“Thank you, maybe?” he bit off. “I did it for you.”
I fingered the phone cord, hating how his last sentence made me feel. I couldn’t go there. I wouldn’t.
“To be honest,” he continued, not letting me clear the air, “I figured the guy would fare better with me. Whitmore would have probably threatened the poor guy for just taking a couple of harmless pictures. Busted kneecaps, horse’s head, financial ruin or something like that. He seems like a fairly creative guy.”
“Are you being serious right now?” I found zero amusement in his shootout to The Godfather or transparent efforts to take Jacob down a peg. “You don’t even know him. And not that it’s any of your business, but I was going to talk to the photographer. I was going to take care of it.” The line went silent but I knew we were still connected. “I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need your help.”
He finally found his tongue. “Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“And how were you planning on taking care of it? Wielding the mighty Whitmore and Creighton bank account? Or maybe you were going to wear something deliciously low cut?”
I tightened my grip on my phone, trying desperately to choose my words wisely. First, he insulted Jacob and apparently I was next in line. The guy I’d gotten to know was playful, but this wasn’t fun and games. He was being downright mean.
“If there’s nothing else,” I said icily. “I have other things to take care of and I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”
“Would it really have been so horrible?”
I slackened my grip, expecting something sarcastic, but the change in his voice caught me by surprise. “What?”
“If we had kissed.”
“Yes,” I didn’t miss a beat, even though my heart was pounding. “It would have been horrible. I have a boyfriend, Ca--Mr. Wallace. I shouldn’t have met you for coffee in the first place.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because…” I faltered, unarmed and unprepared to answer his valid question. It was one I’d asked myself. One Jacob asked with his glare when I came clean. And I had an answer. “Because I’m a fan of your work.”
“Bullshit,” he scoffed. “You can tell your billionaire playmate that lie, but I was inches from you. Close enough that I could really see, Leila.”
My nostrils flared angrily. I just wanted to hang up the phone, to throw it across the room, but I didn’t. I listened to him poke holes in my logical explanation, peeling back the layers until he got to the chilling truth beneath.
“You like me, Leila.”
“As a client,” I hissed stubbornly. “I’m not interested in anything more than that.”
If memory serves, Lay had quite the crush on him.
I pushed away my mother’s voice. Pushed away the past. Had a crush. Past tense.
I expected Cade to push the issue, bringing up some other twitch or a lingering smile that he could use to support his argument, but the line was quiet again.
“Hello?” I said gingerly, licking my lips. “Cade?”
“Miss Montgomery?” The voice was lighter, the soft timbre distinctly female.
He’d given the phone back to Lisa.
