14. Callie
14
CALLIE
My jaw drops at the sight of the closet in my room. Not only is it a walk-in fucking closet in a hotel room, but it’s full of clothing, shoes, and accessories.
They must have had it in here before we arrived, and I’m just...
I’m just shocked .
I run my fingers along the garments hanging in the closet. I check the tags and want to vomit. Just one of these dresses could buy groceries for a month for my family. I flip over one of the black booties on the shelf and slam it back down again when I see red.
Not metaphorical red. Actual red.
I feel so lightheaded that I have to sit myself down on the floor for fear of passing out.
For a brief moment, I feel those warm tingles at the thought of Torren doing all of this for me, but then I shake myself back to reality. This was likely all Hammond’s doing. Torren doesn’t even smile at me unless it’s for show. He barely looks at me unless he has to. He wouldn’t have done this himself.
I wipe the frown off my face and stand back up.
I am not upset. I do not care that this wasn’t a kind gesture from Torren. This is a job, and I need to stop being a sensitive child. My mom hasn’t returned my calls yet, but I’m doing this for her, and she’ll understand. We need this. She needs it. Glory needs it. And damn it, as much as I hate it, I need it .
I go back to the rack of clothing and survey it with a critical eye. I pull out a sensible dress and a pair of heels. It looks like it would work for a simple dinner date. I’ll curl my hair and do my makeup, and we’ll go on a staged date for the press.
How fun.
I shake my head and scold myself in the full-length mirror on the way.
“This is eighty thousand dollars, bitch. Stop pouting and do your job.”
Do. Your. Job.
I grab a towel and my toiletry set, then head into the bathroom, which happens to be larger than the bedroom I share with Glory back home. I’ve never taken a shower while not standing in a bathtub before. This bathroom has a large, glass-walled steam shower and a giant soaker tub. It’s lavish and unnecessary, but I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to take a bath in that tub.
I take a longer shower than usual, simply because the water doesn’t run cold after seven minutes. I wash my hair twice, burying the concern of wasting shampoo, and then I shave my legs slowly, careful not to cause any nicks. I doubt the girlfriend of a rock star would have shaving cuts on their shins.
I turn off the water once I notice my fingers starting to wrinkle, then step out and reach for a towel. It is fluffy and white—nothing like the ones we have at home—and it’s unbelievably soft on my skin. When I’m dry, I use some of the hotel lotion and cover my body with it. It smells like coconut and vanilla.
I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in a long time when I leave the bathroom, but it doesn’t last. My breath catches at the sight of Torren sitting on my bed.
“What are you doing in here?” I snap, pulling the towel tighter around my body.
He looks up from his phone slowly, his eyes staying on my face and never once straying to my exposed skin. I don’t know if I should be offended at his disinterest or grateful for his respect. I end up battling with a little of both.
“We’ve had a change of plans. ”
“It couldn’t have waited until I was out of the shower?”
“You are out of the shower.”
“You know what I mean.”
He sighs. “We’re not doing dinner anymore.” I feel a sense of relief before he snatches it away with his next words. “We’re going to a club, instead.”
“What? Why?”
“The press isn’t buying the relationship story. They say we have no chemistry.”
I snort out a laugh before I can stop myself.
“Well, that’s not surprising. I told you I’m not an actress. I can’t just conjure up chemistry out of thin air.”
“ Well , it’s unacceptable. So tonight, we’re going to a club, and we are going to give them chemistry.”
“How in the hell are we going to do that?”
Torren’s lips turn up into a slow smile, and he stands from my bed. He takes a step in my direction, and I instinctively step back. Then, with predatory calm and a roguish smirk, he stalks toward me. My heart beats faster with each foot of distance he covers until he’s standing before me, and I’m trapped with my back against the wall.
I bite my lower lip, and his gaze drops to my mouth. It lingers there for a moment before he looks back up. His eyes bounce between mine, those stupid fucking hypnotic green eyes, and then he’s raising his hand to trace his knuckles over my jaw.
My nipples pebble. My thighs press together tightly. My eyes fall closed. Even my breathing quickens, making my towel rub against my chest with each shaky inhale and exhale.
He hums in appreciation, then drags his other hand up my arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. He dances his fingers on my collarbone and along the edge of my towel, then slips them into my hair. He fists them, tugging my hair at the root, and I swallow down a moan.
My thighs have grown sticky. My core throbbing from his simple touch.
I tell myself I hate it, but goddamn, do I want it.
He leans closer. His chest brushes mine, and against my will, my body arches ever-so-slightly into him. His scent engulfs me, wrapping around me, permeating my towel and my skin. I might smell like him forever, and in this moment, I’d welcome it.
When his lips brush against the shell of my ear, mine part with a quiet gasp. His breath caresses my skin as he laughs softly.
“You might not like me , Callie, but you like this .”
“Get over yourself, King. I can’t stand you.”
He smirks. My forced bravado is weak, and I can tell he sees right through me. My fingers tighten in my towel, and I’m suddenly grateful that I’m in only a towel. If my hands weren’t occupied with keeping it up, they’d probably be all over Torren.
He laughs again, pressing his lips to my neck, then lays his palm on my chest, just above my racing heart.
“You can lie all you want, but your body gives you away. You like my hands on you. You like my lips on you. You like how I touch you. You like the tease of what my body could do with your body. We don’t have to conjure up chemistry. We have it. You just have to give in to it a little.”
I whimper, half-frustration, half-arousal. He’s right, and I hate him for it.
“No sex,” I say weakly. He drags his nose over the sensitive skin at my neck.
“No sex. I won’t kiss you. But I’m going to touch you, and you have to allow yourself to like it.”
I nod, and he leans back, narrowing his eyes slightly at me. His gaze bounces over my face, to my shoulders, to my ears, and then he frowns just a little.
“Is that your natural hair color?”
I freeze. My heart thuds in my head as I dart my eyes back to his face. I search for something—anything—to hint that he remembers, but once again, I see nothing. I’m the only one suffering from whispers of the past. To him, I’m just another woman in a long line of women that probably spans the globe.
I don’t know what to say. My voice probably wouldn’t work even I did, so I nod.
His hands drop away, cold air hitting me suddenly in the absence of his body heat, and in a blink, the sensual smirk from earlier is long gone. My eyebrows scrunch in confusion before I can stop them .
“If you can’t sell it, then you can go home, and we’ll find someone else. I’ll be back at ten. Wear something to go clubbing.”
The harsh statement, the way he delivered it without feeling, lingers in the room after he leaves. How he can turn it off and on so easily shouldn’t shock me. After all, I’ve experienced it before.
This time, though, I have to shield myself. He won’t burn me again.