9. Eli
nine
Eli
The coffee maker beeps when it’s done brewing. Grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, I pour them full of the steaming-hot liquid I consider the elixir of life and pause.
Fuck. I don’t know how Callie takes her coffee.
Does she even like coffee? Double fuck.
I’ve known Callie for a little over two years, and aside from cupcakes, I have no idea what she likes. I should have spent time getting to know her instead of ignoring and taking cheap shots at her. I’m such a dick.
Bracing my hands on the counter, I take a few deep breaths. Pull it together. You can fix this.
Having hardly slept a wink, I’m a fucking wreck this morning. I couldn’t stop checking on Callie or replaying the way she’d collapsed to the floor in front of me. I’m exhausted physically and, to be honest, emotionally as well. I’d never been more scared in my life. She could have died if I hadn’t been there and reacted as quickly as I had to get her medicine.
Around three in the morning, I texted DJ Reigns, asking him to look at his own security footage and send it to me, so I can see if anything stands out. I can’t shake the thought that those cupcakes were no accident.
She said herself that she’s the only one who eats them. But who would know that and switch them?
The heavy weight of guilt settles in my stomach. I should know she’s allergic to nuts, how she likes her coffee, and how she loves vanilla cupcakes with purple frosting. I’m her agent. These are things I should know, right?
My brother, Cam, seems to think I’m the Wizard of fucking Oz and have all the answers, but I don’t. Especially not the answer key to Callie.
Fuck it.
I make Callie’s coffee like mine, with a dash of milk and a spoonful of sugar. Say what you want, but plain black coffee sucks.
Out the glass patio doors, the sun is rising over the city behind my condo. My eyes catch the fire pit in the morning yellow glow, reminding me of the last time my three brothers and I sat around it—hanging out, chatting, and grilling—before Jace and Mason moved to be with their now wives. We still get together, but it’s not the same, especially now that Cameron has found someone who makes him happy. Hell, he’s practically wifed-up. I saw how he behaved with Talia, his girlfriend, at our nieces’ birthday party a few weeks ago. Cam has never before looked at a woman with hearts in his eyes. It was plain to see that, for him, everything starts and ends with her.
My brothers are all moving on, getting married, and having kids while I’m stuck in the same place I was in five years ago. I thought I loved being single, making work my life. Then those fuckers went and broke the glass, and I can’t unsee what life would be like with someone in it.
Someone like Callie?
I berate myself for even thinking of her. She’s way too young, and just starting her career, to be interested in a guy like me. I’m eleven years older, and she’s my client. I refuse to be Harold. I won’t be another person in Hollywood preying on young women.
Shoving away the tornado of thoughts spinning around in my head, I make my way through my open-concept kitchen and living room, and down the hall towards Callie, her mug of coffee in my hand.
It doesn’t take long since my home is on the smaller side, but I like it that way. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms are enough for me. Plus I live in a secure, gated community, so it’s safe. My bedroom is the perfect size for a king-sized bed. It also has a huge walk-in closet, and the ensuite bathroom has an amazing rainfall shower. I turned one bedroom into my home office and the other into a guest bedroom, which is decorated for Rhys for when he stays over.
A small piece of me enjoyed watching Callie as she slept in my home, where I knew she’d be safe. It was hard for me not to climb into bed behind her as she curled herself into a cute little ball in the middle of the bed. I longed to wrap my arm around her soft body, so that I could breathe in her sweet floral scent as she slept, and make sure she didn’t relapse.
What the fuck is wrong with you? Shut that shit down, my brain screams at me.
Twisting the tension from my neck, I knock on the door before twisting the knob and stepping into … an empty fucking room.
The bed is haphazardly made, and both Callie’s purse and shoes are gone.
“You little fucking brat,” I mumble under my breath. Anger burns like liquid fire in my veins. I can’t believe she had the audacity to sneak out of my house in the middle of the night.
Returning to the kitchen, I pour the full mug of coffee down the drain and rush to my room to throw on a suit. I’m glad I showered last night after watching Callie drift off to sleep. In ten minutes, I’m dressed and ready to find my bratty little princess. If she thinks she can just slink off into the night like she didn’t almost die, she has another thing coming. If I wasn’t a better man, I’d throw her over my shoulder and spank her ass raw for leaving.
At the door, I reach for my wallet and slide it into my back pocket before grabbing my laptop bag and searching for my keys. The fob for my SUV is missing, and a sinking feeling hits me in the chest.
No, she didn’t. I hurry to the garage and… Yes. Yes, she fucking did.
The spot where my brand-new fucking car sits beside my Maserati is empty. Clenching my fists, and my jaw so I don’t scream, I take a deep breath.
Callie is in so much fucking trouble when I get my hands on her.
I head inside to grab the keys to my other car and start it up. Pulling out my phone, I climb in and connect it to hands-free and call Mason. He answers on the first ring.
“What?” he pants.
“Please tell me you’re working out,” I groan. This wouldn’t be the first time he answered after getting the kind of cardio workout I would rather not know about.
Mason laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Ugh, gross.”
“Mase, knock it off. Eli, we just left my morning boxing class,” Emery interjects as Mason chuckles in the background.
Bastard thinks he’s so funny now that he’s married and getting laid on the regular.
“You went to her workout class with her? Can’t your wife have an hour of Mason-free time?”
I already know the answer: no, she can’t. He enjoys being attached to her hip like a lovesick puppy, always watching over her and growling at other men who even look her way. Possessive asshole.
“No,” Mason growls. “I can always hang up on you.”
“Now, that’s the Mason I know.”
“So grumpy, right?” Emery jokes.
“You love it,” Mason purrs.
Barf. These two are as bad as Jace and Rylann, always fucking and making out in front of everyone.
“Okay, okay. I have a real problem. I need help.”
“Are we cashing in a favor?” Mason asks.
“No, you cheap bastard. Someone stole my damn car, and I need you to help me track it.”
“What the fuck? How? When?”
“From my garage this morning.” The anger I had earlier when I noticed my keys were missing comes back to the surface. Callie has some serious fucking explaining to do.
“How is that possible? That car is hard to take without alarms and sensors going off, unless they had a… Eli?” my brother asks.
“They had the key,” I confirm.
“Interesting.” Mason hums. “I’m on my way home now. I can look as soon as I get there.”
“Great. Don’t call the cops. I just need to know where it goes, alright?”
“Got it. So, does this mean you know the thief?”
I should keep my mouth shut, but I answer anyway. “Yes.”
“Should I be worried?”
“No.” I swerve through traffic like a madman, racing to the office.
“Is this thief a woman?” I can hear the smile in Mason’s voice.
“Kind of.” I’m not sure I want to bring up Callie, but I have a feeling I won’t get away with leaving her out of this conversation. Not with Mason. He’s smart as fuck, and he’ll connect the security cameras to the car thief in no time.
“Kind of? What the fuck does that mean?”
“It’s a client.”
“A female client?” Mason’s voice rises in interest.
“Geez, what’s with the third degree? Yes, a female client. Are you going to help me or not?”
He answers my questions in order. “The third degree is because unless it’s family, you never have people at your house. Not women, not clients, and especially not women clients. And of course I’m going to help you.”
“Thank you.”
“Does this have anything to do with you-know-who and the security cameras at Ricochet Lounge?”
I fucking knew he’d be quick to draw the line from A to B.
“Eli, are you keeping tabs on a girl without her consent?”
Mason bursts out laughing at Emery’s loaded question.
“Fuck off, Mase. I have dirt.”
“No. You. Fucking. Don’t,” he grits out, making me laugh as Emery asks him what I’m talking about.
Take that, brother.
But it backfires when Mason opens his big trap and rats me out. “Eli put cameras in the concert hall to watch Callie Wright rehearse, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know about them,” Mason blurts, throwing me under the bus.
“You asshole,” I grumble.
Emery sniggers and sings. “Ooh, Eli has a crush. Workplace romance. That’s so hot.”
I roll my eyes at my sister-in-law. “You have got to stop reading those books with Rylann. She’s turning all of you into romance-aholics. All you see is love and budding relationships, and this is not that.”
“Baby Doll, doesn’t he sound like Cameron did not that long ago?”
“He sure does,” she agrees.
“You two suck,” I groan. My brother and his wife continue to laugh as I pull into the underground parking garage at my office and slide into my spot by the elevator. “I’m at work and one hundred percent over this conversation. Text me when you have what I need.”
“E, wait a second,” Mason says. Emery shouts goodbye, and I hear a door slam. “Sorry for giving you a hard time.”
“It’s fine. I get it.” Doesn’t mean I like it, but I teased him before, so I guess I deserve it.
I’ve been battling with myself over my feelings for Callie since the day I met her. Before her, I had never been attracted to a client. The rules were easy to follow; my personal and business lives never intersect. In the past, I’ve only hooked up with women who didn’t know who I was or what I did for a living. Now there’s Callie, and I have no idea what the fuck to do. This is all new to me.
“I’m here if you need to talk to someone. You know it’s okay to have feelings for her, right?”
“No, it’s not.” I shake my head. He doesn’t understand. My feelings for Callie go against everything I stand for.
“You can fight it all you want, but in the end, it will be so much easier—and a lot less painful, for both of you—if you go with your heart.”
Easy for him to say. “When did you get all sappy?”
“When I saw a gorgeous woman walk behind me at an airport. I didn’t even know her name. You know I fucked up big with Em, and I am so grateful she took me back and gave us another chance. Don’t lose out on something because you’re scared of how it looks. Of what people will think.”
Damn Mason for being so perceptive. “This isn’t the same thing.”
“Maybe not to you. But it is, so don’t fuck it up, man.”
“Expert advice, old wise one.”
Mason chuckles. “Fuck off. Give me about five minutes, and I’ll get you that information.”
“Thanks, Mase.”
“I got you, brother.”
I hang my head between my shoulders and take a deep breath before going upstairs. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why Callie took my car and slipped out of the house without telling me.
Where the fuck did you go, Callie, and why did you leave?
I throw open the door to Ricochet Lounge and stomp towards the auditorium.
When Mason told me my car was in Malibu, I almost lost it. Why was Callie in Malibu? Does she have a boyfriend I don’t know about living out there? A million scenarios ran through my head. I fought through them all, and pushed the rage and jealousy irrationally clouding my judgment away, reminding myself that I have no right to be jealous.
Callie isn’t mine.
All morning, I’ve tried to ignore how queasy I feel thinking about Callie in Malibu with who knows who, doing who knows what. I kept my head down and worked. Dez and I met up, got feelers out for Cam’s assistant, and then I checked in on half a dozen of my clients.
Mason called fifteen minutes ago to tell me my car was parked at Ricochet Lounge. Callie does not have rehearsals today because I canceled them, so when I pulled up the security footage and saw her on stage rehearsing like yesterday never happened, something in me snapped.
The drive here was a blur, my anger and worry overriding all rational thought. She is supposed to be resting while her backup dancers practice today. But does she listen? No.
I rip open the theater door and, sure enough, there she is. Callie fucking Wright. Looking sexy as all get-out in a sparkly leotard, nude spandex, and heels, and shaking her ass. She almost fucking died last night, and she’s here dancing and pushing herself to the limit—against doctor’s orders. Against my orders.
I practically growl when her back-up dancer puts his hands on her hips and lifts her into the air with a spin. The dancer lands on his back, with Callie on top, her knees at his side. She pushes his face, and stands in a move meant to be seductive and teasing. It works because all I can think about is her sitting on my face and pushing me away to stop me from making her come over and over.
Pushing my dirty visions aside, I stare until Callie catches sight of me. She freezes, and her abyss-like eyes find my seething ones. A look of fear flashes across her face as I come barreling down the stage towards her like a deranged psycho, huffing and puffing, anger rolling off me in waves.
I can feel everyone’s curious stare on me and Callie, but I couldn’t give a single fuck right now. She’s putting herself in danger, and I’m not having any of it.
“Calliope.” There’s a dark edge to my voice, and her name comes out like a rough warning.
Callie pushes her shoulders back and tilts her chin up like a princess ready for battle against an ogre. “Not here.” She spins on her heel without another word and strides proudly off stage.
Tapping into my outrage, I don’t bother walking around. Instead, I place my hands on the stage, pull myself up in one quick move, and follow her to her dressing room, my eyes glued to her perfect ass the entire way.
Callie pushes open her dressing room door and marches over to the vanity, where she rests her butt on the edge, legs crossed at the ankle and arms over her chest, lifting her perfect tits up and making my mouth water.
I’m a barrel of TNT waiting to explode as I slam the door and step up to her, bringing us toe to toe, only a few inches separating us.
“What the fuck, Callie?!” I shout.
“Don’t talk to me like that. Take a second. Please.” She places her hands on my chest and firmly presses her palms into me, not quite pushing me away. The gesture has an unexpectedly calming effect on me, but it doesn't last long.
The heat of her touch sets my body on fire, and my blood rushes south to my cock. The traitor twitches in my pants as I inhale her sweet floral scent.
“You fucking left without a word, and you want me to be calm? Calm was hours ago, when I woke up and brought a cup of coffee to an empty room.”
Callie stares up at me and bites her lip. The urge to bite it too and punish her is so strong it’s making me crazy. I’m half hard and furious.
“Cat got your tongue?” I grunt, fighting for the control not to maul her.
“I’m sorry.” Her whispered apology meets my lips in a warm breath.
“Sorry won’t cut it. You stole my car.”
“Borrowed,” she amends.
My blood pressure spikes at her nonchalance over the situation. “Semantics,” I growl. Callie is a celebrity who draws a ridiculous amount of media attention. She should not be out there driving alone. “Where did you go?”
She shakes her head, refusing to answer me.
“Why did you leave?” That’s the answer I really want. What was so important that she had to slip out to do, alone?
Callie looks away and whispers, “I don’t know.”
She’s lying, so I push. “Yes, you do. Just fucking tell me. Why did you steal my car? Did you need it to go off and meet up with your boyfriend or something?” I sneer.
The idea of her with another man makes my skin crawl. I don’t want anyone to put their dirty fucking hands on her. Mine , the caveman part of my brain growls, pounding on its chest.
“So, what if I did?” she snaps, pushing me away.
But I don’t budge. I can’t. The beast in me pulls at his chain, ready to leap and maul her for bringing up another man.
I am so fucked.
I’m two seconds away from gripping her face in my palm and smashing my mouth to hers in a kiss that I’m not sure I would stop until I had her bent over the vanity and taking my cock until she screamed my name like a good girl.
Super fucked.
This woman has me all twisted up inside. These uncontrollable urges to protect her and pull her closer clash with my need to push her away.
I take a step back, pulling at my hair. “I’m trying to be nice and not invade your privacy here, but I can just as easily look up the address.”
Unshed tears pool in her eyes. “Then look.”
“I don’t want to look. I want you to trust me. I want you to tell me.”
A tear slips, spilling down Callie’s cheek. She wipes it away with a sniffle. “Trust me first. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. Ripping my eyes away from her, I turn and face the door. I can feel my feet slipping over the edge, going down the slippery slope I’ve been avoiding with her.
I want Callie.
It’s my biggest, darkest secret. One I’m not ready to confront or act on, but I know having her could slip away forever if I keep behaving like an asshole.
Trust is hard, but my gut tells me that if I don’t trust Callie now, she’ll push me away.
“Don’t fuck it up.” Mason’s earlier words come back to me.
I have to give her this, even though it’s agony.
I turn around to find Callie staring at my reflection in the mirror. Her sad eyes say everything and nothing at all. She wants to tell me, but she’s not ready—that, we can agree on.
“I trust you, Callie. Someday, I hope you trust me back.” Callie’s entire demeanor shifts the instant I give her my trust. My earlier ire evaporates as her shoulders fall and the worry in her eyes disappears.
“Thank you,” she whispers and turns to face me. The tension in the air dissipates to a low simmer, and an understanding passes between us as we stare at one another.
“Will you please go home and rest? You can take my car.” I smirk at her.
“Okay.” She gives me a watery smile, and the ache in my chest for this woman grows double the size.
My eyes linger on hers for another second before I head for the door. I need to get the fuck out of here before I step toward her, wrap my arms around her waist, tilt her head back, and kiss the ever-living fuck out of her.
What is she doing to me?
“Eli,” Callie calls out.
As my hand touches the door handle, I look over my shoulder at her. “Yeah, Cal?”
She twists the ring on her thumb and admits, “There’s no other guy.”
There’s no other guy.
Her confession has the beast in me lying back with his hands under his head and preening.
Music to my fucking ears.