Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
NADIA
Three weeks later, I'm still in Crimson Hollow.
Not because I couldn't leave. Not because I didn't have options. But because somewhere between that first whiskey at The Velvet Antler and the morning Callum convinced me to stay, I realized that the life I thought I wanted wasn't the life I actually needed.
Chicago feels like a different planet now. I flew back once, spent a week packing up my apartment and putting things in storage and having awkward coffee with former coworkers who didn't know what to say to someone who'd been laid off and then disappeared into the mountains with a lumberjack.
The lumberjack in question drove down to help me pack.
Spent three days hauling boxes and assembling storage bins and charming my skeptical friends with his dry humor and quiet competence.
My best friend Keisha pulled me aside on the second night and said, "Girl, if you don't lock that down, I will. "
I'm locking it down. Or trying to, anyway.
Living with Callum is nothing like I expected. He's grumpy in the mornings until his second cup of coffee. He leaves his boots by the door in a way that drives me crazy. He has a specific way he likes the dishwasher loaded and gets quietly annoyed when I do it wrong.
But he also makes me breakfast every day. Runs his fingers through my hair while we watch movies on his ridiculously comfortable couch. Pulls me into his lap during conference calls with his brothers just because he wants me close.
And the sex. God, the sex.
We've barely scratched the surface of what's in that playroom, and already he's shown me things about myself I never knew existed. I crave his control now, wait for it, get restless and bratty when too many days pass without him putting me in my place.
He always knows when I need it. Always reads the signs before I even recognize them myself.
But we haven't talked about the future. Not really. Not beyond "let's see where this goes" and "we'll figure it out." The words hang unspoken between us, a conversation we keep circling without ever landing.
Until today.
I'm working at the kitchen island, laptop open, putting together a freelance marketing proposal for a local winery that reached out after hearing about me through Silas.
It's not a full-time job, but it's something.
A start. A reason to be here that isn't just the man upstairs in his home office reviewing timber contracts.
The front door opens and Callum walks in, earlier than expected. He's been at a meeting with a potential new client all morning, some developer looking to source sustainable wood for a luxury resort project.
"You're back early." I don't look up from my screen. "How'd it go?"
"It went." He crosses to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. "I need to talk to you about something."
My stomach drops. Nothing good ever follows those words.
"Okay." I close my laptop and give him my full attention. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." He leans against the counter, watching me with an expression I can't quite read. "The developer I met with today is building a resort near Whistler. High-end, eco-focused, exactly the kind of project Ridge Brothers was made for."
"That sounds great."
"It is great. It's also a two-year contract that would significantly expand our operations." He pauses. "They want me to oversee it personally. On-site presence at least three days a week."
"Whistler is what, five hours from here?"
"Six, depending on weather."
The implication settles over me. Three days a week, six hours away. That's half his time gone. Half our time gone.
"When do they need an answer?"
"End of the month." He sets down his glass. "I wanted to talk to you before I made any decisions."
"Why? It's your business. Your opportunity."
"Because whatever I decide affects both of us.
" He moves around the island until he's standing in front of me.
"Three weeks ago you were about to walk out the door and fly back to Chicago.
Now you're building a life here. Freelancing.
Making connections. I'm not going to take a contract that keeps me away half the time without knowing how you feel about it. "
"How I feel about it." I turn on my stool to face him fully. "Callum, I've been here three weeks. I'm basically a houseguest who contributes to groceries. You don't need my permission to run your business."
"You're not a houseguest."
"Then what am I?"
The question lands harder than I intended. But it's the question we've been avoiding. The one that keeps me up at night when he's sleeping soundly beside me.
What are we? What is this? Where is it going?
Callum is quiet for a long moment. Then he takes my hands in his, his thumbs tracing circles on my palms.
"Come with me."
"What?"
"To the playroom. There's something I need to show you."
My pulse quickens despite my confusion. "Callum, we're in the middle of a conversation."
"I know. And this is how I want to finish it." He tugs me gently off the stool. "Trust me?"
I do. That's the terrifying part. I trust him completely, even when I don't understand what he's doing.
The playroom looks different when we enter. The usual warm lighting is supplemented by candles, dozens of them, scattered across every surface. The bed has been made with fresh sheets in deep red. And on the padded bench where he's taken me apart so many times, there's a small velvet box.
My heart stops.
"Callum."
"Let me talk." He positions me in front of the bench, his hands on my shoulders. "Three weeks ago, you asked me what you are. You called yourself a houseguest. A temporary arrangement. Something convenient that would eventually end."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant. And I know why you said it. Because it's easier to be temporary than to risk being permanent." His hands slide down my arms, warming my suddenly cold skin. "But I need you to understand something. From the moment you walked into that bar, you were never temporary to me."
"We'd known each other for an hour."
"And I knew." His voice is rough, certain. "I knew you were going to change everything. I knew that whatever happened between us was going to matter. I fought it for about thirty seconds before I realized fighting was pointless."
Tears prick at my eyes. "Callum..."
"I'm not asking you to marry me." He nods toward the velvet box. "Not yet. We've known each other less than a month and we're both too practical for that."
"Then what's in the box?"
"Open it."
My hands tremble as I reach for the velvet case. The hinges creak softly when I lift the lid.
Inside, nestled against black silk, is a key. Silver, ornate, attached to a delicate chain.
"I don't understand."
"It's a key to this room." Callum moves behind me, his chest warm against my back. "And to this house. And to my life." His lips brush my ear. "I want you to stay, Nadia. Not as a houseguest. Not as something temporary. As my partner. My submissive. The woman I'm building a future with."
"Your submissive." The word sends a shiver down my spine.
"If you want to be. On your terms. In whatever way works for both of us.
" His arms wrap around my waist, holding me close.
"I know you're still figuring out what you want.
I know the idea of belonging to someone goes against everything you've taught yourself to believe.
But I also know how you come alive when you surrender.
How peaceful you look when you stop fighting and let me take care of you. "
He's right. I hate how right he is.
"And the Whistler contract?"
"I'll turn it down."
"What? No." I spin in his arms to face him. "Callum, that's a huge opportunity. You can't walk away from it because of me."
"I can if staying means losing you." His expression is serious, steady. "The business has survived for twenty-two years. It'll survive without this contract. But I don't want to survive without you."
"That's insane. We've been together a month."
"Five weeks. And I don't care." He cups my face in his hands. "I spent eight years being practical. Being careful. Protecting myself from exactly this kind of risk. And all it got me was lonely and convinced that I was better off alone."
"Callum..."
"I'd rather risk everything for a chance at something real than play it safe and end up with nothing." His thumbs stroke my cheekbones. "Take the key, Nadia. Stay. Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved."
The tears spill over. I can't stop them.
"You're supposed to be the practical one," I manage. "The careful one. The one who thinks things through."
"I've thought this through. Every day for the last five weeks." He presses his forehead to mine. "You're it for me. Whether it makes sense or not. Whether it's too fast or too risky or too anything. You're it."
I look at the key in my hand. Small and silver and weighted with meaning.
A key to his playroom. His house. His life.
"I have conditions."
His eyebrows rise. "Of course you do."
"You're not turning down the Whistler contract." I hold up a hand when he starts to protest. "We'll figure out the logistics. Maybe I come with you sometimes. Maybe I stay here and build my freelance business. Maybe we do some combination that makes us both crazy and we fight about it constantly."
"Nadia—"
"I'm not done." I fist my hand in his shirt, pulling him closer. "I'm also not just going to be your submissive. I'm going to be your partner. Equal say in decisions. Equal voice in how this relationship works. What happens in this room doesn't define what happens outside it."
"I never wanted it to."
"I know. But I need to say it out loud." I take a shaky breath. "And I need you to know that I'm going to screw up. I'm going to push and test and probably try to sabotage this at least three more times before I fully believe it's real."
"I know."
"And you're still willing to sign up for that?"