Chapter 6
SIX
DEENA
My fingers slid along the stem of the wine glass as my date told me all about his new podcast.
“It’s just going to be really conversational, you know? A bit of sports, a bit of humor. You’d love it.”
How he knew that, I had no idea; he hadn’t asked me a single question about myself. “I’m sure I would,” I answered with a forced smile, wondering how angry he’d get if I left before our entrees arrived. I already knew there wouldn’t be a second date.
But maybe I wasn’t giving him a chance. Maybe I was doing what I always did, which was put walls up around myself as soon as a guy showed the least bit of interest. Maybe I was self-sabotaging.
I took another swallow of wine and continued to carry the full weight of the conversation: “So, um, what kind of microphones do you guys use?”
“Oh, great question, Diana—”
“It’s Deena.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” He shook his head with a frown, huffing. “Anyway, we got these mics online, but you know, you can’t just buy a cheap USB mic, right, you have to have crisp audio if anyone’s going to listen…”
He leaned in to talk at me, and I regretted my question. I didn’t care about a single word that left his mouth. I nodded and smiled, sipped my wine, and heard nothing.
There was something wrong with me. He was nice. He was good-looking. Yes, he wasn’t the best at conversation, but—
“So you want to go to your place or mine after this?”
Clearly, I’d missed critical parts of this dialogue. I blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“After we eat. You’re down to fuck, right? I mean, this dinner’s gonna cost, like, two hundred bucks. I’m paying, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Outrage was a burn down the back of my throat. Who did this guy think he was? He thought just because he paid for dinner, I’d spread my legs for him? He didn’t even know my name. We had nothing in common. I wasn’t even attracted to him, but I’d agreed because…because…
Because of Callum freaking Frost! Because every time he called or texted or made demands, the restless feeling inside me grew. Because my fingers and toys could only take me so far, and I needed the weight of a man on top of me to get me over that last, ever-so-sharp edge.
But not this man. He hadn’t even tried.
I thought all I needed was a rough, casual screw to get that infernal man out of my system.
I thought any cock would do. I’d been wrong.
Coming on this date had been a mistake. My fingers tightened on the stem of my wine glass, and I wondered if it would feel as satisfying as it looked in the movies to throw it right in his face.
I opened my mouth to answer—and felt my bag buzzing where I’d left it hanging on the back of my chair.
The vibrations made me pause. If I made a scene, my date might get angry.
If he got angry, he might get mean. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I did own my own business, and a few fraudulent reviews could really hurt me.
A guy like this wouldn’t think twice about ruining my life because I’d dinged his ego.
So instead of snapping his head off, I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. When I read the name on the screen, my heart took off.
“I have to take this,” I said.
“Really?” my date protested. “Right now?”
“It’s work,” I explained with false regret.
“Won’t take long.” But it would give me an excuse to get up and walk out.
I could pretend there was an emergency, text him that I wasn’t coming back, and that would be that.
Bundling my jacket under one arm, I wove through the tables and made my way to the exit.
“What do you want?” I said as soon as I swiped to answer.
“That’s a funny way to greet your favorite client,” Callum’s low voice murmured in my ear. He paused, then asked, “Am I disturbing your evening?”
I glanced over my shoulder to give an apologetic wave to my date, but his eyes were glued to his own phone, so I turned around again and ducked out the door. “Yes,” I lied. “I’m on a date.”
Now why did I feel the need to say that?
“With who?” The question was sharp, and I knew Callum expected an answer.
I wouldn’t give him one. “That’s none of your business.”
The silence was loaded, until he broke it with a soft laugh. “Can’t be that good a date if you took my call.”
I grimaced, hugging my jacket in my arms as I huddled under the restaurant’s eaves and watched traffic drive by.
Today had sucked, and it hadn’t even been that much different from every other day.
Life was drudgery, and there was no way out.
It was early March, and the last dregs of winter still blew through the night.
Earlier today, when my mother called with a particularly effective torrent of emotional manipulation, I’d caved and booked a flight to my hometown for my parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party in two weeks’ time, and the only silver lining was that I’d get a bit of warmth on my skin to tide me over until summer hit the city.
But for now, I stood in the cold with only Callum’s voice to keep me warm.
Dangerous, dangerous proposition. The restlessness inside me grew, and all the orgasms I’d given myself over the past three months suddenly seemed so pale and lifeless in comparison to the feeling this man’s voice created in me.
I was in trouble, and I knew it. I needed to end the call.
Needed to stop this before I did something stupid.
But my tongue darted out to lick my lips, and I couldn’t make myself pull the phone away from my ear.
I glanced down the street. Might as well walk to the subway station—going underground would give me an excuse to get off the phone.
My legs didn’t move, though. My mouth did. “My date was wonderful,” I shot back. “He’s a successful podcaster. I learned all about microphones.”
Cringing as soon as the words left my mouth, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to rally my thoughts. He’d called me. He needed help with travel arrangements. I should steer the conversation back to that.
“A podcaster,” Callum exclaimed sarcastically. “Does he pause in the middle of a fuck to tell you about his sponsors?”
My cheeks burned. “What do you want, Frost?”
“What I want isn’t relevant right now, but what I need is your help getting a client to the city. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your date, though. I’m sure foreplay with Mr. Podcast is better than talking to me.”
He sounded jealous and petulant, and it should have been a turn-off. But he was jealous of a man he’d never seen…simply because that man was on a date with me. My mind spun, because I realized this intense, stormy energy between us—Callum felt it too.
My core throbbed, and that keen edge of desire cut through me, sharper than it ever had before.
I was in so much trouble.
And I couldn’t help but make it worse. “Jealous, Frost?” I snapped.
“You’re talking to me right now, Deena. You walked on your date the minute I called. By the sounds of it, you’re standing on the street. Poor Mr. Podcast is all on his own, isn’t he?”
The flush on my cheeks went all the way down my chest. God, he was annoying. Why did he turn me on? Why was my blood pumping hard and my stomach clenching with need?
“I have to go.”
“Back to your date?”
“Home,” I hissed.
He harrumphed, and I heard the squeak of a chair. He’d leaned back. “Will you look at the email I just sent you?”
“Maybe. If I’m feeling generous, which at this particular moment, I’m not.” My feet finally got the message, and I started moving down the sidewalk toward the subway station.
“And how are you feeling, Deena? Frustrated? Annoyed? Unsatisfied?”
All of the above. A gust of wind blew against me, and I wished I’d taken the time to put my jacket on. “You are the most unprofessional man I’ve ever met,” I said, hurrying as the subway entrance came into view. “I have to go.”
“Call me when you get home.”
“What? No.” Why would I do that? Why would he want me to do that? Head spinning, I frowned at my phone and ended the call. I’d reached the station—and my phone rang again.
“Did you just hang up on me?” Frost asked when I answered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
I sucked in a breath. That voice. I was wet down below, my heart thumping so hard I felt lightheaded. And I realized another man would never have satisfied this feeling. This was a problem only Callum Frost could solve. And that was very, very bad.
I stood on the top step with one hand gripping the handrail leading underground. “No, I didn’t hang up on you. Our conversation was over, so I ended the call. I’ll take a look at your email tonight and let you know if I can help you. Key word: if.”
“Call me when you get home,” he repeated.
I resisted, the tension in my chest so tight it felt like my ribs would collapse. I didn’t want to do what he told me. I didn’t understand what was going on between us, but I knew I needed to keep my distance.
And at the same time, I ached. All over, everywhere, all at once.
But still, when I huffed and said, “Fine,” Callum hummed in satisfaction, and some of the frantic, desperate energy in me eased. My fingertips tingled as I hung up the phone, not wanting to admit the truth:
It felt good to do what he told me to do. It felt so fucking good to give in.
Thankfully, by the time I unlocked my apartment door and pushed my way inside, I’d come to my senses.
I left my phone in my purse and opened my laptop.
The next time I contacted Callum Frost was through an utterly professional email which made no mention of dates with other men or phone calls or the fact that I liked it when he tried to order me around.
But that was a weak, avoidant defense that would crumble as soon as he picked up the phone to bark at me. I’d given up promising myself I’d ignore him.
He was the only thing in my life that gave me any sort of spark. Everything else was drudgery and duty and debt.
Seconds trickled by with no response, and I paced my apartment, feeling silly and stupid.
He hadn’t been jealous. Why would he care that I was on a date with another man?
I’d made a fool of myself. I was the only one who felt anything in this weird dynamic of ours.
He was toying with me, because that was what men like him did.
Soon, I’d be going back home to North Carolina and fighting against the weight of my family’s expectations, and I’d feel like a failure then too.
Tension tightened around me like steel bands winched against my ribs.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I hated feeling so stupid.
Then my phone rang.