Chapter Twenty-Five
Juliet
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” Callum asks, voice like whiskey and regret.
What the fuck.
This isn’t how this works.
This isn’t how I work.
I am always prepared. I always have notes. A plan. A strategy.
And now, I am raw-dogging this interaction like some kind of amateur.
God. How do people live like this? Just talking to people? Without research?
“Some dumb bitch got herself killed,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
God. I don’t even have a notebook. Asking questions face to face? This is just all wrong. I don’t even know how he eats yet.
I could forgive a lot, but bad table manners?
No. Absolutely not.
“Do you want to go eat?” I blurt out, because I need this fixed immediately.
Callum pauses. His mouth tilts into something that is both amused and vaguely predatory.
Like I’m the one who just did something reckless.
“That’s a hell of a transition, sweetie,” he says.
Oh, this asshole.
I plant my hands on my hips, thrown in a way I have never been thrown before.
Not by Orion.
Not by Noah.
Not by Elliot, who literally tied me up and made me beg.
But Callum?
Callum is different.
Because I don’t know him yet.
And that is a problem.
I don’t even know where he lives. What if he’s a bum?
“Do you have a house?” I demand, narrowing my eyes.
His expression shifts. Like he genuinely wasn’t expecting that question. Like I’ve thrown him. Which is unacceptable, because I am not supposed to be the unpredictable one here.
“You really screwed this up, Callum,” I say, shaking my head.
His grin goes lazy. His body goes loose. A cheetah, stretching in the sun, knowing damn well it can take me down in one pounce.
“This?” he asks, rolling his shoulders as he starts circling me. Fucking circling me.
Oh.
Oh.
I know that look.
That’s the I will ruin you look.
The I will take my time and break you down, piece by piece, and smile while I do it look.
And goddamn it.
I wish he hadn’t spoken to me yet.
Because now.
Now I want him.
Not just sexually.
I want him studied.
I want him cataloged.
I want him prepared and served on a silver fucking platter.
But instead?
I am standing here, flustered as fuck, trying to recover.
“In order,” he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make my skin prickle. “I’m here because some asshole died.”
Okay, so we’re here for the same reason.
Interesting.
“Yeah, I’ll eat with you.” A slow smile pulls across his mouth.
Oh.
Oh, I’m in trouble.
Not the kind I planned for.
The other kind.
The Callum kind.
He takes one step closer. “I have a trailer,” he adds. “Does that count as a house?”
I can’t even process that information, because he is smelling me.
Smelling me.
And it isn’t rude. It’s lewd.
And I love it.
This man is a fucking menace.
“What is the this I screwed up, exactly?” He touches me.
Not my waist. Not my shoulder.
My neck.
Oh, fuck.
I am going to climb him right here on the station steps.
“Let’s just eat,” I say, voice a little too breathy. “Do you have a car?”
He cocks a brow, like he knows.
Like he can hear what his touch did to me.
I try to recover. Focus.
“I need to stop at the store first,” I add. “I don’t take notes on my phone while eating. It’s rude. But taking notes by hand? That’s different.”
His smirk deepens. “That normal for you? Taking notes during dinner?”
“Yes, Callum.” I huff. “Who just eats? Like an animal?”
He laughs. A rich, low thing. Like he’s already won.
And I have the terrible, terrible feeling…
That this time?
He just might have.
“Meet me at the sub shop on Main Street in a half hour,” I say.
It’s neutral territory. A place where no one will bat an eye at someone like him strolling in. More importantly, a place where I can sit across from him and evaluate his table manners before I get in too deep.
Because if he eats like a fucking savage, this is over.
I use the half hour to recover. Buy a fresh notebook. A fresh start.
Then I call my men.
Orion is suspicious. Leery. “You sure about this one, baby? Want me to come watch?”
Sweet boy. Always ready to protect me from my own obsessions.
“Not yet,” I say. “But keep your phone on.”
Noah, my angel, is curious. Excited. “What do we know about him?”
“Nothing,” I admit. “Yet.”
“Oh, baby,” Noah laughs. “You’re off your game, aren’t you?”
Yes. And I hate it.
Elliot? Elliot just fucking chuckles. “Call me after lunch, baby doll. I want to know if he’s housebroken.”
God, I love them all.
And I will make them love Callum too.
If he’s worth it. If he survives me.
I pull up early, because I need to watch him first.
Scratch back some control.
People tell you who they are when they think no one is looking.
And Callum?
Callum is the kind of man who isn’t afraid of anything.
He sits there, arms draped over the chair, legs spread wide like he owns the fucking street.
Relaxed. But not in the peaceful way.
No, this is the kind of relaxed that only comes from two things.
Either he doesn’t fear a damn thing…
Or he doesn’t give a fuck.
Maybe both.
My stomach flutters.
Not nerves. No, I don’t get nervous.
It’s excitement.
Because if Callum is the latter?
He might be the one man I can’t break.
I check myself in the mirror.
Perfect, as always.
He doesn’t get his own version of me. He screwed himself out of that by being too damn forward.
His loss.
I slide out of my car, smooth my dress, and stroll toward him.
Sweet smile.
Perfect posture.
Totally fucking unraveling inside.
I slide into the seat across from him, lay my purse down gently.
And the bastard?
He smirks. Like he knows. “You get your notebook?”
God, I hate how much I like the lazy drawl in his voice.
I pull it out, place it on the table. Set my pen on top.
“What notes you gonna take, sweetie?” he asks, grinning.
I let out an exasperated sigh. Because fuck him for making me flustered.
“Notes about you.” I flip the cover open with a snap. “Notes I should be taking from across the street. Watching. Learning. Instead of this mess.”
He lifts a brow. “Mess?”
“How do I even know you’re gonna be honest? Be yourself? You already ruined it,” I say.
Callum laughs. Deep. Slow. Like he’s already won.
“You’re a little unhinged, aren’t you?” He leans forward, dragging his fingers across the table toward me.
I don’t flinch. I don’t move away.
But I feel that touch everywhere.
“You want to stalk me?” he asks.
My breath catches.
Not at the accusation. At the way he says it.
Like he finds it funny.
Like he likes it.
Like he wants me to.
“I don’t like that word,” I say.
“What word do you like?” he asks.
I sit up straighter. Smooth my hands over my lap. Recover. “You should know what you’re getting into before it’s too late.”
He watches me. Slow. Calculating. “Oh, so you gonna tell me what I’m getting into before it’s too late?”
His smile is so fucking sexy.
“That’s not how it works,” I say.
He leans back in his chair. “What you want to know?”
I tighten my grip on my pen.
I want to know what it feels like to bite your lip.
I want to know how your hands feel when they aren’t just teasing the edge of the table.
I want to know if you’re going to be my new favorite.
But instead, I click my pen and I start to take notes.
Because, Callum?
Callum needs to be studied.
I tighten my grip on my pen, circling his plate number in my fresh, woefully empty notebook.
“So, what will I find when I run your plate?” I ask, voice sweet as sugar but sharp as glass.
His lips quirk up, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he just stands up and walks inside.
Like my question can just fucking wait.
Like I will wait.
Oh, no. Absolutely not.
I watch him disappear through the doorway, fuming, flipping to a new page and scribbling his name in thick, irritated loops.
Fucking Callum.
Already disrupting my process.
He comes back a few minutes later with a tray.
Two sandwiches. Two drinks. A massive platter of fries.
I wasn’t expecting that.
I raise a brow, watching as he sits down and makes himself comfortable.
Then, he picks up his sandwich. Takes a slow, deliberate bite.
And chews.
Mouth closed.
Thank God.
Because I plan to be in that lap later, and if he had been one of those obnoxious, open-mouthed, disgusting eaters, I would have walked away without looking back.
He takes a sip of his drink before finally answering me. Like we weren’t mid-conversation before he left me sitting here like an idiot.
“Small stuff, mostly. They never get the big shit to stick. Incompetent bastards.”
I take a bite of my own sandwich, watching him carefully.
He’s testing me.
I can tell.
Probably wondering if I’ll flinch at his answer. If I’ll blink, fidget, shrink under the weight of what he just admitted.
I don’t.
Because Callum doesn’t know it yet, but I was never going to flinch.
I chew slowly, swallow, and finally tilt my head.
“You been a stalker long?” he asks, grinning like this is fun for him.
I narrow my eyes, flipping a page. “Do you have a notebook?”
His grin widens. “Should I?”
“No, because I’m the one asking questions here,” I say.
He laughs.
And fuck.
I feel it on my clit.
That low, rumbling, arrogant laugh that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“You’re crazy in a cute kind of way,” he says.
Like I’m some kind of amusement. A novelty. Like he could just pick me up and play with me, and then put me down when he’s had his fun.
I tap my pen against my notebook. “How many times have you been arrested?”
“Enough.” He pops a fry in his mouth. “How many times have you done this?”
I exhale sharply. “Enough.”
His eyes flicker, full of amusement. “And has anyone ever ruined it like me?”
I snap my notebook shut. “No.”
He laughs again. “Yeah? That bad, huh?”
“You don’t get me at my best, and that’s a problem,” I say.
“I’m a problem,” he agrees, voice a lazy drawl. He drags his gaze down my body, then back up to meet my eyes. “But you like me.”
I shift in my chair. Annoyed. Turned on.
“I don’t even know yet,” I snap. “Because I wasn’t given the chance to do this the right way.”
“The right way.” He leans back, smirking. “And how’s that supposed to go?”
“I watch. I learn. I find out exactly what you need before you ever know you need it. I become your perfect woman before you even get the chance to say no,” I say.
His brows lift. “Shit. That’s dedication.”
“I don’t like rejection, Callum. I don’t fail.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Goddamn. You must be one hell of a woman.”
“I am.” I say.
His grin is pure sin. “And you’re collecting men?”
“They’re mine.”
He exhales sharply, dragging his tongue across his teeth, like he likes that answer. “And they all know about each other?”
“Of course they do.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not some cheater. I told them I was going to eat with you.”
He actually looks impressed. “No shit.”
I scowl, because I don’t like that reaction.
Like this is funny. Like he didn’t just stumble into something completely out of his depth.
He doesn’t understand yet.
But he will.
I open my notebook again. “Fine. Let’s start. How do you eat your steak?”
He blinks. “My what?”
“Your steak, Callum.” I tap my pen impatiently. “It matters.”
He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Jesus Christ. Medium rare.”
I relax. Good answer. “Dog or cat person?”
His smile flickers wider. “Dog.”
“Coffee or tea?” I ask.
“Coffee.”
“You better not put sugar in it,” I say.
He licks his lips. “What’ll you do if I do?”
“Reconsider this entire thing,” I answer.
He fucking laughs.
A real, full-bodied laugh. And damn him, I feel it again, hot and deep and throbbing between my legs.
He leans forward. “What else, sweetie?”
I glare. “Where do you live?”
“Trailer.”
I write it down.
Then pause.
Then slowly lift my gaze back to his.
His smile is nothing but teeth. “That a dealbreaker, baby?”
I tap my pen against my lip. “We’ll see.”
He grins. “I like you, Juliet Lovelace.”
“You don’t know me yet.”
“Oh, pretty little lunatic,” he murmurs. And his voice is fucking liquid heat. “I will.”
“Give me your phone,” I say.
He doesn’t hesitate. Just unlocks it and hands it over.
Fuck.
I wasn’t expecting that.
I curl my fingers around it, staring at the screen for half a second too long, thrown by the fact that he trusts me already.
He watches me with lazy curiosity. “How do you usually get the phones?”
“Depends,” I say, flicking through his messages. “Sometimes I get them while they sleep. Sometimes I give them something to make them sleep.”
Callum grins. “Shit, baby.”
I ignore him, scrolling, digging.
No desperate ex-girlfriend. No obsessive texts. No emotional baggage disguised as ‘just checking in.’
Promising.
“Do you have a pain-in-the-ass ex?” I ask. “Because as you saw, that can get messy, and I’ve got enough messy to deal with right now.”
“Nope.” He leans back, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Presently, you’re the only pain in the ass I have my eyes on.”
I glance up. “I’m not a pain in the ass. If you only knew how perfect I am.”
His smile flickers, like he’s already calling bullshit.
“You’ll worship me. And see, that’s why this is so wrong. I need to feel that. Or I’m just not going to work as hard for you.” I sigh, setting his phone down. “That’s not really fair to you.”
His grin widens, sharp as a blade. “Maybe I’ll worship you because you’re just fuckin’ batshit crazy, and I’m into that. You don’t gotta impress me with fake shit.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s a line of bullshit.”
“Is it?” he asks.
I exhale sharply, frustrated. “How the fuck would I know? Men say whatever they think you want to hear. That’s why I do all the research before they even know I’m watching.”
Callum hums, tilting his head like he’s reading between my words.
Then, voice smooth as sin, he says, “Someone really fucked you up, huh?”
I laugh. “I already have a therapist in my collection. Try again.”
That grin. That dangerous, knowing grin. “You just looking for a bad boy now?”
I tap my nails against the table. “Maybe.” My eyes flick up to meet his, testing. “Maybe I need someone to help me with the problem I created when that bitch put her hands on Orion.”
His smile slowly fades.
A different kind of interest sparks in his eyes. “Orion. One of your men, I take it?”
“Yes. You’ll meet them at your introductory dinner if you meet the criteria.”
“And someone touches us, them, you take ‘em out.” Not a question. A statement.
I sip my drink, watching him. “I mean, I thought I was good at it. But I guess I wasn’t as careful as I should have been. They don’t have proof. I don’t think.”
His fingers flex on the table. Then, in one smooth, effortless motion, he grabs my chair and drags me closer.
Like I weigh nothing.
His knees bracket mine, his mouth just close enough to make my skin prickle.
“So what’s next?” His voice is low, teasing. “More questions? Test drive?”
My breath hitches.
I hate how much I want him already.
“I don’t even know at this point,” I admit. “I would usually do a test drive before taking you home to meet everyone because.” I gesture vaguely at him. “You could be a shit lover. Or have a small dick. Or any number of things that could be a dealbreaker.”
Callum’s grin turns wolfish. “Well. No pressure, then.” His hand traces up my thigh, teasing the edge of my skirt. “Let’s head to my place. See if we can rock the trailer just right.”