Chapter 34
Tina
Nate’s work truck pulls into Cal’s driveway; the company logo on the side reads Callahan & Co.
Nate Callahan... the bane of my existence. I can’t stand him, yet there’s a strange thrill I can’t shake every time we interact.
I just hope I make it to my car without being spotted. Nope. Here he comes.
His long strides are as determined as they are beautiful. He looks like a Greek god going into battle, and I’ve been identified as the enemy. He might just tackle me to the ground, and I don’t know that I’d mind.
"Hey," he murmurs as soon as he's within earshot. Not a 'good morning,' or a 'how are you?'
"Hey," I reply, playing it cool, already knowing what he’s going to ask.
He stops just a couple of feet away. The masculine scent of his cologne wraps around my senses, rendering me momentarily stupid.
"Have you talked to the old man?" Well, at least he’s consistent—never wasting time reminding me just how much I dislike him.
"He’s not an old man," I shoot back, glaring at him.
"I thought we agreed you'd speak to him," he growls, each word clipped with impatience.
"You demanded it," I remind him, crossing my arms. "I never agreed to it."
"You’ve got to be kidding," he snarls, hands on hips—those strong hands that probably have rough calluses. I can almost feel them moving up my body, burning through my skin until—Focus, Tina! Focus!
"Nate," I say, trying to shake off the forbidden thoughts drilling through my mind. "I haven’t had a chance to see Vincent. I’ve been buried in work."
"Who said anything about seeing him?" he snaps. "Pick up the damn phone and call him."
"Like I told you," I begin, inhaling deeply to keep my pulse steady. "I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you and me to meddle in Elle and Cal's business."
"Hannah is my business," he says, softer this time. "She’s my niece. If we can do something to help, why wouldn’t we?"
"We?" I snap this time. "This might have been your idea, but I’m the one who has to implement it. If something goes wrong, I’m the one who’s going to catch hell for it."
"Just do it!" he barks, turning on his heel and walking away. I watch him until he reaches Cal's front door. The man is gorgeous. And I'm an idiot for not telling him to go to hell.
***
I try to focus as I zip up my overnight bag, preparing for my weekend with Vince.
The last two days have been a blur. Between work, eating, and sleeping, I’ve had little time to think about what this weekend means.
Vincent is a good man who cares about me, and the only reason we haven’t taken our relationship to the next level is because I’ve been holding back.
And my hesitation? It has a name. Nate Callahan.
Why does he affect me this way? Why did I have to kiss him that night under the mistletoe? His hands on me, his lips on mine—heaven.
The doorbell jerks me back to reality. I grab my bag and meet Vince at the door.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me. “Ready?”
I smile and lean in for a kiss.
“Yes,” I say, but truth be told, I’m not ready. Not at all.
Vince takes my bag and wraps an arm around my waist. His hands are big and strong, but they're as soft as a baby’s bottom—nothing like Nate’s rough, calloused ones. Ugh! Get it together, Tina!
As we head toward the limo parked in the driveway, I glance toward Cal's house. There’s Nate, leaning against his truck, arms crossed over his chest, feet casually crossed at the ankles.
He looks relaxed at first glance, but then I catch the sharp set of his jaw and the dark intensity in his gaze, burning a hole right through me.
"Is everything okay?" Vince asks, his voice pulling me back to the present.
"Of course," I reply, offering him a soft smile before climbing into the limo.
***
"And this is my office," Vince says, ushering me through the heavy double doors that open into an expansive, carefully curated space that exudes both power and refinement. The room is bathed in soft, natural light streaming in from large windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The walls are painted in a muted, elegant shade of gray, providing a dramatic backdrop to the stunning, one-of-a-kind executive desk in the center of the room. Made from rich, dark walnut, the desk radiates luxury. It’s clear that Cal poured hours of craftsmanship into the design, every curve and corner exuding meticulous attention to detail.
Flanking the desk are two high-backed, tufted leather chairs in a sophisticated shade of deep mahogany, their brass legs gleaming like polished gold.
Behind the desk is another of Cal's pieces: a walnut credenza, featuring softly rounded corners and unique, hand-carved drawer pulls that showcase Cal’s skill with woodworking.
The smooth, polished surface displays a few select objects—a crystal decanter with amber whiskey, a sleek pen holder, and a few luxurious books arranged in careful order.
And two photos. Meghan at her college graduation, beaming with pride, and Hannah's first school picture.
To the left of the desk is a comfortable seating area, featuring a small leather sofa, a low coffee table made from oak and two accent armchairs. A plush area rug in soft shades of gray and beige anchors the space, adding warmth and texture to the otherwise sleek modern aesthetic.
As my eyes scan the room, everything feels perfectly balanced—luxury without excess, modernity without coldness.
Vince stands off to the side. “Not too bad, huh?” he says with a grin, clearly pleased with the way everything fits together.
"It's perfect," I say, leaning against the desk as Vince strides toward me until I'm caged between him and the desk.
I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me off the floor and gently lowers me onto the desk before kissing me.
His lips are warm, experienced in the art of seduction.
I've said this before, and I'll say it again, this man is like a perfectly aged bottle of very expensive wine.
Something I could never afford. I get lost in the sensation, enjoying the taste of his lips as he deepens the kiss.
I lean back on the desk, bringing one hand down to brace myself.
My fingertips graze the lip of the desk, and I feel what might be engraving.
"Hold on," I whisper against his lips. "What's this?" I step off the desk to get a better look. The letters JRC are delicately engraved in the corner, near the edge of the wood. They’re subtle, almost hidden in the wood grain, like a signature only meant for those who know to look for it.
I run my fingers over the letters again. "JRC?"
"It’s the craftsman who built the desk," he says after a beat. His voice carries an edge that gives me pause.
He knows.
"Vince," I begin, glancing up at him. "Do you know who built the furniture for this place?"
"Honey," he replies, stepping a bit closer. "Not one nail gets hammered into something I own without me knowing who’s holding the hammer. When I approved the final designs for the building, I had every name on the contract checked. I already knew these were the pieces I wanted. When I found out the craftsman was Cal, I was pleasantly surprised. In no way did our history affect my decision. I like his work. He’s talented, and I’m pleased with everything he’s done. "
"It sounds like you know everything about the people who ultimately answer to you, one way or another," I begin, realizing this is the moment.
"I do," he replies, taking my hand and leading me to the seating area.
I sit beside him and look into his deep blue eyes. He’s so handsome. So perfect.
"Does your daughter answer to you?"
The question seems to catch him off guard, but he doesn’t flinch. "Meghan?" he asks, his gaze steady. "Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, honey?"
I tell him everything—Elle’s history with Meghan from ten years ago, all the way to five weeks ago when Hannah came home and let Cal know that Meghan had hired a live-in nanny.
"So you think Meghan’s going to seek full custody in revenge for Cal’s relationship with Dani? he says, drawing his own conclusions from the details I’ve shared. "Sorry, I meant to say Elle."
I smile and nod. "Meghan hasn’t made a move," I say, the weight of the situation pressing on me. "In fact, the only thing that’s changed is her behavior. She’s been more present in Hannah’s life. She shows up when she says she will. She’s spending time with her without Cal having to beg."
"She’s putting all her ducks in a row," he offers, his tone thoughtful. "Building a history of a relationship with Hannah so when the time comes, she can claim she’s a good mother."
"That’s what we’re afraid of," I admit, the fear lingering in my chest.
"Does Cal know you’re here?" His gaze doesn’t waver. "Does he know you’re talking to me about all this?"
"No," I say, looking away. "I debated long and hard whether to tell you at all. But I’ve spent enough time with you to know you care about Hannah’s well-being, even if you don’t see her."
"I feel like I’m a stranger to her," he confesses, his voice quiet. "If I try to be part of her life now, it might be hard for her to accept me as a grandparent."
"Hannah has so much love to give," I begin, my heart full. "I have no doubt there’s plenty of it stored just for you."
He chuckles softly, and for the first time, it’s him who looks away. "I was so focused on building this company that I neglected my duty as a father. By the time I realized it, it was too late."
"It’s never too late to admit you made a mistake," I say. "And it’s never too late to show someone you love them."
He meets my gaze, the weight of my words hanging between us. "In answer to your question, Meghan is an adult now, and she no longer answers to me."
"So you can’t help?" I ask, a sense of guilt creeping in as I realize I might have betrayed my friends in vain. Meghan is her own person now. She doesn’t have to answer to anyone.
"I didn’t say that," he replies, pressing his lips together before standing and walking toward the window. I hear him inhale deeply, his thoughts clearly at war with each other. When he turns back to face me, I meet his gaze, silently hoping he might be able to stop whatever Meghan is planning.
"I'll take care of this," he says, his voice firm. "She won't be an issue going forward. I promise." The finality in his tone makes me believe every word.
He walks back to me and offers his hand. I stand, meeting his gaze.
"Now that that’s out of the way," he begins, a grin spreading across his lips, "I’ve decided to sell half of my company and spend the next year or two traveling the world. What would you say if I asked you to come with me?"
The air in the room feels like it’s been sucked out, and time seems to stand still as he reaches into the pocket of his blazer and pulls out a small velvet box.