Chapter 15
Lucy
I pace furiously in the small space in front of my bed as Callum’s cruel words drive a blade into my heart.
How dare he say that about me?
His words were so offensive and preposterous that I can’t even stomach repeating them in my own mind. But here I am, spiraling anyway.
Screw Callum Kavanagh.
Just when I was starting to think that maybe he wasn’t so bad.
For a few ridiculous moments, when I clung to him like a lifeline, I almost wondered if we were going to happen. If the energy sizzling between us would combust into hot, liquid passion.
I dodged a bullet there.
What the hell did I ever do to him? I never asked for this. Does he think I enjoy having his overbearing ass up in my personal space day and night?
This is my nightmare, and he acts like I’m the problem.
Like I intentionally set out to complicate his life.
Bastard.
I nearly go back out there and start fury-cleaning, just to give myself something to do besides stew. But I can’t bear the thought of sharing a space with Callum.
Maybe I’ll reorganize my clothes to regain a small sense of order and control.
When my eyes land on my armoire to do just that, I stop short. The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Two of the drawers are ajar. I remember closing them all this morning.
I’m the idiot girl in the movie who knows a serial killer’s after her but is still shocked as soon as one pops out from under her bed with a knife.
I drop to the floor and check, just in case. All clear.
But a stranger was in my room, pawing through my stuff.
I spin around, panic softening my legs into gelatin.
The box of keepsakes on my dresser is in the wrong spot as well.
On the shelf, a few of my fashion books are out of place. My bed appears cockeyed in its frame, too, now that I think about it.
Swallowing hard, I throw my bedroom door open. As much as I loathe the idea of spending even a minute in Callum’s presence, I need him.
“Callum. Can you please come in here?”
In seconds, my jerk of a shadow arrives. “What is it?”
“Someone was in my room while we were out. They went through my stuff.”
I expect him to scoff and call me insane, but he does neither as he performs a visual inspection instead. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
He nods. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”
I blink. “Wait. What?”
“We’ll be safer at a hotel.” He backs out into the hall, and I follow him.
He grabs his duffel and the second bag he brought and rifles through his belongings to see if someone searched his things as well. “You’re right, Lucy. I should’ve noticed sooner. Let’s get out of here.”
The part of me that bristles at his alpha approach wants to argue, but the thought of someone pawing through my stuff while we were at Runway Revolution sickens me enough to give in without a fight.
It also helps that he took me seriously instead of treating me like a petulant child, the way he has since the moment we met.
In ten minutes’ time, I pack a bag and abandon my home. I can’t help but wonder when I’ll return. Or who will water the plants. I try not to fixate on the uncertainty during the trip to a massive hotel downtown, or when Callum leads me through the elegant lobby.
Chandeliers glitter from the ceiling as their golden light casts the entire first level in a warm glow. Open, spacious seating areas abound in every direction. A restaurant and a separate bar flank either side of the mile-long reception desk.
Callum doesn’t bother with the steadily growing line of guests. Instead, he strides straight up to an open VIP check-in counter.
I struggle to picture this dangerous man as VIP material, but I guess when you have connections to the mob…
“We’re checking in.” He drops his bags on the floor with a thump, intimidating the hell out of the mousy, bespectacled hotel receptionist in front of him.
Her voice is barely a squeak. “What’s the last name?”
“Our room is reserved under Gallagher.”
That little tidbit of information causes her eyes to all but bulge out of her head. “O-oh, yes. Right this way, Mr. Kavanagh. We’ve been expecting you.”
Awed by the hotel’s ritzy splendor and the obsequious service, I trail behind Callum and our personal tour guide to the forty-eighth floor, where I unhappily discover we checked into a suite.
The kind with a kitchen, a living room, a half-bath, and a separate-but-single bedroom.
Not to mention there’s only one full bathroom with a shower, albeit a giant one.
Absolutely not.
“Excuse me?” I pull the hotel employee aside, though the way she flicks a constant stream of nervous glances at Callum has me wondering if she’s allowed to speak to me. “I’d like a separate room, please.”
“Ignore her.” Callum slips the woman a small wad of cash. “That will be all. Thank you, Teresa.”
Teresa? What, are they close personal friends now? When did that happen? During my five-second inspection to check for a hidden second bedroom? “I’m entirely serious.” Apparently, I’m talking to myself, because Teresa’s already fled with her tip.
Callum sets his duffel on the low leather couch. “Darren and Veronika booked the hotel.”
My jaw twitches as irritation prickles through me. “And they thought one bedroom was sufficient for both of us? Or was that your bright idea?”
His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug. “The couch pulls out.”
“So do irresponsible teenage boys.” I glare and fold my arms over my chest, refusing to be charmed by the way his eyes crinkle at my joke. “You can’t make me stay here with you!”
Great. We’ve reached the portion of the evening where I sound like the five-year-old brat Callum believes me to be. With a huff, I march over to the hotel phone nestled on the breakfast bar.
I realize we were already having sleepovers at my apartment, but sharing a hotel room feels different…especially when Callum needs to walk into my bedroom to shower.
Considering bad guys just chased me out of my home, surely the least I deserve is a little privacy.
He groans and rakes his fingers through his short auburn hair. “We’re already here, Lucy.”
“Yep. And you should stay right where you are.” I dial the front desk. “I’ll get a room of my own, and you can protect me from a safe distance of about…twenty floors. How about that?”
An employee picks up almost immediately, but before I can issue my request, Callum rips the phone line straight out of the wall.
I gawk. If I’m the child in this scenario, then he’s the misbehaving rockstar, sniffing coke off the remains of a destroyed mirror.
“What the hell is your problem with phones? You weren’t hired to annoy the living crap out of me, so why can’t you just leave me alone and do your job?
Haven’t we suffered through enough together-time yet? ”
“Look, Marlow—”
“You murdered my phone. You embarrass and insult me every chance you get. Every time I think there’s a sliver of a human being under that robot face you wear, you gift me with some new level of what-the-fuckery, strutting around barking orders and then acting like I’m supposed to be grateful!”
Callum sighs, rubbing the spot over his nose.
A long, uneasy silence unfurls between us.
Then the strangest thing happens. Callum’s expression transforms into one of actual…sincerity? “Look, I’m your bodyguard. I can’t protect you if I’m twenty floors down.”
I frown. How dare he whip out logic at a time like this.
He shifts his weight as a slightly less-guarded expression stares back at me. “How about we start over? I know things between us aren’t great right now.”
Things between us aren’t great right now? Like we’re a struggling married couple.
Like my after-shower freak-out meant something.
“Oh, you think?” I drop the useless phone in its cradle. “Did you come to that conclusion yourself, or did you use a calculator?”
He casts his eyes toward the ceiling as if praying for patience. “Whether we like it or not, we’re stuck together for the time being. This situation will be easier on us both if we can try to reach some kind of accord.”
I pick at one of my nails. “Really? How? Please, do explain.”
His arms sweep wide open as if to say, What do you want from me?
“You’re the only one trying to pick a fight here, Lucy.” He sets his jaw. “Though I know I’m not always the easiest person to get along with.”
Understatement of the millennium. “I bet we’d get along a lot better if you didn’t say such dickhead things. Or destroy my property.”
His intense stare bores into me. If his eyes were lasers, they’d have burned holes straight into my brain. “I agree.”
The concession startles me. “You what?”
Callum blows out another breath. “I’m sorry about what happened with your phone.”
“Says the man who dropped it in boiling water.”
Well, that’s not the most eloquent apology ever, but beggars can’t be choosers. Brownie points for effort.
I chew on this new development for a moment, which gives him the opportunity to stride over to his duffel bag and extract a small object.
He stalks toward me, open-palmed…revealing a sleek new smartphone. A red one too. My favorite color.
Not only that, but the latest model.
My forehead wrinkles as I meet his expectant gaze. “What’s this supposed to be?”
“Consider it a peace offering.”
I cock my head. “And the catch is?”
“No catch.” When I make no move to accept the phone, he drops his outstretched hand. “An entirely new phone is the safest way to ensure Viktor Roguilin isn’t tracking you somehow. That’s why I got rid of your old one.”
Hold up. I narrow my eyes. “Yes, because obviously everyone knows that chucking a phone into boiling water without informing the owner as to why is a totally normal and non-dysfunctional way to behave. You couldn’t explain that part to me earlier because…?”
He shrugs again. “I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to others.”
I scoff. “You’re not in the habit of normal human interaction?”
“Maybe not, but I promise to try to be less…”
He trails off, so I happily jump in to assist. “Cold? Conniving? Stone-faced and standoffish? Completely and utterly dickish?”
“Right.” He brandishes the phone again, his lips quirking. “So, how about that truce?”
After scrutinizing him for a full sixty seconds, I expel the air from my lungs.
“Fine.” I snatch the new phone from his hand.
“I’ll try to be less…touchy. And scratchy.
” Peeking at the claw marks on his throat, I do my best not to flinch.
Those will probably linger for at least another week.
“I’m sorry about your neck. I don’t know what came over me. ”
“Hey, we’re starting over, right? Water under the bridge.” His voice carries a lightness that was previously absent.
I scrunch my nose. What, is he actually happy? Good grief, this man confuses the ever-loving hell out of me.
Regardless, the air between us feels clear for the first time.
And though I don’t quite trust it, Callum’s attitude really does shift as the evening wears on.
After we settle in, we sit down together to talk about my involvement with Runway Revolution.
He seems to have resigned himself to the idea that I’m competing in the competition and doesn’t attempt to change my mind. Instead, we review protocols together for my safety.
Before the night is out, I realize this moment, the moment when I feel like Callum and I might actually be on the same team, is by far the scariest thing that’s happened to me today.