Chapter 6
“Wait, I thought you wanted something simple,” I say, starting to feel a little frustrated as I look over at Abigail. We’ve been sitting here for almost an hour, and what started as a request for a plain, uncomplicated white dress has evolved into a detailed, complicated dress.
That’s no problem, of course, when she tells me what she wants. The issue arose when she changed the concept seven times, and I have no idea where she’s going with this. It makes the job significantly harder.
“It’s simple, Blair. I want a long dress with delicate sparkles adorning its surface and real diamonds encircling my waist,” Abigail explains, barely looking up from her phone.
I frown at her because where the fuck am I going to get diamonds?
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle the diamond part.
Oh, and for the train, I want it to be seamlessly integrated with the dress, you know, flowing gracefully. ”
“No, Abby, I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, my frown deepening.
She rolls her eyes at my cluelessness before turning to her fiancé, who has just entered the room.
Calvin in a suit is impressive, but Calvin in jeans and a black shirt that hugs every muscle is dangerous.
The gold chains at his neck catch the light, subtle but deliberate, like him.
Effortless. Controlled. Temptation in its purest form.
He walks in with that quiet confidence he always carries, but this time I can’t seem to look away. I keep my eyes on him far longer than I should.
“Hello, ladies,” he greets us, taking a seat beside Abigail. “What are we talking about?”
“Oh, honey, good you’re here. We’re just sorting out the details for my wedding dress.
Could you do me a favor and get me some diamonds?
” Abigail asks nonchalantly as if she’s asking him to get her water, still not looking up from her phone.
I want to snatch that phone away from her, just to see what she’s so invested in.
She’s been distracted, and that’s really been getting on my nerves.
I’m limited with time and want to utilize it the best I can.
With a roll of my eyes, I return my attention to the iPad, making yet another sketch. Maybe this one will work. Probably not. Despite what she says, it feels like Abby can’t make up her mind on what she wants.
My phone buzzes, a text from Dylan. I arch my brow, opening it. It’s a picture of his dick that I didn’t expect.
He does have a nice dick, so that’s a bonus.
Dylan
He misses you.
I miss him, too
I bite my lip, an instinctive reaction to the unexpected wave of arousal that sweeps over me.
Maybe this is why I can’t stop ogling my brother-in-law, I haven’t been fucked in ages.
Dylan and I have been too wrapped up in finals, and it’s been over a month since we last had sex.
If I could just get him to come down here, maybe I wouldn’t be so distracted by the man in front of me.
I sink into my seat, thinking about my sex life with Dylan.
The sex is… good enough. It could be better, but it scratches the itch inside me.
I try to force the images into my head. His hands on my body, his shaft inside me.
His lips against my skin. That would be so good right now and precisely what I need.
A small sigh escapes my lips as I try to chase the arousal away, but it’s nearly impossible. Every muscle in my body is tense, in sheer need of release. I need to figure out a way to deal with this as soon as possible, hopefully with Dylan’s assistance.
I suddenly remember that both Calvin and Abigail are still in the room.
When I glance up, Calvin’s intense gaze is locked on me, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.
The air around him feels charged as if I’ve missed something crucial.
Why does he look like he wants to throttle me?
I’ve concluded that Calvin doesn’t like me very much.
I don’t know what it is about me, but every time we’ve interacted, which, in hindsight, hasn’t been often, he’s either glaring at me or walking away mid-conversation, like I make him uncomfortable.
And honestly, that makes me feel awkward.
“Here, Blair, this is what I want,” Abigail finally interrupts whatever was just happening, showing me a picture on her phone.
My gaze sweeps over the image she’s showing me.
It’s beautiful, yes, but it’s nowhere near close to what she originally asked for.
This will be a lengthy process, I can tell.
“So, something like a cape, but with arm-length sleeves and a trailing back?” I clarify as I take some notes.
“Yes, exactly. Make it very long. Anyway, thanks. I have to go get ready for my appointment. Don’t forget about dinner, you two,” she says, leaving the room. I don’t even have the time to fight her on this, or to make my leave with her. Instead, I’m left with Calvin.
I try to ignore him, but it’s nearly impossible with the way he stares at me. It’s so intense that I practically melt under his gaze. I reach for my phone. The conversation I have with Dylan pops up, along with the photo of his dick. I swallow, trying to play it cool.
“You got something interesting on your phone?” Calvin asks, and I immediately feel the heat rush to my cheeks, to the point where I feel like I can’t breathe.
“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes meeting his with a frown.
“Relax,” he says, “I don’t care whose nudes you’re hoarding. Just try not to blush so hard next time, Peach. You’re practically broadcasting guilt.”
My mouth drops open. How the hell did he know? “What makes you think I’m guilty of anything?” I ask, eyes narrowing at him.
“It’s written all over your face. The real question is… are you?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question. It’s very unbecoming.” His words land like a slap, and my cheeks burn hotter.
“I’m not guilty of anything,” I snap. “You just don’t seem to understand the concept of minding your own business.
” I stand, determined to be the first to leave this time.
But before I can move, Calvin rises, like a lion stretching in the sun.
Confident. Unbothered. He steps closer. Not too close.
Just enough to make my body betray me. My spine straightens.
Skin prickles. Pulse goes haywire. Of course, he notices. His smirk knocks the air from my lungs.
It’s disarming. Infuriating. Unfair.
“Sure you’re not.” His eyes are locked on mine.
Then he turns and is the first to leave. Again.
I blink. My mouth opens. Closes.
“I… I…” I stammer, trying to piece together a comeback. Anything. But it’s too late. He’s gone. And I’m still standing there like an idiot, trying to remember how to breathe.
I’m usually quick with comebacks.
But apparently not when it comes to him.
I hate that he had the last word.
Worse, I hate that he knew he would.
That smug, cocky, insufferable smirk of his is probably tattooed behind my eyelids now.
God, I need a drink. Or a lobotomy. Or both.
I clutch my phone like it personally betrayed me and spin on my heel, muttering under my breath, “Men like that should come with a warning label.”
Hours later, I’m lying in bed, replaying what happened with Calvin.
I hate that he has the power to confuse me so much.
That he can somehow dictate my mood with a single look.
What does that say about me? I bury my face into the pillow, trying to erase all those images from my head. I’m so ashamed I can barely handle it.
I squeal when I hear a knock on the door and jump off the bed. In my haste, I trip over the clothes and shoes scattered on the floor, falling hard. “Fuck.” Could my life get any worse? Probably not…
“Are you alright?” Calvin’s concerned voice comes from the other side of the door.
I hesitate to answer, still on my hands and knees, the wind knocked out of me.
Apparently, life can get worse, because this is the last thing I want right now.
A part of me wants to pretend I didn’t hear him, or that perhaps I’m not even in the room. Surely he’ll leave me alone.
I stay still, holding my breath.
“Blair?” he calls out, but I remain silent.
“I’ll have to kick down the door to make sure you’re okay if you don’t answer in five…
four… three…” he threatens with a touch of drama.
I roll my eyes. A part of me wants to push him to see if he’ll actually break down his expensive door.
“Two…” comes out sounding like a warning.
Reluctantly, I answer, making sure my annoyance is palpable in my tone.
“I’m fine!”
Now, it’s him who hesitates for a moment. “Are you ready for dinner?” I almost forgot.
“Uh, yeah, but don’t worry. I’ll take an Uber; I know my way around Boston. I grew up here,” I reply, not wanting to be alone with this man any more than I need to.
There’s a brief silence and then I hear footsteps retreating.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I get dressed in a soft pink and white, fitted, sleeveless, spaghetti-strap dress.
I do my makeup and call for an Uber. As soon as I receive the notification that my ride has arrived, I head downstairs, then stop in my tracks when I see Calvin casually standing by the elevator waiting for me.
“For such a tiny person, you sure take a long time to get ready,” he remarks, his voice laced with that effortless arrogance he wears like a tailored suit.
He’s not wrong. Even with my height of 5’6, he towers over me, but I don’t dignify the comment with a response. I just stare.
This is a dangerous game he’s playing. Every comment, every glance, every step closer, it’s… wrong. It’s as if he knows exactly which buttons to push to get under my skin.
And it’s working.
I hate that it’s working.