Chapter 15 - Callum #2
I raised an eyebrow. “Corporate speak for ‘please don’t start a civil war in the pit lane,’ yeah?”
“Exactly, Scottie,” Ivy said, looking far too pleased as she snapped her fingers. “So congratulations. You’re now everyone’s favorite scandal.” She paused and tilted her head, her black hair catching in the light. “Again.”
Then she scrolled down to the comments. “Also, you’ve earned a new couple nickname. A few, actually.”
Kimi squinted. “Don’t say Frabois.”
“#Frabois,” Ivy confirmed. “Which is truly a hate crime.”
“Still sounds like a fungus,” Marco muttered. “Or a juice bar.”
“#Caurélie?” Ivy offered.
I shook my head. “Feels like it’s trying too hard. Like a misfired soap brand.”
Ivy pointed at the screen. “This one’s winning so far—CalAndAuri.”
There was a beat.
Aurélie made a face. “Did you just say calamari?”
Kimi nearly spat out his drink. “CALAMARI? Oh my God—”
“No!” Ivy yelped, laughing so hard she clutched her stomach. “CAL. AND. AURI. Jesus.”
Marco was already howling. “Someone get this couple a squid sponsorship!”
“New merch idea,” Kimi added. “I heart calamari. With their faces.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that tore out of me. “You realize I’d still marry her even if our fandom called us cephalopods?”
Everyone just stared at me.
“Cephalopods…” I explained slowly, “are a class of mollusks. Tentacles. Beaks. Ink sacs. Octopuses, squid, cuttlefish. You know. The smart ones.”
More silence.
Then Marco, “How the fuck do you know that?”
I shrugged. “Watched a documentary once. Got bored. Couldn’t sleep.” I took a sip and added, “Also Aurélie said I’d probably be a cuttlefish if I were an animal.”
She gaped at me, incredulous. “I said that one time.”
“And I internalized it,” I confirmed solemnly, nodding.
Ivy sighed. “Romance is dead.”
“Long live calamari,” Kimi quipped.
Aurélie groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I hate all of you.”
I just looked over at her. The soft lighting caught the curve of her cheekbone, the glint in her eyes, the knowing tilt of her mouth. God, she was stunning. Even in a room full of unhinged lunatics, she was still the axis I orbited around and the center of my gravity.
And the dress… that fucking dress was going to be the death of me. Black like sin. Soft like temptation. And on her, it looked like a dare. Nothing like her usual paddock palette. Just this… dark, devastating silhouette that made my hands itch to wreck her.
I didn’t care how many publicists she had. Nothing was going to stop me from getting her out of it tonight.
Then her head jerked up.
“Wait a goddamn second,” she blurted.
Everyone turned.
Aurélie pointed at the iPad. “How the hell are they using our nicknames?”
I froze. “What?”
“Cal and Auri,” she repeated, waving a finger at the screen. “I don’t go by Auri. Literally no one calls me Auri except—” Her eyes locked on mine. “You.”
I blinked. “And no one calls me Cal except you.”
We stared at each other.
The others started losing it.
“Oh my God,” Marco gasped. “Did you two soft-launch yourselves in your sleep?”
Kimi was laughing so hard he wheezed. “The parasocial pipeline is getting stronger.”
“I’m going to die,” Aurélie muttered. “Actually die. I thought Calamari was the worst part, but apparently the entire internet is tapping into our bedroom names now.”
“They’re not bedroom names,” I said, frowning.
Marco waggled his brows. “They sound like bedroom names.”
I gave him the finger.
And suddenly, Ivy was clapping again. “Okay, okay! We spiral about the parasocial nicknames later. For now—suits. Shoes. Lipstick. Let’s go break some hearts.”
Ivy launched into a breakdown of the GPDA logistics.
Marco, Kimi, and I all expected to attend, Aurélie tagging along as an official invitee, Ivy an unofficial plus one.
I barely caught half of what Ivy said. I was too busy watching the way Aurélie’s thighs shifted under the fabric of her dress each time she moved.
How her fingers curled around her water glass.
How her spine straightened when she caught me staring and did nothing to stop it.
I took a sip of whiskey, let it sit on my tongue. Contemplated sweet talking her into the bedroom for a quickie before we had to leave. I was ravenous, needy and craving the sound of her falling apart underneath me, whispering my name like it was holy.
Then came the knock.
We all stilled.
I frowned. “Room service?”
Aurélie shook her head. “We didn’t order anything else.”
Marco sat up, face brightening like a kid about to get candy. “Maybe it’s a gift basket. I love a gift basket.”
Kimi stood, his brow creasing. “Who else knows you’re in this room?”
I walked to the door slowly, checked the peephole, and swore.
“What?” Aurélie asked, voice tight.
I just grimaced and opened the door.
Victor Reinhardt stood there, soaked to the bone in a tailored suit, looking like the goddamn angel of death. Rain clung to his salt-and-pepper hair in flattened strands, his shoulders heaving like he’d just climbed a mountain, not a staircase.
He swept the room with a glance, cold and unreadable.
“Good,” he said. “Your whole crew’s here.
” Then, without waiting for permission, he stepped around me and inside like he paid the fucking hotel bill.
I shut the door behind him, the sound resonating through the now-quiet room with a decisive click.
I joined Aurélie’s side by the kitchen and turned to look at Reinhardt.
Water dripped from his cuffs onto the hardwood. His shoes squelched. “I’m glad I caught you before the GPDA dinner,” he said, spine straight and eyes like steel. “We need to talk.”