Chapter Fourteen
Max
Callan’s phone rings from its place on the desk, but he just looks at the ceiling of his office and stands up, turning to face the window while running a hand down the back of his neck.
We’ve been going over the Halbrook case all morning, trying to sort through the witness list one more time. Bart is curled up next to me on the couch and I have a notebook open to a list of names.
The ringing stops. A beat goes by, and the ringing starts up again.
“Are you…” I pause for dramatic effect and pop my lips, “gonna get that?”
I eye the phone still sitting on his desk as he sighs heavily and turns back around.
He pushes his chair out of the way and places his hands, palms down, on the desk, leaning forward and staring at me with those golden green eyes of his.
He looks tortured, like he’s trying to solve a problem in his head.
It’s been two weeks since our first non-date dinner date.
We’ve had three more actual dates where he has been a perfect gentleman and taken me out—and then kissed me on the cheek on my porch at the end each time.
Which is lovely, however, all I want to do is put his mouth on mine, among other places.
And I think he knows it.
I’ve enjoyed every second of the doors being opened for me, him always making sure I’m walking on the inside of the sidewalk, holding my hand while we walk down Main Street, and little secret touches during the day at the office.
His hand on my back on the elevator, his pinky grazing mine when he leans in to look at something he absolutely does not need to look at on my computer screen.
The way he presses his leg against mine while we sit in the conference room and he nods at whatever fresh idea Richard has for bringing in more business.
Every touch sends a zing of something delicious up my spine.
But today, he’s been a little short and the circles under his eyes are darker than normal.
He said earlier his brother has been calling every night with business issues and kept him up late last night.
I haven’t pushed on getting more information because he seems especially frustrated when he mentions his brother.
Nico, his brother, is in Providence, and I think he’s trying to be a good big brother by helping how he can.
I focus on his eyes and smile, looking back down pointedly at the phone that has started its third attempt at getting him to answer.
He sighs again and drops his head in what looks like defeat.
He stands up, rolls his shoulders back and walks over to the coat rack behind his desk. He slides his arms in his long, black coat.
Something in his eyes darkens when he glances back at me, his face is no longer the happy-go-lucky Callan who was just telling me about a case with a dog rescue the other day. His lips are in a tight, straight line as his hand pulls a phone from his coat pocket.
“Yeah.” He answers the phone with a grunt instead of a greeting.
I frown at his cell phone still sitting on top of his desk, then back to the second one against his ear.
“I’m gonna—” I whisper, confused and feeling like I’m intruding.
I stand up to give him privacy.
“Yeah, I get it,” he says abruptly to the person on the other end of the phone, and in two long strides he beats me to the door. Stretching his arm across the doorway and blocking me from leaving, his eyes on mine, he says into the phone, “I heard you.”
He ends the phone call and slips the phone in his pocket. His eyes are still dark as they search my face, but they soften slightly after a few seconds.
“Sorry, I just…” His fingers are running through his hair lightly and he sighs. “Work calls.”
A laugh escapes my lips as I dramatically look around his office, tilt my whole body to look behind him, and outside of the glass walls to see the whole of the company offices and cubicles. I gesture with my arms all around us.
“Aren’t we at work?”
His arm drops from the doorway, and he closes the space between us.
Suddenly, I’m too aware of how stuffy the offices are today, how hot this sweater is and the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere in the room.
And even more aware of the clear glass that gives a perfect view of us in this fishbowl to everyone else in the office.
He looks like he has something to say but looks up at the ceiling, then back down at me.
The space between us feels charged and my fingers tingle to reach out to him.
His expression looks frustrated, but he shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a step backwards out of his office through the doorway.
“I think Peter can handle the Halbrook case,” he says quietly, taking another step backwards.
I frown. This is Callan’s case, we were just strategizing. What changed? Peter can’t take this case because it’s Callan’s case, it’s our case.
“W-what do you mean Peter? This is your case, our case, Cal, why would Peter take the Halbrook case?”
I wipe the frown off my face with my hand and take many quick steps out of his office, brushing past him. Reminding myself that I have no right to ask questions. I have been fine without Callan for years and this shouldn’t make me feel so defeated.
But I do feel defeated. The past few weeks have felt so normal.
We fell into step together so easily, so seamlessly two months ago and even more so since the dinners turned into dates.
It’s felt right; getting lunch together every day, working to close some of his older cases and just catching up with someone who fit so well in my life before.
Who I feel like I fit so well next to now and…
And I really thought he felt the same.
“I’ll let Peter know you didn’t want the case and—”
His hand reaches towards me where I stand at my desk but stops, quickly finding his coat pocket again. His eyes drop to the floor, and he shakes his head, seeming torn.
“No, I just won’t be here to see it through. Max, I do want to work the case, especially with you, please don’t take it any other way.” His voice trails off, and he looks around again. “I just don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“It’s fine, we can keep going on Monday if you need the weekend,” I heave a relieved sigh and smile too widely but when I meet his eyes, they’re not smiling back. “Or… if you’re going on a full week-long vacay we can start Friday? I can start pulling information for…”
My voice trails off when he stiffens and his eyes fill with something like… sympathy. Or sadness?
“I won’t be back in time to take the case. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he repeats it again, sounding as frustrated as he looks.
He looks like he’s cataloging every feature of my face as his eyes bounce from my eyes then down to my mouth, then back up again. Like he’s tracing every line.
I let out a small laugh, feeling confused and self-conscious.
“What do you mean? Were you gone so long I missed the part of your life when you joined the FBI and became a secret agent? Do you go out on a mission every couple months for long periods of time?”
He looks at his watch, lets out a small laugh, or maybe it’s a scoff.
“I have to go, Max. I’m so, so sorry.”
His eyes find mine, and they beg me to accept that apology. Before I can consider what he said, his feet are already moving. I follow after him and he stops to lean into the doorway of Richard’s office. I see Richard look up from his desk.
“I got a call,” Callan says quickly from across the space of the office and then, without even waiting for a response, slaps the doorway and turns to walk out the door.
Richard just looks down at his computer, takes a big enough breath I see his shoulders rise and fall, and shakes his head. Something inside me bubbles. Curiosity. Confusion. But I’m mostly just nosy and want to understand what the fuck is going on.
How does that work? ‘I got a call.’ And he just walks out? Richard doesn’t even ask why or where he’s going and Cal doesn’t even know when he will be back?
I knock on the open door to Richard’s office, and he looks up with a small smile.
“Max, what can I do for you?” He leans back in his chair and pulls his glasses from his nose, setting them gently on the desk.
His office is full of dark greens and tan leather. His desk is black, with a glass top, framed by two enormous sitting chairs in front of it.
As I step inside, the scents of oak and bourbon waft over me.
“What was that about? Just now with Callan?” My brain stutters and heat crawls up my throat.
Richard eyes me, a smirk playing on his lips.
What was I thinking? This wasn’t Sunday at the country club, I am not his son’s girlfriend, I can’t casually ask questions of the senior partner like this, even if it is Richard. This isn’t my business.
I take a small step back, cutting the distance between myself and the door in half. “I mean, he just got a call and said it was work, and I didn’t know he had any cases currently assigned out of town. I thought maybe I was missing something.”
“Nope, he’s… Callan.” He leans forward suddenly, his eyes looking out the window behind him, and a sigh falls from his shaking head. “It’s hard to explain. It’s our arrangement. You’d have to ask him.”
Arrangement? My mind whirls, but as Richard looks back towards me he sits up straighter, placing his glasses back on top of his nose and looking back at the computer.
“Forgot my phone on my desk.”
A deep voice behind me makes my stomach drop.
I turn my head toward Callan slowly and he looks at Richard like he has a foul taste in his mouth.
And for some reason, that pisses me off.
“Which one?” The words, dripping with sarcasm, fall from my lips before I can stop them, and I’m suddenly wishing I could reach into the air and take them back.
His expression looks surprised at my tone, and I shake my head lightly, feeling embarrassed that I just spoke to him like that in front of Richard of all people. The casual, snappy nature of what I just said washes over me and I need to get out of here.
“I think the new paint fumes or something are getting to me. Excuse me.”