Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
preston
Her lips curl into a smirk, eyes glinting with bad intentions as she makes an entrance the whole restaurant hears.
Behind her, a wide-eyed busser scrambles to keep up, tripping over his own feet, his face a mashup of panic, mortification, and puberty.
“Ma’am, if you could just wait a second… ” he pants, reaching toward her coat.
Callie gasps, spinning to face him. “My God. Do I need a restraining order?” She clutches her chest, mock-offended, then drops it in a blink and grins. “Kidding, babe. Relax.”
The poor kid freezes, torn between terror and confusion, and she takes full advantage, giving him a wink and a pinch to the cheek. “Damn, you’re adorable. What are they feeding you back there?”
He turns a spectacular shade of crimson, and I lean on the chair for a better view of the young man’s soul leaving his body.
“I’m with the owner.” She jerks her chin toward us. “Big guy, billionaire energy flashing in neon? That one, right there.” She’s almost at our table now, half the restaurant watching, and I know two things for certain: one, she hasn’t noticed; two, she wouldn’t give a single fuck if she had.
She reaches us with a self-satisfied grin. “Babes, what’s going on? I could hear you from the damn door.” She plants a hand on her hip. “If you’re going to cause a scene, the least you could do is wait for me, the ringmaster.” Naturally, she’d want a privileged view of my public humiliation.
Liam smothers a grin, pretending he isn’t thoroughly entertained. “Calista, dear. Lovely to see you. But I don’t own this restaurant.”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “Emphasis on this. But hey, I played the odds, and they were in my favor.”
The waiter, who looks like he could use a moment to recover, pulls out a chair for her.
“Aren’t you a sweetie?” She winks at her latest victim. “Thanks, babes.” She pats his cheek, light and teasing, and instead of taking it as an insult the way most men would if a woman did this to them, the kid beams, as though she’s just knighted him. I call it the ‘Callie effect’.
Calista is made of bone, flesh, and raw, magnetic charisma.
She drives me up a wall—we bicker as much as siblings—but she’s loyal to the bone.
She and April are my chosen family. When I could barely stand, Callie stepped in without hesitation, doing everything her hospital shifts allowed to help me and Lily. She kept me—kept us—going.
The poor waiter is still there, holding the chair, waiting for her to sit. But Callie doesn’t.
Her gaze locks onto Mia.
I watch as her grin sharpens, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. I know that look. And if I know her well—which I do—this night’s about to get worse.
For me, of course.
“Mia,” she states. Not a question. A verdict.
My friend and colleague purrs my nanny’s name. I think she's already made a decision about her. One I’m not bold enough to ask about tonight.
“Callie?” Mia’s voice holds a thread of hesitation. Her smile, though? That’s the real giveaway. There’s curiosity in it, challenge too. I guess she’s finally meeting the storm she’s only heard whispers about.
A headache brews behind my eyes as I watch them size each other up. Callie’s a lot for most people. But I’m afraid Mia might keep up.
Callie squeals, arms already flung open. “Welcome to New York, babes!”
Then, without hesitation, she wedges herself between our chairs, shoving her ass right into my face. “Fuck’s sake, Calista.” I push my chair back before I suffocate in overpriced fabric softener. “Do you want to take my seat?”
I’m already halfway up when she slams a vice grip on my shoulder and shoves me back down, barely breaking a sweat. Jesus. What is she benching these days?
“Oh no, mister. You stay right there.” She winks as if that’s supposed to mean something, then turns her attention back to Mia.
“I’ve been dying to meet you, girl. I was so jeal’ of April partying with you in London.
But now you’re here, so I don’t have to”—she grabs a blunt knife from the table and lightly presses it to Mia’s ribs—“break into your house at night and steal her back.” Mia’s eyes flick to April, alarmed, but April just winks back. “We can all hang out together.”
“Yay?” Mia echoes weakly.
Callie, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of enthusiasm, jumps in place—like the kid she’ll never stop being—still gripping Mia’s hands until Mia has no choice but to bounce too.
I glance at Liam and mutter, “I attract crazy women. That’s it. I’m the problem. I see it now.”
Liam, for once, actually laughs, then leans in, voice dropping to a wicked hush. “Yeah, I get why you drink now.”
April slaps him again, harder this time, and I can’t decide if I’m laughing at his pain or at my own damn life.
Against all odds, the night goes smoothly after Callie arrives. But after April yawns twice, Liam lifts two fingers for the check. The second it lands, I reach for it, only for him to thunder, “The fuck you are, Preston.”
“Fuck you, Gunn. Don’t be an ass. We’re splitting.”
“You’re my guest, and this is Mia’s welcome dinner. Your money’s no good here.”
“Or anywhere you go, it seems,” I clip back.
“Oh good, you’re finally catching on. Can we stop measuring dicks now?”
April hurls, then gags for good measure. “That man is like my father,” she says, pointing at me. “Can we not talk about the metrics of his genitals? I’d love to keep dinner in my stomach. Thanks.”
* * *
The bill is settled, but we’re not done eating our desserts. Oh, and would you look at that? After Mia ordered hers, Liam went ahead and ordered her the other two in the menu. She just blushed and smiled, as if that was perfectly normal. First of all, that’s ludicrous.
Who the hell eats three desserts? Mia, that’s who. Second? That level of attention felt way too intimate for a boss and an ex-assistant. Isn’t April finding this strange too?
Apparently, she’s too tired to pay attention, yawning nonstop. Before they excuse themselves, Liam looks straight at my new nanny. “Would anyone like a ride? Mia?”
I stare point-blank at the asshole. Didn’t he just suggest we stop measuring dicks? Why is he offering Mia a ride home if she came with me? If she’s coming back to my place?
“Actually, Mia is coming with me.” My head whips to Callie, and the words “Excuse me” fly from my mouth before I give it a second thought.
“What, Daddy? Is it a school night?” Calista lays it on thick in that syrupy tone she knows I loathe and uses every damn time she wants to rattle me. April chokes on the final sip of her champagne. It trickles down her nose and onto her blouse.
Good, I hope it burned on its way out.
Schooling my features the best I can, I stare her down the same way I do when Lily says something out of place.
It’s not nearly as often as Callie or my hair would be totally gray by now.
“Do we need permission to stay late, Dada?” I set my glass down so hard Callista’s smile slips, and my water spills.
“Fine,” she huffs, her voice back to normal. “But excuse you, I’m taking her out.”
“Did you ask her if she’d like that? She just arrived today. She must be tired.”
“It’d actually be really nice if both of you stopped talking as if I wasn’t here.” Mia smiles sweetly, but her eyes are all sass—wide, ironic, and lit with something that I shouldn’t be drawn to.
Liam smirks and says, “Missed you, kid.”
She winks at him. “Good night, boss.”
Placing that warm, misleading hand on my thigh again—and making me consider only wearing shorts for the rest of her stay here—she tells me, “Yes, she did in fact ask me if I’d like to do some night sightseeing.”
Callie cuts in, addressing April, who’s putting on her coat.
Correction, Liam is putting her coat on for her.
“Aw, she’s cute. I said bar hopping with skyline views and eligible eye candy.
I pride myself on being the best wingwoman a single hottie like you could ask for in New York. Ask anyone who survived it.”
“Oh, shut up, you.” Mia brushes off the compliment, and I can’t tell if she’s being modest or if she’s genuinely that oblivious.
“Please, Mia, do whatever you like. I just know Callie can be pushy and wanted to give you an out if you were tired.” The half-truth rolls off my tongue too easily.
“I had a nap. I’m good. But thanks for checking.” She taps my thigh again, now a thank-you in my imaginary Morse code.
Part of me wants to peel her hand away before Callie sees it. The rest of me wants to hold still. Self-preservation roars louder than want, and I shift just enough to make her hand slip away. I regret it immediately and blame Calista, eyeing her with daggers in turn.
“I just need to use the loo, and we can go, Callie.”
“Sure, go ahead, babes.”
Oh, great, some Callie-and-me time. Just what I need to wrap this night.
“I know Mama Jett taught you some great manners, but I’ll check anyway. Did you thank April?” she asks before I find a way out.
Fully aware I’m walking into an ambush, I ask anyway, “Thank April for what, Calista?” My voice drops into that stern dad-tone.
“Honestly, Jett. Just look at how you say my name. You chastise me so much, I’ll end up with a daddy complex, and you’ll have no one else to blame but yourself.”
I stare at her, confused and severely distraught. Where the fuck does she get those things from? The dark depths of her soul? The last three minutes of her therapy sessions?
“Calista, I don’t have the time or the mental bandwidth to unpack that right now.”
“Don’t change the subject.” I didn’t; she did. Women are out to get me. I don’t stand a chance. “Did you thank April or not?” she asks again.
I’m not even fully listening to her anymore. “Thank A for what, Calista?” I soften my tone on purpose, and she smiles, catching on.
“For that hot as fuck souvenir she brought you from London. She deserves a raise, at the very least. Little ol’ me over here?” She slumps back in her chair, dabbing at the corner of her eye with the cloth napkin. No tears, just pure performance. “All I got was some duty-free Toblerone.”