Page 42 of Shades of Grey & Gold

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.”

I drop my eyes to the ground as I step past Callan and start walking towards the elevator. I pass my desk, grab my phone and pull on my jacket without stopping.

Just get outside.

I press the elevator call button and realize it isn’t just curiosity. I need to know everything that is happening with Callan. Who was on the phone? Where is he going? Who will he see there? A woman?

You don’t get to know about Callan’s life, Max. He can have two phones, lots of professionals have two phones!

I shake my head, stepping towards the stairwell door instead, but at the same time as the elevator dings and opens, there’s a heavy hand on my elbow.

Callan looks down at me, sliding his hand up my arm, across my shoulders, and down my back. The warmth of it wafts over me; like his touch can just stop all the things happening in my mind.

He takes a step forward towards the elevator, gently leading me in with a press of his fingers. We stare straight ahead at the office, no one seems to notice we have both walked out, no one looks in our direction. The elevator door slides closed.

I’m chewing on a corner of my bottom lip and wondering how hard my heart can pound before it rips right through my chest.

Silence.

Callan’s fingers run along the rough edge of my short jacket; my breath catches as they slip under the bottom hem of my blouse. My head tips back slightly at the heat from his fingertips against my skin.

Chills tingle up my neck and down my arms. My eyes close without my own permission as his thumb caresses the same spot over and over.

“I have to go take care of some…” his voice trails off, but his fingers trail up my back, and it arches enough for him to suck in air. “Family stuff. And I don’t know how long it will take.”

My eyes flutter open, ripping me from the moment and my mind races. Family stuff? I’m trying to think about what I can remember about his family. We were best friends for almost two years, spent countless hours together, but all I can remember is his brother that he has recently mentioned. Maybe… maybe he mentioned a sister.

Déjà vu hits me like a semi-truck. His fingertips are still pressed into my skin, his palm rough on my cold skin.

The elevator door slides open, but instead of stepping out, I take an exaggerated step to the side of the elevator car and turn to look at him, his hand slipping from me.

“You went home before for ‘family stuff,’” my fingers make air quotes around the words. “When you graduated. You mentioned you were going to Providence because youhad to go home for family stuff. And you never called. And I didn’t hear from you. Until you magically showed up in front of my office two months ago.”