Hotline Desires

Nine

Damian

The penthouse office felt quieter than usual, the kind of silence that amplified every tap of my keyboard. Spreadsheets and projections stared back at me, but my focus kept fracturing. That damn stack of cards from Adrian still lingered in the back of my mind like an itch I refused to scratch.

A familiar sharp knock broke the monotony. Adrian let himself in, looking annoyingly relaxed in jeans and a button-down, carrying two coffees like he was doing me a favor.

“Still chained to the desk, I see,” he said, setting one cup in front of me. “Figured you could use something stronger than whatever black tar you call coffee.”

I accepted it with a nod. “To what do I owe the interruption?”

He dropped into the chair across from me, feet propped up on the edge of my desk like he owned half the building. “Chloe’s been nagging me about you again. Says you’re probably turning into a statue up here. So… did you call yet?”

I took a slow sip, meeting his eyes evenly. “Call what?”

Adrian laughed, loud and unrepentant. “Come on, man. The Hotline Desires cards. Don’t tell me they’re still sitting untouched in your nightstand like some shameful secret.”

“They’re in a drawer,” I corrected flatly. “Where they belong.”

“Out of sight, but you’re thinking about them. I can tell.” He grinned, pointing at me with his cup. “You’ve got that little crease between your eyebrows — the one that shows up when you’re overthinking something you pretend not to care about. Just admit it. One harmless call wouldn’t kill you.”

“I’m not desperate enough to pay a stranger to talk to me,” I said, though the words felt less convincing than they had a week ago.

“Desperate? Nah. Human?” He shrugged. “You’ve been a monk since the whole… thing with your ex. Years, Damian. Years. Chloe and I are starting to worry you’re going to forget how normal conversation works, let alone anything else.”

I shot him a dry look. “My social skills are fine. You’re proof — I still tolerate you.”

“Barely.” Adrian chuckled, but his expression softened a fraction. “Seriously though. No pressure, no expectations. Just… try something different. You deserve to feel something other than quarterly reports and old grudges.”

He stood, checking his watch. “Anyway, I’ve gotta bounce. Chloe’s got reservations for us tonight — real date night. Dinner, drinks, the whole production. Try not to brood yourself into a coma while I’m gone. And if you do call… tell me how it goes. Or don’t. I’ll know anyway.”

“Enjoy your date,” I muttered. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“That leaves the field pretty wide open,” he shot back with a wink, already heading for the door.

The silence settled heavier once he left.

Later that evening, the penthouse felt cavernous. I stepped out of a long, scalding shower, water still tracing paths down my back, and wrapped a towel low around my hips. The city lights sparkled beyond the glass walls — beautiful, distant, untouchable. I poured two fingers of whiskey and stood at the window, letting the burn settle in my chest.

Work was thriving. Blackwood Enterprises was stronger than ever. But nights like this exposed the cracks I usually ignored. The quiet amplified everything: the empty side of the bed, the lack of anyone waiting, the way laughter felt like a foreign language these days. I wanted connection. Real connection. Someone who saw past the money and the walls. Someone I could trust not to twist the knife the way she had.

But trust was a weakness I’d learned to excise. People — women especially — saw opportunity when they looked at me. Not the man beneath the empire. After the betrayal, after the public humiliation, I’d sworn never again. Walls were safer. Loneliness was familiar.

Still… the ache lingered tonight.

My gaze drifted to the nightstand. I set the whiskey down, opened the drawer, and picked up one of the glossy cards. Hotline Desires. Ridiculous. Beneath me.

And yet Adrian’s words echoed. One call. No faces. No expectations. Just a voice.

Before I could overthink it into paralysis, I sat on the edge of the bed and dialed.

The line rang twice. A smooth, confident woman’s voice answered — warm, a little husky, like she was smiling through the words.

“Hello, lover. You sound like you need me already.”

My thumb hovered near the end button. This was stupid. I should hang up.

But her tone held me there — self-assured, easy, not overly scripted. I cleared my throat, voice low and guarded. “I… wasn’t entirely sure I was going to go through with this.”

She gave a soft, genuine laugh. “That’s more common than you think on first calls. No pressure at all. We can go as slow or as quiet as you want. I’m here for whatever you need tonight.”

I exhaled, leaning back against the headboard. “I don’t really know what I need,” I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty. “This isn’t… my usual scene.”

“Mmm, I can tell,” she said lightly, no judgment in her voice. “You sound like the kind of man who’s more comfortable in control of a boardroom than a late-night call. Am I close?”

A faint smile tugged at my mouth despite myself. “Closer than I’d like to admit.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Then let’s start simple. No scripts, no expectations. Tell me what kind of day you had. Or don’t. We can just… exist on the line for a minute. Whatever feels right.”

I stared at the city lights, the whiskey glass forgotten on the nightstand. Her voice was soothing in a way I hadn’t expected — confident without being pushy, warm without being fake. It eased something in my chest I hadn’t realized was clenched so tight.

“Long day,” I said finally. “Meetings. Numbers. The usual grind that never really ends.”

“Sounds exhausting,” she replied, her tone shifting into something more intimate but still relaxed. “The kind where your mind keeps running even after you leave the office. Do you ever do anything to shut it off? Or are you the type who just powers through?”

“Mostly the latter,” I confessed. “Though a good whiskey helps sometimes.” I paused, then added, “What about you? Sounds like you talk to a lot of people who don’t know what they want.”

She laughed again — low and easy. “You’re not wrong. But I like the ones who are honest about it. Makes things more interesting. No need to perform. Just two people talking in the dark.”

We fell into a surprisingly natural rhythm after that. She asked gentle, open questions — nothing invasive, nothing forced. I found myself answering more than I intended: the weight of responsibility, the way success could still feel isolating, the rare moments when the city felt too loud and too quiet at the same time. She listened without interrupting, offering small insights or quiet affirmations that didn’t feel canned.

There was something magnetic about her voice. Witty. Unapologetically herself. It pulled me in despite every instinct telling me to stay detached.

For the first time in longer than I cared to remember, the loneliness felt a little less sharp.