Chapter Seven : The Call
1003 Words
The scent was still there the next morning.
Fernanda stood in the middle of her studio, arms crossed over her chest, staring at the space where Ace had stood the day before. It was faint now, like a memory just out of reach, but it lingered—clinging to the air, her clothes, her skin. She’d washed her sweater twice and could still smell him.
She told herself it was just in her head. She’d met a lot of clients, some attractive, some memorable. None had ever made her this… unsettled.
She dropped into her desk chair, glaring at the business card. The glossy black rectangle seemed to shine in the sunlight filtering through the blinds, as though it knew it was the only thing she’d thought about all night.
No name. No company. Just a number.
Fernanda pushed it away, opening her laptop to edit the photos from yesterday.
Click. Click. Click.
Her cursor hovered over Ace’s images.
She should delete them. He wasn’t a real client, at least not one she was supposed to have. The shoot had been a breach of her Omega-only assignment rules, and if the Agency ever found out she’d photographed an Alpha—especially a true Alpha—there would be questions she didn’t want to answer.
Her finger hesitated over the delete key. Instead, she enlarged one of the shots.
Ace was leaning forward slightly, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, a smirk playing at his lips. The kind of smirk that said I already know exactly how you’ll taste.
Her stomach flipped.
She minimized the photo and shut the laptop.
This was ridiculous. She wasn’t some naïve Omega with a schoolgirl crush. She was a professional, a photographer with strict boundaries.
And yet…
Her gaze slid back to the card.
She could call him, just once. Tell him to come collect his photos and never come back. That would be the responsible thing to do, wouldn’t it?
Before she could overthink it, she snatched up the card, grabbed her phone, and punched in the number.
The line rang once. Twice.
On the third ring, his voice came through—low, smooth, and so close in her ear it made her pulse trip.
“I was wondering how long you’d wait,” Ace said.
Her throat tightened. “I’m calling about your photos.”
“Sure you are.” There was a smile in his voice.
“I just want to arrange a pickup. That’s all.”
“Mm.” A pause, like he was listening to something in her breathing. “Where are you right now?”
“In my studio.”
“I’ll come by.”
“That’s not—”
The line went dead.
Fernanda stared at her phone, the call ended before she could protest. She dropped it on the desk, pressing her fingers to her temples.
Fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took for the black SUV to roll up outside her building. She watched from the window as Ace stepped out, tall and composed, dressed in a fitted charcoal shirt and dark jeans that clung just right.
She hated that her first thought was how good he looked.
By the time she’d unlocked the door, he was already there, leaning casually against the frame like he owned the place.
“Morning, Fernanda,” he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
“You can’t just show up like this,” she snapped, shutting the door behind him.
He glanced around the studio, his gaze lingering on her desk. “Where’s the card?”
She blinked. “The card?”
“The one I gave you.”
“Why?”
His eyes met hers, and there was something almost predatory in the way he looked at her. “Because I want to know if you kept it close or tried to hide it from yourself.”
Her chest tightened. “You’re reading too much into things.”
“Am I?” He took a slow step toward her, the faintest smile touching his mouth. “I told you I’d come back when you were ready to stop pretending. Seems you were ready sooner than I thought.”
Her voice dropped. “I’m not pretending.”
“Oh?” Another step. Now he was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. “So you admit you called because you wanted to see me again.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Ace leaned down, his mouth near her ear. “Tell me I’m wrong, little Omega. Tell me you don’t feel this.”
She swallowed hard, the Alpha heat in his voice wrapping around her like invisible chains. “I’m here to give you your photos. That’s it.”
He drew back just enough to look at her face, his gaze burning into hers. “Then give them to me.”
She moved to the desk, grabbing the neatly wrapped envelope of prints, and held it out. He didn’t take it.
Instead, he reached past her, fingers brushing hers as he picked up the envelope himself. His touch was light but deliberate, sending a current straight up her arm.
“You’re trembling,” he said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her cheeks flushed. “You should go.”
He studied her for a moment, then slid the envelope under his arm. “Fine. But next time, Fernanda, you won’t be the one calling me. I’ll be the one calling you.”
He moved toward the door, his scent trailing behind him—warm, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.
She waited until the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall before sinking into her chair, pressing her palms to her eyes.
She should feel relieved. He was gone. The photos were gone.
But all she could think about was the fact that he’d said next time.
And worse—deep in her chest, she knew she wanted there to be one.
- Writer
