22
1003 Words
A billionaire whose family owns as much property as his does could most likely use a good real estate appraiser.
As soon as dinner’s over, I grab my purse off the sofa. With Ryan’s dad hollering curses at the television in the background, I send Callum a text to the number he called me from.
Hi. It’s Emery.
I send that, then stand there thinking for a moment, wondering what would be the least whorish way to tell a man you’d like to meet to discuss the terms of your own acquisition. But before I can send anything else, I get a text in return.
Tell me where you are. I’ll be there immediately.
Surprised both by the speed of his response and the brusque tone of it, I type back.
I didn’t invite you anywhere. And how about a hello?
His answer comes so fast, he must be using the microphone to dictate it.
Hello. Now tell me where you are.
When I just stand there frowning at the phone in my hand and don’t answer, another text comes through.
Emery.
That’s it. All he sends is my name. But in that single word, I feel every ounce of his impatience. He somehow managed to convey that clearly, along with supreme frustration that I’m disobeying a command.
I mutter, “Are all rich people so bossy?”
I’m at a friend’s having dinner, but I was hoping we could talk tomorrow.
I wait, but he doesn’t reply.
Unsettled by the exchange, I go back to the kitchen and help with the dishes. As Dani and Ryan continue to discuss things I should negotiate for, I think about what exactly bothers me about Callum’s text messages.
It isn’t until I pull into the driveway of my apartment building later that I stop worrying about it. Now I have something more important to focus on.
Wearing a black suit and a glower to match, Callum stands outside my front door.
Nine
I
park and take a moment to give myself a silent pep talk and let my pulse settle. Then I take a deep breath and open the door.
When I turn around, Callum stands five feet away next to the trunk.
“Oh. There you are.” Startled, I glance nervously at the door of my apartment. How did he get over here so fast?
“Here I am,” he agrees, his voice low and his eyes piercing. “Invite me inside.”
We stare at each other while I listen to crickets sing and worry that maybe this bossy billionaire is actually undead. In addition to possessing superhuman speed, didn’t Dracula always need an invitation before he could enter someone’s house?
“You’re overthinking again.”
“Yes. And how annoying that you noticed. What are you doing here?”
“You wanted to talk. I came to talk.”
“I wanted to talk tomorrow.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“This neighborhood?” I say doubtfully.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you live an hour away with all the other gazillionaires in Bel Air, and funky little beach towns don’t seem like your thing.”
His eyes sharpen. “I see you’ve done some research on me.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lie.”
“I’m not. Dani did the research. I was convinced you were playing a prank and was determined never to speak to you again. She talked me out of it.”
The scent of him drifts to me on the warm evening air. Expensive cologne and a hint of musk, along with something crisp but undefinable. It’s probably the smell of new hundred-dollar bills.
He suddenly commands, “Invite me inside.”
I sigh. “Do you even know how to have a normal conversation?”
“No. Invite me inside.”
Exasperated, I say, “Damn, you’re relentless.”
The corners of his lips curve upward. “You have no idea.”
“Okay, fine. But first tell me how you got my phone number and know where I live.”
His small smile grows slightly wider. “Did you really think I’d propose marriage to a woman I knew nothing about?”
I squint at him suspiciously. “The way you say that makes it sound like you hired a private detective to spy on me.”
“I didn’t have to hire a detective. I keep one on retainer.”
“Riiight. In case you suddenly feel the need to know everything about the random woman you’re eavesdropping on over dinner.”
“Exactly. Now invite me inside. There’s an old woman peering down from the second-story window who’s five seconds away from calling the police on me.”
I glance up to find Maude staring out her window at us. And he’s right. She does look like she’s about to call the cops.
Not that it would do any good, considering Callum probably has every peace officer in Southern California on retainer too.
I dig in my purse for my keys and head to the door, knowing Callum will follow, and also knowing it will irritate him that I turned my back on him and walked away.
He’s not the only one around here who knows how to be annoying.
Once we’re inside, I close the door behind him and watch as he prowls around the space like a caged lion, sniffing things out. He’s got that predatory energy again. It’s even more pronounced now that we’re in my small, girly, messy place.
I look at everything through his eyes and wish we could go back outside.
He comes out of my kitchen and stands in the middle of my living room, taking up all the air. Then he pronounces, “I’d like a drink.”
“Hooray for you. I’ll notify the maître d’.”
- Writer
