Line: Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 7

  Which meant I had to get back to work and get it done. I took a sip of my latte for fortification and inspiration but tried to not let myself get distracted as I worked. I would still have to go home and shower, change from the oversized cardigan and boyfriend jeans I’d pulled on, knowing Grounds Zero didn’t require me to be a fashion plate.

  I let myself get swept away with the story as I wrote, seeing the characters and scenery in front of me as I did so. I could picture it so vividly. My hero and heroine jumped from my mind and sprang to life on the page. I settled into the zone, ignoring everything in front of me.

  Until a deep voice broke my concentration. Where had I heard it before?

  The imposing figure of Callum Markham, Tristan’s brother, towered over my small table. Looming. Unsure of what to do, I invited him to sit. He did, and I smiled. My heart pounded, preparing for a confrontation, or at the very least, an uncomfortable exchange. I remembered how he and Tristan had treated each other, but here, he seemed... less stiff. Creases furrowed his handsome brow, and he almost winced as he held a cup of coffee the same size as mine. To my surprise, the conversation flowed easily between us.

  “It sounds like you have an easy job.” It wasn’t an accusation, merely an observation.

  I stiffened slightly but refused to be baited by the question. “You’d think so, but my entire job depends on reader approval. I mean, I could do some freelance work, but not enough to support me if my readers hadn’t become long–term fans.” A thoughtful smile touched his lips. “I know you’re a lawyer, but there are other jobs in the world that are hard.”

  “Oh, I’m not disagreeing,” Callum said with an easy smile. “I think I’d like to have your job. Sitting in a coffee shop in the middle of a Wednesday. Daydreaming.”

  “You are also in the coffee shop on a Wednesday,” I pointed out as I ignored the part about daydreaming. It was hard to get a good read on the guy. I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or if I should be offended.

  “Yes, but I have to go to work soon,” Callum countered with a sentiment of longing, as if he wanted to be able to escape from his office or his obligations. “You can stay here for the rest of the day, if you want.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “You could play hooky.” It came out a lot more suggestive than I wanted, and I could feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. He grinned at my discomfort.

  “You’d have to come with me though,” he offered. “Hooky just isn’t fun alone. And if I were to do something so rash, I’d pick the zoo.”

  An unwelcome tingle permeated my body. Callum was so confidant, self–assured, and a lot like his brother. I quickly moved on, pushing thoughts of anyone besides Tristan to the furthest recess of my mind. What was the matter with me, feeling that zippy feeling about someone else?

  “Oh, of course,” I said. “Where else would you go if you’re playing hooky but the zoo?”

  “Nowhere. I mean, anywhere else is too obvious, and I don’t like to cling to the straight and narrow even if my brother says differently. And when was the last time you’ve been to the zoo?” He seemed completely committed to his oddball idea, and we were both soon laughing.

  I found Callum more relaxed than his brother, and even after our strained initial meeting, something felt easier about him. Conversation flowed more naturally, and even though we were joking, it felt real. We were talking about real things, finding common ground between us. I liked him and that stung. It felt like a betrayal. Like if Tristan couldn’t like and respect his own brother, then I shouldn’t either. But without digging, I wouldn’t know what made Callum so hateable as far as Tristan was concerned.

  I sipped my coffee, and we fell silent again. The temptation to run away from my responsibilities for the day overwhelmed me. Judging from the way he chewed on his lush lower lip, he thought the same.

  “I’m not sure either of us could quit work for the day,” I said eventually. I had let myself get caught up with the idea. “Me with my book, you with your… contracts? Papers? Court?” I didn’t know what he did. I knew what lawyers did, but his job, specifically, eluded me.

  His smile lost a little of its brightness. “Contracts, mostly.”

  “Maybe I do have a better job,” I teased. The thought of spending my days in an office had never appealed to me. However, it seemed to suit him. Some people thrived in that type of environment.

  “I think we can agree that both jobs have their upsides and their downsides,” he said.

  I wiggled my eyebrows. “Mine doesn’t.” I said it as a tease, but it was the truth. I had found the perfect career for me, and there were no downsides to that. His easy smile returned to his lips.

  “Well, aren’t you lucky?” he teased.

  I pretended to think about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I am.” It felt so easy with him, in a way that was different than with Tristan. I could feel butterflies form in my stomach when he looked at me, and I pushed them away. I tried to push them away but was incapable of ignoring the feelings that bloomed inside of me. Something out the window drew his gaze so I was treated to the view of his chiseled profile.

  Something nagged at me, and I struggled to articulate my question. This brought us to another lull of silence. The pause wasn’t awkward and I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with rambling like I usually did with attractive men.

  “You know, you’re completely different than your brother.” It had to be stated. Callum nodded, as if he knew that an assessment might ensue. “What happened between you two?” The subject wasn’t my business, and I had officially crossed the line into prying, but I wanted to know. I was almost dying to know.

  In spite of my best effort to tamp down my inappropriate thoughts, he had hands that I could almost imagine on my body, and he tapped his long fingers on the table between us as he considered his answer. I knew it. Something lingered there, and with one simple question, I had ruined it. He stared out the window, the muscle in his jaw popping with tension.

  He took so long to answer that I became stuck between my thoughts. I had almost forgotten that I’d asked a question when he did answer, voice riddled somewhere deep between worry and regret.

  “I guess it’s…”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, compelled to interrupt him, “it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s not that,” he said with a shake of his head. I could appreciate the fact that he seemed to want his thoughts in the correct order before he said something. Unless I was nervous and spewing gibberish or Austen quotes, I felt the same way. He sipped the last dregs of his coffee, every one of his moves methodical and deliberate, another chess play.

  “What happened between you two then?” I found myself leaning forward as I asked the question that seemed to be growing in urgency by the second, salivating now to know the answer.

  “In college, my girlfriend killed herself.” The way Callum said it, brash and abrupt. It was the last thing I was expecting him to say.

  I gasped. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. What could I say? There was nothing adequate for what he’d just sprung on me. He nodded, as if he understood. I could see the anger and the hurt in his eyes, that pain he still held, even years later.

  “Her name was Amelia. She was a poet,” Callum continued. “I loved her. I loved her so much and then she killed herself. Tristan was starring in the senior high school play. He didn’t come to the service.”

  “It’s so hard to imagine,” I said, shaking my head, as if that movement could erase everything. I couldn’t picture it, being so in love with someone, and then having them take their own life. It would be hard not to blame yourself and feel as if you could have done something to stop it.

  The mood between us shifted. We no longer laughed or smiled. He leaned forward, a mirror to my position, until only a couple of inches spanned between us. He spoke in a low voice like he didn’t want anyone else to hear our conversation.

  �
�Where does your brother come into this?” I asked. Another long moment passed before he spoke. I wondered if I was the first person he’d ever told this to. I wondered if it ever got easier, but I doubted it.

  “It turns out my brother knew and didn’t tell me.” His answer was simple, and again, took me by surprise.

  “Oh my god,” I said, and he nodded again. I understood everything between him and his brother. Suddenly, I was glad to be an only child. Their complicated relationship had so many layers that I couldn’t even begin to keep track.

  “He thought it was almost romantic or something, very Sylvia Plath,” Callum continued. A harsh anger laced his tone. That was a change I hadn’t noticed either. “They’d met when I took Amelia home for Thanksgiving and kept in touch by text and Facebook. She’d dropped hints about wanting to end it all. Tristan assumed Amelia’s comments were melodramatic so he never told me. Just let her kill herself. And I could have stopped her.”

  “And that’s why…” My head spun. The entire story was so dramatic, so wild. It almost felt like the beginning of a novel in itself.

  “I don’t want to talk about him,” Callum spat and leaned back in his chair. As quickly as he had opened up, he shut down. I couldn’t keep up with the emotional whiplash.

  “We don’t have to talk about him... or her,” I said in a rush, desperate to get back the easy conversation we’d had earlier, and I wanted to kick myself for changing the topic and pressing deep. He eyed me, like a bug under a microscope. I couldn’t gauge his thoughts. Looking into his pain stricken eyes didn’t give me any indication.

  “I need to get back to work,” he said. Through our quick conversation, the thought of real life had been pressing against me, unable to be ignored. I knew it had been coming, but the minute he spoke, the world that had formed between us had ground to a halt. I checked the time. I would also have to leave soon, but I wanted to linger a little longer.

  “I suppose you won’t be playing hooky then?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  He seemed to be totally checked out as he shook his head. Callum was already gathering his coat but stopped to look at me one more time. “Listen, there’s one more thing. It’s about him… my brother.”

  “What is it?” I asked, my heart pounding in my throat, terrified of his next words. He paused for a moment, checking his watch, his phone and getting himself together before he turned to me again. When he did look at me, I could feel every inch of my body stop. Freeze.

  “Be careful.” His voice had dropped another octave, and I struggled to hear him. “My brother thinks about himself and only himself. He will always put his own interests first.” His dark eyes landed on mine, and for another second, I was wholly hooked. So much that I almost didn’t understand what he had said. When it did hit me, I did a double take.

  This felt like a bombshell being thrown. I had to duck for cover. He was already rising from his seat when I responded. “What?”

  “Just... watch out,” Callum told me. “Have a nice day, Lydia.” The farewell felt like an attack after what he’d just blurted out.

  “You too.” I watched as he left, trying to figure out what exactly he had meant. I didn’t pull my notebook out again, too consumed with thoughts of Callum and Tristan to even concentrate. Callum’s warning was cryptic and dark. I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  Instead, I opted to get another latte before I left.

  ***

  Callum’s mysterious warning stayed with me while I changed for the appearance I had scheduled that afternoon, lingering like an unfunny nerd at an office party. With Poppy’s help, I had managed to organize my clothes so they were hanging and almost free of cat hair, with the dress for this press event at the front so I could find it. I didn’t stop to type what I had written that day, that would have to come later that night.

  There was no way that I would be able to concentrate, not with Callum’s words floating in my head. I kept dwelling on them.

  I wondered if he had meant them to be so ominous. I wondered if he gave warnings to all of Tristan’s dates.

  As I changed and did my hair and makeup, paying special attention to highlighting my eyes, I yelled at Poppy on the phone. I balanced the device on the counter and told her everything that had happened. It didn’t matter that I would be seeing her in less than two hours, I had to tell her immediately.

  “So, how cute is he?” Poppy’s voice sounded tinny, probably yelling as she walked through the streets of the city.

  “Like incredibly cute, hot as hell, really. But that shouldn’t matter. His looks have nothing to do with any of it. I shouldn’t be having feelings for him. It’s sick. Maybe I’m sick.” I shook my head at my reflection. “What matters is that he basically told me to stay away from his brother.”

  “Maybe he’s just jealous,” Poppy said. She had a valid point, but I shook my head.

  “No, it seemed more like a threat.” I pulled my hair into an intricate bun, pulling out some auburn strands to curl and frame my face. This press event was a big deal, and I wanted to look my best. But with Tristan and Callum on my brain, focus proved elusive.

  Men. I almost wished I could time travel back to my lonely, single status.

  “Maybe it’s a protection thing.” Poppy’s voice sounded distant for a moment as if she’d pulled the phone away from her mouth. I applied my favorite crimson lipstick and pulled back to admire my evening look. I’d gone a little heavy handed, but it suited my current mood. The full face of make–up felt like armor against anything that might fly at me.

  “No,” I said. “It can’t be that. They hate each other. I’ve never seen anything like it. You see the family feuds on television and in movies, but I guess I’d never experienced it in real life. Until now. Tristan said he endured some horrific high school bullying. He blames Callum for not protecting him and Callum blames Tristan for Amelia’s death. How soap opera is that?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Poppy said, her lack of an opinion in itself a rare occasion, and I rolled my eyes. Poppy knew exactly what she wanted to say, but something held her back. Not knowing caused my heart to race double time. The only reason for her to purse her flapping lips shut would be to avoid spilling something I didn’t want to hear.

  “Okay, then.” I secretly wished that Poppy knew the answer. She always seemed to know the answer to the rest of my romantic problems. “I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” Poppy said before her dramatic voice faded into the ethers.

  I collected my phone and everything else I needed into the tiniest clutch in the world, slipping into my impossibly high heels and giving Bingley another quick pet while making sure his bowls were full.

  I left my apartment and locked the door behind me. As I made my way to the street, my thoughts were still revolving around Callum’s words. I wasn’t able to move on from them.

  What, exactly, had he meant?

  I didn’t pull my notebook out again, I was too consumed with thoughts of Callum and Tristan to even concentrate.

  Just... watch out.

  I couldn’t even imagine Tristan being dangerous. What had Callum meant?

  I have never desired your good opinion and you have most certainly bestowed it most unwittingly.

  – Elizabeth Bennet

  Chapter 7

  Lydia

  Thousands of goose bumps spread across my skin as the night chill kissed my flushed cheeks. I wore a denim jacket thrown over the outfit I had chosen to write in that day, and I stood shivering waiting for Tristan. By design, I was early again but I still hated waiting for him.

  I had been the one to suggest drinks, and Tristan had upped it. I waited at the entrance to the park where we’d walked on our first date, trying not to stomp my foot on the ground in consternation while my belly rumbled its protest at getting fed so late in the day. For some reason, Callum’s visage floated across my consciousness. In his running attire with sweat dripping down his face to land on his
tank top. I shook my head to clear it.

  Get a grip, Lydia. Callum’s not for you. You have nothing in common with a rigid ad stodgy contract lawyer. Lawyer + author = misery.

  I resisted the urge to check my phone for the millionth time. Every minute that ticked past, I got colder and hungrier. And more irritated. A crow flew atop the tree line and then swooped down to caw its displeasure about the lack of ready food. I felt its pain. Damn ugly black feathered fiend. It probably represented the death of my budding relationship. I wished it gone.

  I exhaled, watching people pass, smiling and laughing. The sun faded behind the horizon and the temperature plummeted another few degrees. I rubbed my arms with my icy palms but the action didn’t help. Readjusting my stance again, I ignored the pain in my little toes. I had opted to wear a pair of shoes that made me look taller, but they were uncomfortable.

  I already regretted my choice of footwear. I started to regret my choice of men.

  I didn't recognize the neat clip of hooves until the carriage loomed in front of me. Tristan sat on the bench seat of an elegant old carriage, complete with red velvet seats pulled by two shiny black horses. The driver pulled on the reins and brought the team to a halt right in front of me.

  He’s forgiven.

  "Wow," I said, scanning the old–fashioned conveyance up and down with an appreciative expression.

  I had expected drinks and dinner. I had not expected a carriage ride through the park. He grinned, that beautiful smile. Next to him, sat a silver bucket with a chilled bottle of champagne. The driver helped me into the carriage, and Tristan covered me with furry blankets to ward off the autumn chill. From behind his back, he produced a stunning bouquet of six red roses.