Final Call (The Call #2) (3 page)

“It’s over. Naomi
finally signed the papers two days ago.”

A lump builds in my
throat, one that threatens tears as strongly as it threatens vomit,
and I struggle to swallow it back down.

“Congratulations,” I
croak. “Now perhaps you can find someone and have a real
relationship with them.”

“I already found
her.”

“Then it’s a shame you
fucked it up, isn’t it?”

He curls his fingers
around the handle above mine, his chest against my back. I’m still
on fire, still reeling from his touch, and now his breath across my
skin is cracking the façade I’m struggling to keep in place.

“It took me seven years
to find you again, and if you think I’m giving up now, you’re so
very, very wrong.”

“I don’t doubt that for
a second, but it doesn’t mean you’ll get anywhere.”

“This isn’t over,
Dayton. We aren’t over.”

“Oh, it is. We’re very
over. Trust me.”

I tug on the door and
he releases it. I can feel his eyes on me as I find Liv at the bar,
and when I turn, he’s inside, staring at me. Determination clouds
his eyes, and I know I’m in for a fight.

“What the hell?” Liv
hisses in my ear. “What’s he doing here?”

“He owns this place.” I
grab her hand. “And we’re leaving.”

I can’t stay around him
any longer. Just when he’s stopped consuming my every thought, here
he is, standing in front of me like a dream come to life. Like my
own personal heaven and hell mixed together in one gorgeous,
heartbreaking package.

Because that’s what he
is—everything that’s good and bad spun together into something
intoxicatingly addictive, something you can’t help but want. Aaron
Stone is and always has been my drug. He’s the one thing that can
make me lose my head and send my body into overdrive. He’s the one
thing I’m completely powerless against.

I can’t fight the
effects he has on my body or stop the pounding of my heart whenever
I hear his voice. I can’t change the way I feel when he looks at me
or the way I jolt whenever he touches me, but I can’t live with
it.

I also can’t live
without it.

But I’ve made it this
far. Twelve days without him seems like a lifetime, but it’s not
really. It’s a small slice of nothing when he’s everything.

Chapter
Three

“And what did you tell
him?”

I stab my fork into my
pasta with a little too much vigor. “I told him it was over. Done.
Fini.”

“I assume he didn’t
take that very well.”

I drop my fork without
taking a bite and look at my aunt, a heavy sigh falling from my
lips. “You assume correctly. Naturally, my words went right over
his head.”

“So what are you going
to do?”

“I’m going to go to
work and pretend he didn’t show up and ruin my night out.”

Aunt Leigh nods
approvingly. “Make sure you use plenty of concealer. You could
carry your fucking groceries in the bags under your eyes.”

“You know something?
Sometimes I wonder how I’m not the most insecure person on the
planet.”

“Insecure people are
that way because they have people wrapping their asses up in bubble
wrap all the time. Honey, if you’d rather me tell you that you look
gorgeous and ready to go to work, I will, but next time I do,
you’ll be wondering if I’m lying or not.”

I can’t argue that
point.

“No? I didn’t think so.
What time is your client?”

“Seven.”

She checks her watch.
“It’s almost six. You go shower and I’ll clear this away. Your
dishwasher works, correct?”

I hold up my hands,
showing her my perfectly manicured nails. “Of course it does.
Monique would shit a kitten if I turned up with—god forbid—soap on
my fingers.”

A smile twitches the
corner of my aunt’s mouth. “Just one kitten? She’d shit the
litter.”

I giggle into my hand
as I head upstairs. This much is true. Monique is Ms. Perfection
herself.

I shower quickly, the
hot stream of water beating away some of the tension knotting my
shoulders, and wrap myself in a fluffy towel. I almost feel like I
can breathe easily after that—if it weren’t for the new fear of
Aaron popping up everywhere I go.

I tug a black dress
from the closet and some red heels to go with it. Red isn’t a color
I want to be wearing right now, but Mr. Alexander Carlisle was very
specific on how he wants me to dress. And the client always gets
what they want.

As long as they’ve paid
for it, that is.

I blow dry my long hair
in record time and twist it into a sleek updo before stepping into
my outfit for the evening. Some of the control I know so well seeps
back into me as I roll the tan stockings up my legs and pull the
dress down to cover the tops. I feel even more in control of my
life as I slide my feet into the red heels and apply my makeup.

That same old rush
floods my body. The knowledge of what I have to do—how I have to
act, how I’m expected to behave, how I’m expected to speak.

Tonight, at Mr.
Carlisle’s request, I’m Kelly York, a woman from a small town just
outside Portland. I’m about to graduate from law school, and we met
when I interviewed for an open position at his law firm. Of course,
he couldn’t hire me because he’s a respectable man who doesn’t mix
business with pleasure, and he decided I was better for the
pleasure.

And the irony is that
he’s hiring an escort.

Very respectable, Mr.
Carlisle.

It’s hard not to judge.
It’s my job not to, but sometimes I can’t help it. Thankfully I
rarely take away my brain-to-mouth filter, so my judgments stay
firmly inside my own mind.

“Better,” Aunt Leigh
declares, running her eyes over me. “Who’s your client?”

“You know I can’t tell
you that.”

“Fine. I might just
stop by the Southfall later for a drink or two.”

I purse my lips at her.
Goddamn woman. “All right, but if Monique finds out…”

“I worked for her for
twenty years. You don’t need to tell me to keep it quiet. I’m just
nosy.”

I tell her everything,
and she nods the whole way through, reminding me to use my
upper-class mannerisms she spent hours teaching me when I decided
to do this job. Like I need reminding—but I get it.

This is her crazy way
of looking out for me.

Our relationship is
dysfunctional, like so many of the others in my life, but it works.
Like the others do. Well, mostly.

I climb into the
cab—five minutes early, much to my annoyance—and lean back in the
seat. I take a deep breath when a thought flashes through my
mind.

Shit. Alexander
Carlisle is one of the top lawyers in Seattle. This is a
high-profile event.

What if Aaron’s on the
guest list?

“This better be good,
Dayton.”

“Do you know who’s on
the list tonight?”

“Funnily enough, that’s
not something I charge for,” Monique replies dryly.

“Fuck off, Mon. Can you
find out?”

“Why?”

“In case Aaron is
there. He’s in Seattle. I saw him last night.”

My agent sighs. “I’ll
try to find out.”

“Quickly!” I hang up as
the cab pulls up outside the hotel. There’s a sinking feeling in
the pit of my stomach as I remember the last time I was here—and
the events that unfolded after that chance meeting.

My instinct tells me to
get the cabbie to drive me home, but I hand him his fare and get
out instead. Where the fuck was that instinct six weeks ago?

The same girl is even
behind the counter—Rachel, was it? —and recognition flashes in her
eyes. “Can I help you, madam?”

“Yes. I’m looking for
Mr. Carlisle. It’s Kelly York.”

She nods and picks up
the phone. It’s like déjà vu as she requests someone to take me to
the private booths in the bar where he’s waiting. As the young guy
takes me there, I almost expect to see Aaron when the curtain is
opened.

But I don’t. It’s a
thirty-something good-looking guy, and he oozes confidence.

“Ms. Lopez,” he greets
me in a hushed voice and kisses my hand. “Alexander Carlisle.”

“It’s a pleasure to
meet you, Mr. Carlisle.”

He motions for me to
have a seat. “Please, call me Alexander. Can I get you a
drink?”

“A white wine would be
wonderful. Thank you.”

He orders, and when the
waiter disappears, he slides a brown envelope across the table to
me. “The fee agreed with your agent.”

“Thank you.” I slip it
into the lining of my purse. My drink is delivered, and I wait
until we’re alone until I speak again. “Is there anything specific
I should know for tonight? I know the general information about our
‘meeting’ and your company from what my agent passed on, but I’d
like to make sure we’re on the same page before we go out.”

“Of course. I believe
all the necessary information was already given. The only thing
would be that, after three months, my parents are under the
impression we’re very much in love.” He quirks an eyebrow over a
dark eye “Fortunately they live in Nevada now, so it will be easy
to convince them.”

I swallow some
unwelcome bile. Of course we’d be crazy in love. Why the fuck
wouldn’t we be?

“Of course.” I smile.
“When would you like to go out?”

“We can join the party
now if you’d like to.”

“Perfect.” The sooner
we get there, the sooner I can leave. Three hours of my time is all
he booked, and I’d like that over as soon as possible.

I link my arm through
his in the elevator. Why hasn’t Monique called yet? She knows not
to fuck about with this stuff. I need to know.

We stop outside a
function room thankfully different than the one Aaron had his
party, and Alexander smiles at me before opening the door. The room
is full, but I spot two familiar heads by the bar.

Fuck.

I step back and take my
client with me. “I’m afraid I have a problem, Mr. Carlisle.”

“Alexander, please.
What’s the problem?”

What fucking isn’t
these days? “My ex-boyfriend’s parents are at your party. I’m sure
you understand that it’s not convenient for me. We broke up only
recently.”

“Ah, of course.”

I take the envelope
from my purse and discreetly tuck it inside his jacket. “I’m so
sorry. I’ll call my agent on the way down, and she’ll send someone
else to accompany you. She’ll be here within half an hour. If
anyone asks, there’s heavy traffic, which is delaying her.
Reception will call up for you.”

“It’s a shame, Ms.
Lopez. I was looking forward to an evening with you.”

“And I you. I’m sorry
for the inconvenience.” I smile and step back into the elevator. My
cell buzzes.

“He’s not, but his
parents are.”

“Yeah, thanks for the
heads-up on that. Luckily I noticed before we went in. You’ll have
to send someone else.”

Monique sighs. “Lori
can do it. She’ll have to learn her shit quickly. What’s your
story?”

I tell her exactly what
I just told Alexander.

“Good. I’ll call her
now and get her ass down there. And Dayton?”

“Mm?”

“Good call.”

“Thank you.” I smile
and hang up. Then I hail a cab and climb in.

What are the chances of
that? Thank god for small miracles.

Not that there’s
anything wrong with the guy, but I’m not in the mood to be the
loved-up girl of some mogul lawyer who represents half the city.
He’s probably from the firm that deals with all the Stone
stuff.

Of course, now I have
nothing to do for the rest of the evening.

Or I can keep a certain
businessman off my property.

I throw a few bills at
the cab driver and slam the door behind me as I get out, my eyes
tracing the silhouette of Aaron Stone sitting on my bench.

“If this happens again,
Mr. Stone, I may have to look into taking legal action. Two nights
in a row? I hardly imagine your sitting outside my house is a
coincidence.”

He looks up, his eyes
piercing in the evening darkness. “Back to work, Miss Black?”

“I have a job. As much
as I’d love to sit around and feel sorry for myself, I’m afraid I
have far more important things to do.” I stroll past him and put my
key in the door.

He closes his hand
around mine. “Things, or people?”

“I fail to see what
business it is of yours.”

“It’s very much my
business, as you’re well aware.”

“Perhaps in your
opinion. But if it will make you feel better, it’s things, not
people.” I turn around. “I’m not back to work fully. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“I have to earn money
somehow, and my big spenders aren’t pretty little rich boys who
need a date for the night. So yes, yet.”

“Never,” he growls,
leaning into me. “You aren’t fucking another guy, Dayton.”

“That’s not your
decision, Aaron. You had your chance to decide that, and you blew
it. Now if you’d like to remove yourself from my property, I’d
appreciate it.”

His lips touch mine in
a scorching, forceful kiss that knocks me backward. I gasp at the
sudden touch, and he slides his tongue between my lips. His hands
cup my face, holding me against him, and my back is flush against
the door. He tastes of the woody whisky he adores, of power and
determination and finality.

“Tell me one thing,” he
says, his lips brushing across mine with his words. “Has anyone
else kissed these lips?” His thumb comes between us and flicks my
bottom lip.

Who the fuck does he
think he is asking that question? I’m ready to push him away, to
shove him on his ass, but instead, what happens is a whisper of,
“Fuck you.”

“Answer the fucking
question, Dayton.”

My chest heaves at the
thickness of his voice. I can hear the emotion beneath the demand.
“No. They haven’t,” I answer.

His lips crash against
mine once more, this time rougher, harsher. I can feel nothing but
his palms rough against my cheeks and his lips soft against my own.
His tongue sweeping through my mouth and owning it completely. The
ball of need building in my lower stomach and sending aches down
through my pussy.