Page 15 of Married With Lies

Cale is far quicker than me. He moves with athletic speed as he leans down, swipes the clip off the floor and deposits it in front of my plate.

“Thanks,” I grumble, both impressed and embarrassed.

There’s no point in trying to fix my hair. I tuck a few loose curls behind my ears and shove the clip into a wristlet that contains only my cell phone and a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.

Cale returns to studying me. Maybe studying is the wrong word. Appraising feels more accurate. Not in a hot way. I may not be the world’s biggest beauty queen but I’m not bad and I’ve been eyed by enough men to understand what it looks like when they’re interested in more than a handshake.

No, Cale stares at me as if I’m a chessboard he’s strategizing over. And he’s obviously a player who is used to winning.

Seconds pass. A ripple of laughter bounces off the walls and a woman’s drunk off key voice starts belting out Frosty the Snowman even though Silent Night is the song currently playing.

“How have you been, Cale?” It’s the only harmless question that comes to mind when you find yourself sitting across from a mob overlord who used to go swimming in your backyard.

“No complaints,” Cale says and rubs at his chin, which is sporting at least a day of dark stubble.

Funny how he’s the same age as Baylor but doesn’t wear the years in the same way. Baylor is groomed and plucked to within an inch of his life and there’s nothing natural about his tanning bed glow. He’s aiming for the image of responsible adult while also putting out all the stops to fend off any sign of aging. Earlier, I caught him checking out his reflection in one of the Christmas tree ornaments.

Cale, however, is unshaven, his black suit appears somewhat rumpled, and tattoos peek out where the two top buttons of his white shirt are open. Cale would never be looking at his face in a Christmas ornament because Cale wouldn’t be seeking anyone’s approval.

“Who is he?” Cale asks.

“Who is who?”

He jerks his head. “The upper crust stiff who keeps eyeballing you like you pissed in his wine.”

I stifle a snort. “I didn’t piss in his wine. I just told him cows will be flying before I say the words ‘I do’.”

“Ah, so that’s Grant Gallant.”

“Grant Gallant the Third. Wait, how did you know about him?”

Cale doesn’t answer the question. He just turns his head and takes a look over his shoulder. It’s not a long staring contest. Grant flinches, whips his head in the other direction and then tugs Francesca toward the exit.

Cale huffs out a low chuckle, turns back around and analyzes me for a few more seconds. “You’re afraid of him.”

“No. But we didn’t end on friendly terms. So I’d rather not wish him a merry Christmas.”

Cale’s eyes flash. That’s only a slight exaggeration. Something dangerous stirs in his expression. My claim that I’m not afraid of Grant hasn’t fooled him at all.

He leans back in his chair. A shard of black hair falls over his forehead. Two tables away, a pair of women nudge each other as they openly stare at him.

I can’t blame them. The raw, magnetic sex appeal just rolls off the guy in blistering waves. If Cale stood up and removed his shirt, someone might faint. That someone might be me.

What an odd thought.

Must be low blood sugar or something. I haven’t seen Cale Connelly in about a decade and I probably won’t see him again for at least another decade.

Not that I’m unhappy about this. If rumors are correct, and rumors often are, then Cale is up to his eyeballs in his uncle’s organized crime empire. I don’t know exactly what that means or what he does but I’ve seen movies. Lots of guns and cursing and sweaty men dumping bodies into dark water.

No thanks.

As for any fleeting fantasies of Cale’s bare chest, I’m just deprived. That’s all. I’ve been sleeping alone since escaping from my disaster of an ex-fiancé.

“Do you still live next door?” I ask. I see no reason to be impolite. Cale did succeed in chasing Grant out of the room so I can spare a few minutes to talk.

“Not for a long time. I’ve got a place in the city.”

“That must be nice.”

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