Page 28 of Call You Mine

Which is why I went as far as dressing for the occasion.

A simple cream-colored satin dress with thin straps and a matching coat. I’ve paired the outfit with the brand new pair of Manolo’s I purchased yesterday during my trip to the same boutique I used to frequent in the past. To say it was an awkwardreunion would put it lightly, but I couldn’t let their less than friendly welcoming put a damper in my good mood.

I came prepared, both physically and emotionally having signed the paperwork myself last night after Damon had not so subtly tucked the yellow envelope under my door. It pissed me off he didn’t have the decency to look me face to face when he did but after reading it over I was grateful I didn’t have to do it with his intense watchful eyes on me.

I’d stayed up all night going over it, obsessing over every detail and clause wondering if it was customary or if he’d added it in just for me.

1. No relationship out of the working hours set in the contract: 4pm to 9pm on weekdays and 5pm-10pm on weekends.

Five hours, which he’d so graciously added,asthat’s what our friendship had been reduced to. Five fucking hours of his time.

2. In the public eye, we’re the perfect couple. Happy, passionate, in love. But in private we will remain nothing more than friends.

That one hurt. But worse than that, I feared we were likely about to become strangers.

3. Lastly, no sex.

No PDA essentially other than what was necessary for the ruse of a relationship, but in bold, capital letters was the factthat he wouldn’t fuck me. Again, I should be grateful that we wouldn’t be confusing this business deal with something more, but then why was it so disappointing to read?

My phone vibrates once again, reminding me I have an unread text message. Damon’s eyes lift from the paper for a second before they shift back to continue reading.

“Don’t ignore that on my account,” he mutters dismissively, irritation distinctly heard in the gruffness of his voice. “We’re almost finished here.”

He sets the contract on the desk in front of him and grabs a pen from the holder to his right. I watch as his finger grip the shiny silver pen, slowly gliding along as black ink spills along the paper.

He slides it forward while I dig in my purse to retrieve my new cell phone. It’s odd I’ve received a message since no one but Damon has my new phone number.

I quickly unlock it with a facial scan and click open the messenger app tapping on the little green bubble icon. My eyes zero in on the unknown number which appears at the top with an alert they are not in my contact list. That’s odd. Must be a spam caller who’s trying to get me to click on some link which is surely carrying a virus of some sort that will try to hack into my bank account.

Scammers these days have gotten crafty. I’m about to exit out of the app when something in the body of text catches my eye.

With trembling fingers, I tap the screen opening the message, my heart dropping to my feet as I read it repeatedly, unbelieving of the words I’m seeing.

2124173422: “Magic Mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” - E

A rush of cold washes over me making my limbs go numb. My mind races with horrid thoughts, panic threatening to overcome me as I stare at my phone screen.

This can’t be right. It has to be some sick fucking joke.

I read over the phone number once more hoping my eyes are deceiving me and I’m just being overly paranoid. But there’s no mistake. No error because my dead husband’s phone number is flashing on my screen before me.

“All that’s left is the payment.” Damon’s deep monotone voice brings me back to reality but I can’t drag my gaze away from my phone screen. Three dots appear on the screen showing someone typing and I gasp out loud, unable to hold in my shock.

“Wynter,” Damon utters, annoyed I’ve yet to acknowledge him.

Another message comes in and by this point I’m shaking in my seat, unable to control myself, on the verge of losing my shit.

2124173422: You know I don’t like being ignored, Snow. You’ve broken my heart, carina. You know I don’t forgive and forget, easily il mio tesoro. - E

“Are we finished here,” I blurt out, my voice shaky as I stand tucking my phone back into my purse.

“What happened?” Damon demands, but I can’t force myself to look at him. Instead, my eyes shift around the room taking in the clean and modern decor of his home office that of course matches the rest of his house.

Sleek black furniture a stark contrast to the light gray walls, and a large balcony overlooking the backyard and the expansive pool complete with a waterfall. It’s beautiful and I suddenly feel the urge to jump out of the window and let the water pull me under. Because for a split second I’m transported back to therooftop I was standing on only five days ago, staring over the ledge, and contemplating jumping to my death to get away from what I’d done.

Though now, the man I’ve been running from was no longer gone, unless ghosts now had cell service and could text from “a should be dead” man’s phone.

“Nothing,” I murmur dismissively. “I just have somewhere I need to be.” I pick up the contract and read over the front where it outlines the cost of his services.

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