Page 54 of Sinclair Duet

“Just be yourself.”

Rosemary looked around. “We’ll start tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll bring donuts.”

“Eight?” I say, my eyes opened wide.

“Eight-thirty?”

I nodded. “No donuts necessary.”

“Thank you, Ella. For everything.”

Once I’m again seated at my desk, I reached for my cellphone. One missed call showed on the screen. It also showed my outgoing call. “Shit, my call must have gone through,” I mumble as I hit the call button.

“Ms. Crystal.” Damien’s tone was stern. “While I enjoy a game of tag every now and again, this inability to answer my calls or it seems to even be on the line when you call me is grating on my nerves.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You see, I take my job seriously and turn off my ringer while at work. Also, I just accepted a new position, and, well, I’m very busy at the moment.”

“Movers will be to Beta Kappa Phi Friday morning to move your things to Sinclair.”

My smile faded. “Movers?” I hadn’t thought about moving everything. After all, this move of offices wasn’t permanent.

Is it?

“I don’t think that will be necessary. As we keep saying, I’m still employed by the fraternity.”

“The movers are scheduled. If you have any further concerns, call Johnathon. I’ll text you his number.”

Johnathon.

Right.

Damien Sinclair was too busy to deal with the mundane.

“Ella?”

“Yes?”

“Turn on your damn ringer. When I call, I want to be answered. No more fucking excuses.”

The rebuttal on the tip of my tongue stayed silent. Damien had already disconnected the call.

Shit.

I needed to talk to Millie.

“You’re just being an ass now,”I said into my phone as I hit the speaker and continued readying for bed. I’d just finished brushing my teeth and washing my face. This was the fifth call I’d received from Damien since he proclaimed my need to answer every call.

His deep laugh echoing through my bathroom was almost enough to forgive him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting ready for bed.”

“I like the sound of that. Send me a selfie.”

I met my own blue stare in the bathroom mirror. “My face is washed—no makeup. I’m wearing a camisole and short shorts. My hair is brushed and braided. I’m not exactly selfie-ready.”

“It wasn’t a yes-or-no question. It was a request, the kind you don’t refuse.”

“Damien, this is wrong. I can’t?—”

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