Page 136 of Close Contact
My skin was dull. My shirt was wrinkled. My hair—a bun from my pinned post-race braid—now looked like a stress-induced disaster. My mascara was smudged and nearly non-existent, my eyes puffy.
I looked like absolute hell.
Good.
Let him see what he’d reduced me to on my crusade to get to him and make sure he was okay. Maybe get some fucking answers and a diagnosis from the crash. What was the damage? Recovery time?
The lift dinged and I stepped into the top floor hallway, the scent of bergamot and luxury thick in the air, my heart punching against my ribs as though it wanted out. Callum’s door stood at the end—matte black with that sleek little digital lock and video doorbell.
I walked up to it slowly, every step tightening the coil in my gut. My heart started pounding. Not soft and romantic—no. Violent. Furious. Fragile.
Knocked.
Waited.
Knocked again.
Nothing.
I knew he was here. His jet had landed hours ago. Marco confirmed it when I got off the plane. Hell, Instagram confirmed it—he’d commented on a post Marco had made about our shared podium not even twenty minutes ago.
Besides, I could smell hisfucking cologne from out here.
Then… the soft glow. The blue halo around the camera. He was watching. He saw me.
And he still didn’t open the fucking door.
Something inside me broke open.
The adrenaline, the pride, the press-ready poise I’d practiced for forty-eight hours—it all evaporated. I covered my mouth as the tears surged up my throat and spilled over my cheeks beforeI could catch them. My shoulders shook, and I hated it. I hated this. Ineverlet myself fall apart in front of anyone.
But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Callum. He’d seen me like this before—at my absolute fucking worse—and he still had wanted me.
This was the man who’d dragged me out of a dark place and made me feel special. The one who touched me like I was something sacred and said nothing… because he didn’t have to. The one who saw me wrecked and chose to stay anyway. The one who fell apart at my feet in the shower and gave me all the power that had been taken from me my whole life.
Until now. Now he was watching. And choosingnothing.
I swiped at my face, furious, teeth clenched, body trembling.
“I came here,” I whispered, voice fraying as I bent at the waist to look at his doorbell. “But maybe I should’ve gone to Paris. I have five hours until I meet my realtor for a property I’ve been dreaming about. I’ve got interviews. I have a full face to paint. A movement to lead. But I came here first. Because you mattered more than all of it.”
Still nothing.
No footsteps.
No creak of the lock.
Just the little blue ring glowing, burning into my soul.
Maybe he really was done.
Maybe the man who made love to me under the moonlight and told me I was his last conscious thought before he blacked out after his accident—as if he already knew every way I was going to hurt him—had finally decided I wasn’t worth the pain.
My fists clenched. My jaw hurt from clenching it.
Fuckingfine.
But I wasn’t leaving without being seen.
