Page 9 of When the Storm Breaks
“Ah, she’s responsible,” he quips, turning to ring me out.
A moment later, he hands me my card back and I slip it into my wallet, glancing down the hallway one more time. Still empty.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” I say, standing and grabbing my bag.
“Yep, all the way down, turn right. You’ll see it on your right,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Mind watching my jacket?” I ask, draping it over the back of the barstool.
“Sure,” he says, winking. “But don’t be surprised if I’m wearing it when you get back. Green’s my color.”
I laugh under my breath and step away from the bar, letting the noise fade behind me. The hallway is dim and narrow, lined with framed photos I don’t stop to look at. My steps are quiet, but his voice still echoes—etched into my bones.
Chapter 3
Calla
I can’t shake him.
I stop for a moment, half expecting him to be there—standing in the hallway like he’s been waiting for me. But the thought is ridiculous. I push it away, press two fingers to the bridge of my nose, and take a deep breath, trying to get my shit together.
And just as I start to move forward again, a hand closes around my wrist.
Before I can react, he tugs me off balance and pulls me through a doorway. My shoulder bumps the frame as I stumble, breath catching as I fall into him.
The door slams shut behind me, plunging the room into shadow. As my eyes adjust, details of a small office come into view: crumpled papers scattered across a desk, a worn leather chair, the air thick with dust.
I inch backward until I hit the door, my purse slipping from my shoulder and landing on the floor with a soft thud.
He steps toward me, bracing his palms against thedoor on either side of me. Caging me in—close, but not touching. My pulse thunders in my ears, my breathing uneven as he leans in, closing the distance until there’s nothing left.
“Hi, pretty girl.”
His voice is low, almost lazy, but it wraps around me like smoke. My eyes lift before I can stop them, drawn to his—dark and quietly intense, piercing yet somehow unreadable.
He closes the space between us, slow and sure, until his breath brushes against my cheek. I shiver as heat pools under my skin, and an ache settles deep in my bones.
He tilts his head, studying me like he’s turning me over in his mind, piece by piece.
“Well, don’t go quiet on me now,” he murmurs.
I’m still trying to catch my breath. His presence is warm and quiet, controlling in a way that’s impossible to ignore.
My lips part, but no words come out.
“What’s your name?”
“C-Calla,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. I drop my gaze, unable to hold the intensity of his stare. I force a breath, trying to steady the rapid beating of my heart, but his presence is dizzying.
“Calla James,” I add, quieter this time, like it’s a secret meant only for him.
He inhales slowly, like he’s committing it to memory.
“Calla,” he repeats, my name settling on his tongue like a claim.
I lift my gaze, and whatever I’d meant to say disappears the moment our eyes meet.
“Did you like the drink I made for you?” he asks. His eyes drop to my mouth. “Did it taste good, Calla?”
