Page 43 of Surprise Me Tonight
Callum
Ifasten the cuffof my shirt slowly, forcing focus into the action. I’ve already buttoned it once, then unbuttoned it again. It’s not nerves. Not about the meeting, anyway. It's her.
I’ve replayed the call last night a dozen times since four this morning. Her voice. Her honesty. The way she said she’d try. The way I said I’d be careful. The fact that I meant it.
She’s in my head. Even now, standing in my own office, tying my watch strap with hands that should be steadier.
The meeting with the Ministry is routine on paper, but the stakes are higher than usual. The new proposal for water system integration’s been met with half interest, half pushback. They want sustainability; they don’t want the cost.
I should be thinking about how to win them over.
Instead, I’m wondering what Stella’s wearing today.
The knock is soft, followed by the door creaking open.
“Morning,” she says, holding a few sheets of paper neatly stapled, her tone neutral — professional, tidy.
I glance up.
Dark pencil skirt. Simple navy blouse. Hair up.
Fuck me.
The part of me that was trying to keep today clean, controlled, quietly competent — gone. Just like that.
“You printed the report,” I say, my voice lower than I mean it to be.
She nods, crosses the room, and places it on my desk. Her hand hovers for a second longer than it should. She notices it too and draws back just a little too sharply.
“I thought you might want it on paper for the meeting.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
We don’t move.
There’s heat in the silence. Not obvious. Not dangerous. Just… there. Like we’re both pretending not to remember our epic fuck on my desk, or her voice in my ear last night, whispering that she was scared. Like I haven’t been thinking about that kiss she gave me —just in case.
I clear my throat. “Come with me.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “To London?”
“To the meeting.”
She blinks once. “I didn’t think you took anyone.”
“I usually don’t,” I say. “But I want you there. Taking notes. Keeping me on track.”
She looks at me for a beat, like she’s trying to work out if I mean it or if this is something else. Something we shouldn’t be doing.
“It’s not about last night,” I add.
That seems to land. She nods slowly. “Give me ten minutes to grab my things.”
She turns and leaves the room without another word.
When the car arrives, she slides in beside me in the back seat, tablet in one hand, pen already clipped to the side like she’s ready for whatever version of the day this is going to be.
The door shuts behind her with a soft, final click and the driver pulls off. Shop fronts blur past the window.
