Page 10 of Don't Run
“I’m at a party.”
“What kind of party?”
The intrigue in his voice is almost endearing. And maybe I’d let him rock if he wasn’t blocking my blessings right now.
“Mr. Carter, did you need something?”
A familiar weighted sigh coasts over the line, and it’s like he’s hovering over my desk with a list of tasks instead of on this phone, miles away from me. “Yes, I need to make an adjustment to my schedule for Monday morning.”
“O…kay?”
“I have an appointment with my orthodontist at nine, so I’ll be in after ten.”
“You needed to call me to tell me that?”
“Yes,” he replies. “Something tells me you won’t be checking your email before the weekend is over, and I don’t want you confused when I’m not in the office Monday morning.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I count down from five. “How thoughtful.”
There’s a pause long enough to count every tombstone a few yards from metwice. “Well, that’s all I wanted. What’re you doing?”
“You already asked me that, and I told you I’m at a party.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re having fun if your tone is anything to go by.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen with my face screwed up.
“Mr. Carter, I’m gonna hang up. Enjoy the rest of your Halloween weekend.”
Except I don’t hang up. HeknowsI won’t, and there isn’t a shred of urgency in his response. “Hmm. I guess it is a holiday. Well, it’s technically after midnight now.” In the space between his next words, I can picture him studying the overpriced watch on his wrist. Maybe even pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Either way, you be safe, Ms. Shaw.”
“Yup.” I don’t care that my answers are short, I just want to get back upstairs. Back to Gabby and the?—
“Tell me you’ll be safe,” he orders, his callous timbre putting me on high alert.
It reminds me of that night three years ago when he called me drunk from the back seat of his car service.
For whatever reason, he’d chosen to call me, his assistant, at three o’clock in the morning after homecoming activities with his frat brothers left him feeling…nice.
To this day, I remember the groggy conversation I had with him, my eyes still shut and my head never leaving my pillow as I humored him until he reached the lobby of his building.
When he woke up the next morning, I had electrolytes, pain meds and a greasy breakfast waiting for him curtesy of the delivery app with my work credit card loaded on it.
He didn’t remember the call when we got to work Monday morning, but it’s the only proof I’ve ever had that the man isn’t always the picture of perfection he likes to portray.
Maybe that’s what’s happening now. He had too much to drink and called me because he’s so used to calling me for everything else.
Convinced, I clear my throat and ask patiently, “Have you been drinking, sir?”
“You think I have to be intoxicated to care about your wellbeing?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug as if he can see me. “You’ve never cared before.”
Twisting my lip between my fingers, I know I’ll need a retouch using the tube of lipstick stashed in my cleavage before I go back upstairs. Between Gabby’s kisses and the way I’ve been biting my lip all night, I know I look a mess.
A laugh rumbles over the line, dark and dangerous, putting me on notice once again. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think, Ms. Shaw.”
My gaze drifts from the stars dotting the sky at his petulant tone.
