Page 97 of Wicked Duty
“Why aren’t there any other cars?”
My mind is spinning in so many different places that for a second, I think she’s asking me why I only own two vehicles.
Keep up, Callum.I shake my head as I collect our bags from the back seat. “Because I’m the only one who parks here.”
Lucy gapes. “This giant garage is all yours?”
“Yes.”
“You could park a plane in here.”
“I prefer helicopters.”
I barely register her incredulity. I’m too busy planning as I carry our stuff to the elevator on the far end of the space.
I have to keep a clear head.
Lucy needs professional Cal right now. Not infatuated Cal.
Nobodyneeds that guy.
The elevator climbs to the top and opens into my converted loft with exposed brick, abstract art, and contemporary furnishings in every direction. Clean lines. Minimalism. Floor-to-ceiling panel windows overlooking the city.
It’s been a while since I’ve had any visitors. Fortunately, I keep this place well maintained, partly because I travel to Dublin so frequently, and partly because I’m a control freak who prefers to keep things neat and clean.
The foyer opens to the den on the main floor. Sleek ivory-colored furniture and a stone fireplace opposite the windows welcome us home.
As I usher Lucy inside, I point out the second-floor kitchen that overlooks the den.
The loft has three bedrooms—the master, the guest room, and my home office—and three and a half bathrooms, including one tucked in the hall that leads out of the den.
Only once we’re standing together beside the couch do I realize I haven’t thought this through at all.
Last night, we shared a bed. This morning, we fucked.
As incredible as those experiences were, if I expect to maintain focus from now until the moment Lucy’s safe and free of this bullshit, I need to tighten up.
No more sleepovers.
I direct her toward the hall behind the leather couch. “This way.”
I push open the door and stand aside, allowing Lucy to enter. The guest room is sparse, decorated in an inoffensive color scheme of beige and brown. I never noticed how impersonal the space is ’til now.
She raises a brow. “This is your room?”
I set her bag on the bed, trying not to feel like a total asshole. “It’s the guest bedroom.”
“Oh.” She glances around.
I can practically taste her disappointment and rush to come up with an excuse. “I’ve got paperwork to do tonight, and I’ll be up late. I don’t want to disturb you later. I know tomorrow’s a big day.”
The next stage of Lucy’s competition.
She simply pins me with a blank stare.
“I’ll leave you to it.” I retreat toward the door. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything. Sleep well.”
She gives me a small, if empty, smile. “Goodnight, Callum.”
