Page 98 of Wicked Duty
Chapter 37
Lucy
Callum’s place isn’t what I expected at all. His home features three renovated levels with one of the most gorgeous views of the New York City skyline that I’ve ever seen.
The decor is Scandinavian minimalism but homier. Plush, low seating groups, sleek inset electronics, and bookshelves sparsely but meticulously lined with art and photographs, with a special section devoted to military books.
A modern kitchen inhabits a big chunk of the second floor. Glossy, black, cold, and open to the living space below. The en suite attached to my guest room is all white tile mixed with warm-toned walls and fabrics.
Contemporary light fixtures highlight beautiful artwork on every wall. Pieces I would never guess fit his taste. Did he hire someone to style his home? Yesterday, while we were at the Met, he mentioned something about inheriting a number of priceless pieces from his grandmother. I’m wondering which of these are real, but I can’t ask now.
Not when the tension in his body keeps expanding like an overinflated balloon waiting to pop.
The security breach and hurried relocation to Callum’s loft made for a disturbing, frazzled end to a magnificent day. Thenight left me off-kilter. Unbalanced. I assume Callum must feel the same.
Someone got closer than we believed possible. Throughout the night, I tried to remain optimistic, figuring that once morning rolled around, things would somehow magically return to normal.
I envisioned the open, unguarded, affectionate man from yesterday greeting me today.
Boy, was I off the mark.
I woke up alone. Unsurprising, after the way the evening ended, though I’d hoped to find Callum sneaking into my bed in the wee hours.
Silly me.
I wander out into the den and up a set of sleek dark stairs to the kitchen, where I find Callum hovering over the stove. Fully dressed. Ignoring me.
From the counter, he prepares our breakfast in chilling silence. Since I sat down, he’s barely said two words to me.
I squirm in the chair. We leave for my next event soon, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
Being alone with him like this for an entire day after everything that happened yesterday sounds unbearable.
Callum’s preoccupied. Distant.
His sudden mood change, coupled with the fact that we slept in separate rooms, plucks at my rapidly fraying nerves. I don’t understand what’s happening, but something’s different, and it’s not just the breach.
He’s raised those armored walls again. I wish I could draw him out, but I’m not exactly in fighting shape.
Shaking the cobwebs from my mind, I lift my chin. I refuse to let Callum’s attitude bring me down. Uptight asshole is basically his default mode. The man didn’t undergo an abruptpersonality makeover just because I fell for him and we shared a wonderful date together.
I tell myself to quit overthinking things as Callum pulls the skillet off the burner.
We don’t need to spend every single minute together just because we had sex.
At least…that’s my story for the moment.
“Here.” Callum slides a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage in front of me. My stomach growls when the delicious aroma hits my nose.
“Thank,” he spins away before I even finish speaking, “you.”
He fusses with a coffee pot while I frown at his back. I’m still not certain what his deal is, but his behavior is starting to irk me.
I open my mouth to ask how the “paperwork” went last night, but before I can drum up the nerve to traverse the arctic void he created between us, he faces me again, eyes blazing.
“Can you be ready to go in thirty minutes?”
“Uh…sure?” To prevent myself from asking what crawled up his butt and died, I shove toast with strawberry jam into my mouth.
