“Exactly.  Because it wasn’t dating.  It was working and fucking.  That’s what we do, and very well, might I add.”

“Your point?”

“You and I are cut from the same cloth, Callum Pike.  You’re a machine.  Sex is your fuel.  Fuel is for work.  People like you and me get shit done because we don’t indulge feelings the way others do.  It’s not like we don’t have the capacity.  We just don’t feel past the point where it causes drama or slows us down.  And I can see you slowing down.”  She clucked that tongue again.  “Which really sucks because of all the men I’ve met who share my unique lifestyle, you’re by far the hottest with the only dick that makes me come harder than my own hand – which you’re well aware is really good at finishing the job.”

I gazed down over the balcony.  I could see my drink on the bar and I wished like hell that I’d brought it up with me.  “I think I’m still lost on your point.”

“Trim the fat, Callum.  Get rid of anything that leeches off your time and energy.  Make your career your only focus and feed your focus with good sex, no strings attached.  Preferably from me.  And in ten years, when all our friends are married and we’re not but we’re the only millionaires – ”

“I’m already.”

“Whatever.  In ten years, when all our friends are saving all their money for college tuitions that’ll go to waste, we’ll have accomplished everything we’ve ever dreamed of.  And at that point, we can get together, be quite the power couple and have all the time and money in the world to travel, enjoy and look back on our impressive milestones.”

I raised my eyebrows.  Clearly, I was wrong about Ana being unlike the other girls.  Her brand of clingy just happened to be a long-term plan that was insane enough for me to almost admire.  “It’s a well thought out pitch.  But I do have to go.”

“Stay for a second.”

“No.”

Her mouth snapped shut.  She was holding something in.  As I turned to leave, she blurted it out.  “You need to lose the girl.”

I looked over my shoulder.  “Excuse me?”

“Lake.”  Her tongue said the name mockingly.  Something about it spiked my heart rate and suddenly, I was hot.  “You’re drowning in Lake’s bullshit, Callum.  You’re expending way too much energy on her and you just need a clear voice like me telling you to get rid of the drama.  Get rid of the walking tits and ass that I will gladly call out as career poison.  She’s not good for you and you know it.  You know you do.”

I stood still for a moment.  I let my gaze linger for another second as I processed Ana’s audacity.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Hale.”

She flashed a cordial smile.  “Looking forward as always, Mr. Pike.”

Chapter Nineteen

Lake

I was running late to dinner because Isabel had insisted on piling my hair into a big, Brigitte Bardot-inspired up-do.  “We have to, so we can show off the front of your dress,” she reasoned.  My outfit for the night was one purchased at the boutique on Madison Ave.  It was black, backless and floor-length with the kind of plunging V-neck that I knew Callum would struggle to tear his eyes off all night.

“You’re gonna die when you see what this fancy-ass place looks like,” Isabel giggled excitedly.  While she wanted to keep it a surprise, we eventually wound up Googling the restaurant together and I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw pictures.  She wasn’t kidding about fancy.  It was palatial – apparently a historic bank in the eighteen hundreds, complete with neoclassical architecture and the kind of towering pillars that made me think of Ancient Greece. I hadn’t known that places that big existed in Manhattan and I’d certainly never stepped foot in anyplace so grand and lavish – not with even Caroline, who spoiled me senseless.  I got so obsessed with looking perfect for the night that we wound up running insanely late.

“But your hair looks amazing, and I read that’s more important than being punctual,” Isabel grinned, playing with one of the locks that fell to frame my face.  “Are you excited? It’s your birthday in…” She looked at the time.  “Three hours and twenty-four minutes! It’s gonna be a brand new year for you, babe!”

I actually squealed because I really, really liked the sound of a brand new year.  We were still giggling endlessly during the car ride over and I was so anxious for Callum to see me that when I noticed missed texts from him, I actually yelped.

“What is it!” Isabel squeaked.  “What did he say?”

“I haven’t read it yet,” I laughed, pushing her away.  But the smile on my face fell into my lap when I read the message.

I know why you left.

Now tell me where you went.

I gripped tight on my phone, feeling the urgent heat of the words.  But with Isabel giddy and bouncing beside me, so desperate to have all the girly fun we’d missed out on since I was gone, I put on a happy face and flashed her a brilliant smile.  “He said he can’t wait to see me,” I murmured.  I faked my stellar mood as she gushed, letting her touch up my lipstick and grinning big for selfies while the darkest sense of dread unfurled in my stomach.

I thought I had gotten off easy by telling Callum why I’d left New York. I’d left out key details regarding Trish, Dean and my stepbrother, Hunt, of course, but only because they would lead straight into the stories I felt too sick over to speak of.  No one knew about them.  No one but me.  I wanted to keep it that way and I was sure I’d be able to after feeling Callum hold me on the floor and wipe my tears, telling me how much he cared about me no matter what.  Though he didn’t say he loved me.  I wish I didn’t notice that so hard.  But I did, especially now, because there were obviously holes in my story.  Big chunks left untold and Callum wasn’t a fool – I was, for hoping that I could ever get past him.

Shit.

This was not how I imagined this night going.  I had spent hours getting ready because it was my birthday and I wanted to send Callum off to Scotland with a perfect memory of me.  I didn’t want to admit it to myself but I was nervous about him being gone for a week with that flirty writer from the Times.

My scatterbrain cursed whatever had sparked a new fire in his curiosity tonight.  It tried but failed to brainstorm new ways to phrase why I couldn’t tell him what happened and by the time the car pulled up in front of the grand entrance, I knew I’d thoroughly lost my mind because I was considering confessing to it all.  If I didn’t, he might get on a plane tomorrow and decide in Scotland that he was truly and finally through with my bullshit.  He’d have sex with Ana Hale and party with Oz and come back to me with that hollow look and say, “We can’t do this anymore.”  I could see it so clearly that I told myself it was time.  I’d tell him about Trish and Hunt and Dean.  I’d tell him about Sunstone Communities, the gloriously horrific trailer park where I’d been dragged, where I’d done the worst things of my life.

For the suited, capped men who opened the door, I faked a smile.  I braved through the stunning horde of people inside the extraordinary front hall, carved from marble and stone, crowned by a seventy-foot ceiling and flanked at the sides by long, twin staircases.  It was dim, candle-lit but flashing with a million light bulbs as some huge event took place.  “Fashion Week after party,” Isabel whispered to me, her eyes lighting up as they traveled across the throng of attendees full of actors, models, heiresses she recognized and pointed out here and there.  “Good thing Callum managed to swing a private room.”  I nodded through the madness.  It only increased as it began to storm outside, pulling in every last partygoer from the sidewalk pounding with rain.  Suddenly, the floor was swarming, a glittering beehive of beautiful people buzzing, murmuring, kissing cheeks and swilling champagne.