“Different how?” the first voice asked.
“She sees me,” Callan said simply. “Not the money, not the reputation. Just me.”
“Damn, Burkhardt,” a third voice chimed in, this one with a teasing edge. “You’re in love with her.”
My heart stuttered at the words, my breath catching in my throat. Was he? Because maybe I was falling for him too and we could find a way to–
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Callan scoffed.
My stomach dropped.
“Come on, man,” the second voice prodded. “We’ve known you forever. You’ve never talked about any woman like this. You’re head over heels in love.”
“For the last time, love doesn’t fucking exist,” Callan snapped, his voice suddenly hard. “What I have with Anica is great, but it’s not love. It can’t be love because, repeat after me boys, love doesn’t exist. Period. Now shut up about it.”
My chest constricted as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. I was an idiot. An absolute idiot. God, when had I started believing that anything besides us sleeping together could happen.
“Look,” Callan continued, his voice lowering, “she knows the score. This is just a good time for both of us. Something fun until I figure out the bet.”
I pressed a hand to my mouth, the sting of tears threatening behind my eyes. I’d known, of course. I’d known from the beginning that Callan didn’t believe in love. He’d made no secret of his cynicism, his belief that marriage was nothing more than a practical arrangement.
But hearing him dismiss what we’d shared so callously hurt more than I’d expected. More than it should have, given that I’d gone into this with my eyes open.
Vivian’s words echoed in my mind: “My Cal has a golden heart.” What utter bullshit. His heart wasn’t gold; it was carbon. Compressed under pressure, hardened into something beautiful but impenetrable. And I, like every fool who’d ever been dazzled by a diamond, had mistaken its brilliance for warmth.
The worst part? Despite all my professional boundaries, all my promises to myself after Austin, I’d started to fall for him. Started to believe there might be something real beneath the billionaire playboy facade, something that could grow beyond the physical into something meaningful.
What a fucking idiot I was. Anica Marcel, wedding planner extraordinaire, who’d built a career helping other people find their happily-ever-afters while systematically avoiding her own,had let herself believe in the possibility of love with a man who didn’t even think it existed.
I backed away from the doorway, moving silently toward the bedroom where I’d left my bag. I needed to get out of here before they realized I’d overheard. Before I had to face Callan and pretend his words hadn’t shattered something inside me.
Gathering my things quickly, I shoved my dress into my bag alongside my phone and wallet. I was almost to the elevator when I heard his voice behind me.
“Anica? Where ya going?” Callan asked. “I was about to introduce you to the guys.”
I turned slowly, forcing my expression into something I prayed resembled composure. “I just remembered I have a client emergency. I need to go.”
He frowned, moving closer. “What emergency? You didn’t get any calls.”
“It was a text,” I said shortly. “Look, I really need to go.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his gaze searching my face. “Did something happen?”
I let out a hollow laugh. “You could say that.”
“You heard us talking.”
“Enough,” I confirmed.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Anica, listen?—”
“To what? To more explanations about how this is just ‘a good time’? About how love doesn’t exist? I’ve heard enough, Callan.”
“That’s not—I didn’t mean—” He exhaled sharply. “It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s really not,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “You’ve been honest from the beginning about not believing in love. I knew that. I just didn’t realize how deeply you meant it.”
“What do you want from me, Anica? To pretend I believe in something I don’t? To lie to you?”
