Another area of difficulty: Cal Hartshorn.
It wasn't so much difficulty aswhat the fuck should I do here? Because I didn't know. For the first time in years, I didn't know what to do with a man. I looked forward to walking with him at sunrise. I thought about him during the day. I shared meals with him—damn, that boy could eat—on most evenings. And I dreamed about him at night. Those appearances were ratherspirited. He was everywhere, occupying every corner of my life.
The toughest part was realizing I liked it. Realizing, accepting, believing. I liked Cal knocking me over and dragging me away from the safe predictability of my color-coded calendar. I liked him forcing his way into my life and telling me how it was going to be—while still giving me plenty of space to twist myself into overly complicated knots.
Over the ambient noise coming through my earbuds, I heard a thud on the other side of my door. Then a slam, another thud, and a bang. It wasn't loud enough to be an all-out brawl and I didn't have the time to investigate if I intended to leave here as scheduled. Cal and I planned to meet up for tapas—a recommendation from one of his colleagues—and I hated arriving late.
A minute passed without further commotion and I shifted my attention back to the interview copy sent over by a reporter. As I scanned my client's responses, I saw an incoming message flash on my phone's screen. The newest text was from Flinn, announcing his relocation to the other side of the floor for the remainder of the afternoon. Then I noticed another message, one I'd missed earlier in the day.
Harry: Hi there. Still alive?
Harry: Thought about you today and wanted to check in.
I groanedloud enough for Tatum to inch the door open and poke her head in, asking, "Everything okay?"
"Peachy," I replied. "Please don't kill Flinn in today's cage match."
"He's an asshole," she argued.
"He's our asshole."
"That's…that's not a statement I'm comfortable supporting," she said.
"Nobody dies today." I shot her the sternest glare in my arsenal. "I need you to finish that slide deck. Now, close the door."
Stella: Hey! Sorry! I've been swamped and just saw this now.
Harry: It's all good.
Harry: I'm free next week if you want to connect.
I frowned at his response.First, because I'd told him May was going to be crazy busy—and it really was—and second because I wasn't interested. Not at all. I didn't want to see Harry. I was annoyed—irrationally so—that he was demanding my attention when I had no interest in dividing it. That part wasn't his fault but that didn't stop me from directing some blame his way.
Stella: Eek. I'm really busy this month. This isn't a good time for me.
Harry: Cool cool no worries. Another time.
Stella: Like I said, it's not a great time. I don't want you waiting for things to change with me.
Harry: I don't mind the wait.
Stella: That's kind of you. But I don't want you waiting.
Stella: If anything changes with me, I'll reach out to you. Otherwise, I think we should do our own things.
Harry: Are you ending this?
I set my phone down,glanced up at the door. I could've used some commotion to distract me right now. Anything to get me out of answering Harry's question. It wasn't that I didn't know how I wanted to respond. I did. I did, and that response scared the shit out of me. Saying it out loud—or typing it in a text—made it real. It took it from hanging out with a dude who starred in my naughty dreams to acknowledging I had something substantial going on here. But then another message hit my inbox.
Cal: Still on for Toro at 8?
Stella: Works for me. You?
Cal: Yeah, I'm right on schedule today.
Stella: I'll meet you there.
Cal: What are you wearing? Just so I recognize you.
