Of course, he would call again.
He wasn’t like Jesse. Who never asked me if I was okay after we did anything sexual. Not even after our first time. Not even after I said I had cramps, and we still had sex, because he coerced me into it and did it without any foreplay. I had hated it, because he had used me, telling me he loved me.
But Sean told me he wanted to use me and then told me to drink water, or if I want, he could order me hot chocolate after making me cum from a video call.
I didn’t understand that man.
I finally picked up on his third video call. His face was hard. “What did I tell you about not answering—Princess? No. My sweet girl, why are you crying?”
I wish I hadn’t picked up his call.
Because I was sobbing all over again from his gentle voice.
28
PRESENT
SEAN
My vision blurred when I kept re-reading the same sentence again and again without processing it in my head.
With a sigh, I removed my glasses and kept the case file on my desk. I couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.
The video call with Chelsea, orgasming together, and then her crying.
My jaw clenched. I should have been with her rather than in my lonely penthouse. My sweet girl was crying because of the sub-drop and getting overwhelmed while I was thinking about getting my dick wet.
Running a hand down my face, I wondered how I could make things better.
Maybe I should gift her something.
I stood up from the chair and grabbed my suit jacket. I hadn’t talked to her about working as a temporary secretary at my firm yet. I was postponing it until she returned to Los Angeles.
I could take her out on a date, gift her a present, and then ask her to work for me.
That sounds like a relationship.
I ignored the voice in my head and drove to a luxurious jewelry shop. My mind went back to the talk I had with Cillian and his shocked expression.
The man who hadn’t flinched after getting shot was surprised because I had feelings—never mind.
My phone rang, and I picked it up quickly. “Amma!”
In my forty-four years of life, I knew one thing. You never ignore your mom’s call. Or shewillshow up at your place at two in the morning and scold you for not picking up her phone call.
Been there, done that.
“How is my precious sun doing?” She asked, her voice extra cheerful.
She always addressed me as sun, someone who lightened up her day.
“I’m doing well, Amma. How are you?” I asked, knowing she didn’t just call me to ask me about my day.
“I’m not doing well.”
There it is.
“Why are you not doing well, Amma?”
