Portia’s nostrils flare slightly. The corners of her mouth tighten, pulling her perfect lipstick into a thin crimson line. Her fingers curl against the desk’s surface, knuckles whitening for just a moment before she recovers.
It’s not exactly true, but I’d say it again just to see the look on her face.
“Perhaps we should discuss it further over dinner tonight?” Cruz recovers smoothly.
Portia’s mouth curls at the corners, her teeth catching the light as she leans forward. “I guess you’re ready to leave Mommy’s nest after all, hm?” She taps her calendar with one plum-colored nail. “I’m afraid I already have a dinner date tonight.”
“Tomorrow night then,” he counters without hesitation.
My gaze volleys between them as something dark unfurls underneath my breastbone. My fingernails dig into my palms, and the copper taste floods my mouth again.
“I’ll have my assistant reach out and set it up.” Portia’s gaze never leaves his face.
“Appreciate your time.” Cruz pushes to his feet, chair legs scraping softly against the floor.
“Oh and Cruz?” She trails a finger across her collarbone. “Given the nature of the hypothetical situation, I think it’s best if this is a private date. As I’m sure you know, I don’t play well with others.” Her gaze slithers to mine, making sure I understand her meaning. She folds her arms, the movement pushing her breasts higher against the silk of her blouse. The sunlight catches on her diamond bracelet, sending prisms dancing across the ceiling.
She didn’t need to try so hard. I understood what she was after ten minutes ago. I didn’t like it then, and I sure as hell don’t like it now.
“Noted,” Cruz murmurs, flashing white teeth in a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes as we turn to leave.
The hallway swallows our footsteps, expensive runner rugs muting each step as we leave. By the time we pass back through the vestibule and out onto the sidewalk, there’s an ugly sort offestering happening in my gut, and I can’t get it to dissipate, no matter how many deep breaths I take.
Everything outside feels louder, rougher, less controlled, but none of it settles what’s moving inside my chest.
Half a block passes beneath my feet before the words claw their way up my throat. “That’show your mom wants you to work with her fence? By?—”
“By what, Bells?” Cruz’s voice cuts across mine. His lips pull back in that same practiced smile—all perfect teeth and zero warmth. The dimple that usually appears in his left cheek stays hidden.
I fix my gaze on a security camera swiveling above a boarded storefront, counting the seconds between each mechanical rotation rather than meeting his eyes.
The words tear out of me before I can stop them. “By agreeing to fuck her?”
He exhales something that’s not quite a laugh, his eyes darkening as he glances at a security camera above us. Without a word, he turns down a recessed strip of shade between buildings, moving with the casual confidence of someone who’s mapped every blind spot in this city.
I follow him. By the time my brain catches up with my feet, we’re tucked into shadows, hidden from both the camera’s eye and any possible passing traffic.
Cruz pivots. Two steps and suddenly my back hits brick. His palm slams against the wall beside my ear, the impact vibrating through stone. His other hand braces lower, creating a cage of muscle and heat that doesn’t quite touch me but leaves just enough space that I could duck under his arm if I wanted to.
I don’t move.
“That’s what you think I was doing?” His voice drops an octave.
I plant my feet wider, chin lifting. I’m not afraid of going head-to-head with the oldest Calloway, and I’m sure as hell not afraid of the youngest.
“From my silent perspective—” I drag the word out, letting poison drip from each syllable. My finger taps my bottom lip as I roll my eyes toward the sliver of sky above us. “Oh wait, I meant, from myside pieceperspective.”
His mouth curves at one corner, there and gone like a card trick. He shifts forward, the heat of him brushing against me— not pressing, not trapping— but my lungs stutter anyway, air catching somewhere between my throat and chest.
“Make up your mind, Bells.” The words vibrate low, his lips hovering just beside my jaw, close enough that I feel each syllable against my skin. “You’re either mad that she called you my side piece. Or you’re jealous that I agreed to dinner with a woman who wants me to fuck her.”
“I amnotjealous.” My voice comes out too high, too fast. My pulse hammers in my throat, a traitorous drumbeat I’m certain he can see.
What the fuck? Am I…actually jealous? I shake my head once. No, of course not. That would be insane behavior, considering I’m definitely doing something with not one buttwoof his brothers.
And yet, the idea of that gorgeous woman with her hands all over Cruz makes me want to commit some serious felonies.
His breath slides warm against the side of my neck, and when he speaks again, the words land closer, deeper, carrying more weight than they should.
