“You working tomorrow?” I ask without thinking.
Callie levels me with a look. “Do you even know me?”
She’s not being dramatic—not this time. Work’s sacred for Callie. That’s why she’s on my team. And why she’s a rising star.
Mia tries to read the room, her gaze bouncing between us, until I add, “She’d never drink before a shift.”
Callie winks and clicks her tongue in agreement. “And that’s why he loves me,” she declares.
I do. She knows it. But I don’t say those words very often—unless it’s to Lily. Then I’m a goddamn jukebox stuck on the same track.
“April’s not the only one holding down the fort for you, you know?”
Oh, honey, I know.My chest tightens with the weight of everything I haven’t made clear enough to her. I’ve done a piss-poor job of showing her how much she means to Lily and me.
I press a kiss to her forehead and try to make it as clear as the breath between us.
“Callie, I’m not sure I’d even be here—sane and good enough for Lily—if it weren’t for you. Fuck the job. I’m grateful you’re my friend. Not my colleague.”
She beams. Not at me, at Mia. “He called me Callie. He never calls me that.”
Fantastic. Of everything I just said, that’s what she takes away from it.
“That’s because you stop listening the moment I cut your name in half.”
On cue, a horn blares outside.
“You sure you’re okay to ride alone?”
“Totally. I didn’t fall. Your nanny knocked me to the ground. I’m just tipsy, not flat-out drunk.”
“Thanks for tonight, Callie,” Mia says, giving her a hug. “I had a great time.”
“Aw, babes. Thank you. And thanks for the banana. Did you know they’re great for hango?—”
“Because of the potassium. Yeah.”
Callie leans in and whispers, “Looks and smarts? Damn, Pres. Make a move soon, or you’ll have competition.” She lifts one brow in challenge.
Message received, Callie.Loud and clear.
She kisses us goodnight, and I walk her to the car. The driver is already waiting, and I open the door for her, but she just leans against it, arms folded on top, smirking up at me.
“Pres, wait.”
Oh, no. Nothing good will come of that.
I press a hand to the top of her head and guide her down into the seat—gentle, firm, and just patronizing enough to make my point. The night’s over.
“You never answered me before.”
I sigh. “About what?”
She raises her brows. Oh, great. I just failed the world’s easiest test.
“Did you thank April?”
She’s grinning now, snorting like a piglet, delighted with herself.
