6. Lorelei

6

LORELEI

A nger continues to simmer just beneath the surface.

It doesn't matter how many times I vent about the mortifying experience that was my interview for Callahan Enterprises, or how many porn star martinis Tatum plies me with, the frustration and disbelief never leave me.

He was such an asshole.

How dare he sit there and say those things to me?

I don't care who I am. Tate's friend or not, no one should be spoken to the way he spoke to me today.

It's infuriating.

But the memory of what happened isn't as infuriating as being forced to look him in the eyes again just a few hours after the event.

"Lorelei," he greets, his stare holding mine firm as the air thickens around us.

Well, if this isn't the perfect fucking way to end my disaster of a day, then I don't know what is.

"Brilliant," I mutter.

"I'm sorry," Tate says, her concerned stare burning the side of my face as I keep my eyes on Kian. If it wasn't already bad enough, he's got my kitty in his arms. "I had no idea he'd be here."

He's lost his gray suit jacket and has his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms.

Thick veins run up them, covered in what I consider the perfect amount of dark hair and irritatingly tanned skin, considering he spends all his time locked in his fancy office at the top of the Callahan building.

Add the ginger fur ball into that, and…goddamn, he's pretty.

"Drink, Bro?" Kingston asks, swaying as he moves through the kitchen.

"Don't you think you've had enough for a school night?" Tate asks lightly.

"That's the thing about being the boss, baby. No one can say shit."

Kian scoffs.

"You know it's true. Remember that night we?—"

"Your wife is right. You should probably stop and call it a night."

"Pfft, you're meant to be the fun one," Kingston sulks, making a detour and placing his hands on Tate instead of a bottle of whiskey.

His hands look massive as they span her growing belly.

"Missed you," he slurs sappily.

"Christ," Kian mutters.

"You could just leave," I point out, turning his attention back to me.

"So could you," he counters. "You are known for walking away when things get too much, after all."

My lips purse and my nails dig into the underside of the stool I'm sitting on.

"You being the thing that's too much."

"Missed you today, baby," King groans from my other side as Tate gasps in a way I'm all too familiar with.

I glance over in time to see him back her up against the counter, lift her onto it, and then step between her thighs.

My chest aches with jealousy, and everything beneath my waist knots with desire.

I want that again.

I thought I'd found it…

A pained sigh spills from my lips before I can catch it.

"Oh god, King," Tate cries as he sucks on the skin beneath her ear.

"So much for you being too exhausted to hold your liquor," Kian mutters, also watching the show with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort in his eyes.

"What can I say?" King mutters, letting us know that he's listening despite being distracted. "My wife is hot as fuck. Stay and watch if you want. We've got nothing to hide."

I shake my head, both loving and hating my best friend right now.

King is hot; I can't deny that. And from what I've heard, his looks aren't where his gifts end, if you know what I mean.

Christ, how long has it been since I got laid…

"Yeah, that's not happening."

"What's wrong? Worried that I'll be better than you?" King teases without so much as looking back at his brother.

Kian chuckles. "Absolutely not. I think we both know who can make a woman scream louder."

"You're a pig," I scoff as my feet hit the floor, ready to do what he just suggested and get the hell out of here.

"Aw, babe. You don't want to test out the theory?"

In utter disbelief, I wobble on my heels and stumble forward, straight into the man in question.

His rich, masculine scent assaults my nose as the soft, luxurious fabric of his shirt slides against my palm.

But there isn't only softness. The abs hiding beneath that shirt…holy shit.

The deep rumble of his laughter fills the air around me as I fight to right myself.

The second he speaks, any thoughts of what his body might be like beneath his clothing are wiped away as I remember what an asshole he really is.

A hot body is one thing, but a shitty personality…nope. Can't do it.

"If you're interested, all you had to do is say. No need to throw yourself at me, Lorelei."

My skin erupts as my name drips from his lips like silk.

"Don't flatter yourself, Callahan. I'm leaving. If you want action, I suggest calling one of your whores. I'm sure you've got more than a few who'd be willing to drop everything for twenty minutes of disappointment."

"Disappointment?" he calls as I storm toward King and Tate's front door, snatching my jacket and purse from the counter as I go.

"Call me tomorrow," I shout, leaving Kian alone with his drunk and horny brother and my pregnant best friend.

"Make sure she gets home," Tate barks, making my legs move faster.

That is absolutely not necessary.

Focusing on my escape, I keep moving, and the second I'm in front of the elevator, I slam my hand down on the button, swallowing down my unease and praying the car is waiting for me.

Only, my reactions aren't quite as smooth as I expect them to be, and I miss the button by a mile.

His laughter rips through the air a beat before his breath rushes down my neck, making my entire body erupt in goosebumps. I close my eyes, trying to fight my reaction to him as a wall of heat burns my back. Reaching out, he efficiently presses the button, calling the elevator, proving that he's not as wasted as the man he delivered home.

"I don't need your help," I snap. "I'm more than capable of looking after myself."

"Sure," he mutters, not believing a word.

"I don't need anything from you."

Thankfully, the doors open the second I finish talking and I rush forward, this time successfully hitting the button for the ground floor and praying the doors will close before he has a chance to join me.

Wishful thinking, but something has to start going my way soon. Right?

I deserve for the tide to change. At least for a short time, surely.

Sadly, long before the doors slide close, I sense him move closer.

"I think we both know that's not true," he says calmly as if none of this is affecting him in any way.

I guess it's not.

I'm…I'm a no one.

A silly woman who thought for some stupid reason that attending that interview this afternoon was a good idea.

I should have stuck to my guns when I told Tate it was a mistake.

I just…I didn't want to believe it.

I wanted the chance.

I wanted the dream.

And it was nice to imagine that it could be a possibility for just a little while.

Gritting my teeth, I ignore him, refusing to give the cocky smirk that I just know is playing on his lips even a second thought.

"Got a bit of a chip on your shoulder, haven't you, Miss Tempest."

I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he's getting to me, but despite telling myself to remain silent, my mouth runs away with me.

"Don't pretend that you know anything about me," I hiss.

That irritating smug laugh of his fills the enclosed space around us.

"I know plenty. I read your resume."

"That makes one of us," I mutter.

"Admitting to falsifying your application won't look good on top of everything else," he informs me with way too much amusement in his tone.

"I don't give a shit how I look to you."

"Huh," he muses.

His response to my retort gives me pause, and before I know what's happening, I'm turning around to look at him.

I regret it instantly.

He looked perfectly put together when he walked into my interview earlier. His suit was sharp, his hair was perfectly styled. But now, with his jacket gone and his shirt rumpled, his messy hair and his scruffy chin, he looks entirely too delicious, considering what a five-star asshole he really is.

"What is ‘huh' supposed to mean?" I snap.

"It's weird. Women usually really care what I think about them."

I narrow my eyes, glaring at him as hard as I can.

"I am not women . Whatever you're used to with your easy hookups, I suggest you forget it all when it comes to me. I do not want what they do."

I take a step back and make a show of checking him out.

"I do not have any interest in this," I say, gesturing up and down the length of his body. "And I have even less interest in your bank account or any wild idea about being the special lady who will change your manwhoring ways."

I gag.

"You disgust me, and if I had my way, I'd have nothing more to do with you." The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.

Sure, he's an asshole who thinks he's something special, but he doesn't deserve to be on the other end of my issues.

A memory of him sitting before me in that interview earlier pops into my head, and I quickly change my mind.

He deserves every word of my wrath for that stunt alone.

The doors open behind me and I take a step back. If I thought I could do it in my heels, I'd run. But I'm not drunk enough to forget that I'd fall spectacularly on my face, giving him even more reason to mock me.

I force a smile onto my lips. "Thanks for the ride. You've certainly made today…memorable."

I hold his eyes for a second before spinning on my heels and miraculously storming out of the elevator without falling on my ass.

Putting as much sass into my walk as possible, I make a beeline for the doors, more than ready to suck in a breath that isn't laced with his scent.

I march toward the main entrance of Kingston's building and spill out into the cool evening air.

I shiver, regretting that I didn't pull my jacket on sooner, but I can't stop to do so now.

Without so much as a glance at the road, I take off toward a busier street where I can hopefully get lost in a crowd while I figure out my next move.

I need to call a car. I need to go home.

But there's this wildness bubbling under the surface. The need to let go, to break free, to forget all the tethers that hold me down.

Emotion burns the backs of my eyes as I move faster, attempting to escape the demons that continue to haunt me no matter what I do or where I go.

You don't belong in this life, Lorelei.

You're not good enough. You've never been good enough.

You're nothing. You have nothing and you will never have anything.

I'm almost running when a car pulls up beside me. I give it a double take, not expecting anyone to be idling beside me, and I instantly recognize the driver.

"Get in, Miss Lori," Lewis demands from the driver's seat.

I shake my head, unable to speak through the lump in my throat.

I continue moving down the street, and he keeps up with me, not caring about anyone who might be behind him.

"Lorelei," he warns.

Curling my fingers, I let my nails dig into my palms in the hope it'll help me pull my shit together.

Be normal, Lorelei.

It's just a bad day. You've had plenty of them in the past.

This is just another one. Everything will seem better in the morning.

"I'm okay," I squeak. There's no chance he can hear me over the rumbling engine. "I'm meeting someone."

It takes a couple of seconds, but the car disappears from my peripheral vision and I breathe a sigh of relief that he's given up.

The relief is short-lived, though, because instead of hearing Lewis trying to convince me to get into the car, another deep, commanding voice rips through the air.

"Get in the car, Lorelei."