Page 103 of His Good Girl

I tried to reply to Callum. I typedOkay, deleted it, typedUnderstood, deleted it, typedYes, stared at the word until my whole body embarrassed me, then deleted that too.

Finally, I wroteI’ll be ready.

I hovered over send for a full fifteen seconds before pressing it.

His response came less than a minute later.

You already are.

I made a sound, a tiny one, but not tiny enough and Benjamin slowly looked over the top of his monitor.

I refused to meet his eyes.

Dana returned for the summaries a short while later and I handed them over with what I hoped was a calm, employable expression. She read the first one standing at my desk. Her red pen hovered, then lowered without marking anything.

“This is better,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She read the second, made one mark, then the third. “These are also good.”

From across the aisle, Benjamin said, “Careful, Dana. If you praise her twice in one morning, we’ll need to file paperwork.”

Dana did not look at him. “If I praise anyone twice in one morning, assume that I’ve lost my mind.”

I smiled down at my keyboard.

Then my phone buzzed with a text, and I held my breath as I read it.

Callum:Fuck it. I’m coming to you now.

I forgot how to breathe. For several seconds, I simply stared at the words. Callum Rowe did not seem like a man who typed something like that lightly. He seemed like a man who made lawyers nervous and mayors cautious. He did not seem like a man who abandoned revised schedules because he could not wait until lunch.

Except apparently, he did when it came to me.

The thought was so dangerous I had to set the phone face down on the desk. It buzzed again and I picked it back up immediately.

Callum Rowe:Do not move.

My entire body went hot.

There was a particular way the office changed when Callum entered it. Conversations did not stop exactly, but they refined themselves. Postures noticeably adjusted. People became slightly more efficient in the space of a breath. It was not fear or at least not only fear. It was more like when Callum walked into a room, he generated his own personal gravity.

I looked up and saw that he was coming across the operations floor toward me. He was wearing a dark suit, white shirt, no tie, and his attention was fixed on me with such quiet intensity that every other person in the room blurred. He did not rush.

Benjamin rose from his desk as Callum passed.

“Sir,” he said.

“Move my 11:00.”

Benjamin’s eyebrows lifted. “The mayor’s chief of staff?”

“Marcus can hold them for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” Benjamin repeated, tone rich with disbelief, suspicion, and the beginnings of a migraine.

“Fifteen.”