Текст книги "Crave"

Автор книги: B.J. Harvey

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Last night I discovered that despite believing the contrary, I can have moments of normalcy. Where I’m just a thirty-something guy who meets a breath-stealing woman and flirts somewhat innocently without expectations, without the woman planning how to marry me and bear my future children. Without her giving me her phone number, asking for mine, fawning over my every word and acting like I hung the moon and our love was written in the stars.

My phone buzzes through the speakers and I push a button on the wheel of my Range Rover Sport and loud dance music sweeps through the cab.

“Grant, please, for the love of all that’s holy, turn the music down.”

He chuckles but thankfully turns down the aural assault. “So Cal, how are you feeling this morning?”

“Why . . . ?” I ask slowly, my voice dropping an octave as I wait for him to deliver the undoubtedly bad news.

“Now¸ now. No need to be so negative. I was just wondering whether you might’ve gone back and picked up our hot-as-fuck waitress from the restaurant after getting your car last night?”

“She’s the owner, not a waitress—”

“I knew it! You totally went there!” he yells down the phone.

“No, I didn’t go there, as you so eloquently put it. She also isn’t ‘hot as fuck.’”

“She fucking is so. That ass of hers is—” I can’t stop the growl that comes out of my mouth, which just sets him off laughing. “Bet you wish you had gone back to see her now. You were probably up half the night.”

“I slept fine,” I reply wryly.

“You don’t need to be awake for your dick to work, buddy.”

“You’d know,” I reply sardonically. “Didn’t Olivia complain about you jumping her in the middle of the night when you were both still asleep?”

He gasps in mock horror before chuckling down the phone. “That’s a low blow, Cal. But let it be stated that she never once complained at the time. Stop changing the subject. You need to call the lovely Lucia, or pop in to the restaurant later and ask her out.”

“And have her work her magic to get into my bed and then suddenly I find myself in a relationship?”

“I’m sorry. Were you at the same table as me last night? For once you’ve met a normal, easygoing, fucking gorgeous woman who did not once ping on my fan girl radar. To be honest, she seemed to be genuinely interested in what we do and your work.”

There’s that word again.

Genuine.

The same word that kept coming back to me all night. Lucia Harding came across as nothing but genuine. Her reactions, her body language, the way she spoke of her brother, the restaurant, and an apparent love of classic design principles. Her laugh, her smile—everything about her was genuine. Real.

Fuck!

“Besides, don’t you need a date to that charity baseball game next weekend? I know you love me, but somehow I think Lucia would look better on your arm than I would. She’d definitely look better in a dress.” I roll my eyes, happy in the knowledge that he can’t see me do it because of the shit he’d give me. However, he’s not wrong about the dress.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I know I am. And anyway, it’s not like I called Mrs. Alexander last night and suggested she start planning the wedding and ordering nursery expansion plans, is it?”

“Grant, there’s nothing to talk about. Especially not to my mother. Jesus!”

“Tut tut, Callum Matthew Alexander. Whatever would Father Duncan say if he heard you take the Lord’s name in vain?”

“He’d whack me around the ear then make me say about a hundred Hail Marys.” I grin to myself at the thought. “But then again, if I told him you made out with Marilyn Tompkins in the boys’ restroom, I think you’d come off second best. Just a hunch,” I add.

“You don’t play fair,” he retorts.

“Never claimed to be a saint, my son,” I say with a laugh.

“Hell! Far from it, with the kind of dirty dreams you have. That’s half the fun though, isn’t it?” And there it is. Like a Mack truck to my chest.

“Grant,” I growl. “Let’s not ruin the nice morning I’m having.”

“Did you have a choke ‘n’ stroke in the shower or something?”

He laughs in my ear, and I have to brake suddenly, almost running through a red light. “On that note, since you almost made me kill myself and possibly a few others, we’ll end this call and I’ll see you in the office.”

He sniggers and I release the breath I was holding, shaking my head at him even if he can’t see me. We know each other’s good, bad and downright ugly. Twenty years of friendship has to count for something, including not getting offended with whatever comes out of each other’s mouths.

“Dude, I didn’t mean—”

“Grant, never done a choke ‘n’ stroke, before so I’ll have to take your word for it. See you at the office.”

“Hey now, I never said—”

I push the end button and burst out laughing. I may be serious and I’m more than aware of my propensity to come across as overly intense, but never let it be said that I can’t hold my own in what could easily have turned into an awkward conversation.

Grant did make a good point though. I was planning to attend the charity event this weekend, and having a date would definitely be better than arriving alone. Having an excuse to pass through the press gauntlet quickly is just an added bonus.

Scanning my brain, only one name stays with me. I have an unfamiliar feeling in my gut. As if I’m a teenage boy considering taking the plunge to ask his crush on a date.

My first date wasn’t until I was sixteen years old and it was with Mandy Killeen, my neighbor from across the street. She had the whitest blond hair I had ever seen and a mouth full of orthodontics. Bright blue eyes though—expressive, kind. Our parents thought it would be great if we went to the church fair together unaccompanied.

Yes, my parents, God love them, decided their son needed to expand his social circle to the equally virtuous and innocent neighbor’s daughter.

It was awkward and quiet. The poor girl kept blushing whenever I tried to start a conversation with her. She eventually loosened up and we actually had a great time. We spent the whole afternoon there before walking the three blocks home. And although there was no romantic spark between us, we did remain great friends until a few years ago . . . It stills pains me to think that she was killed in a car accident. Which reminds me, I must send her family flowers next month for her anniversary.

I pull into our office building’s underground parking garage and stop the car in my designated spot. When I get into the elevator, I select the seventeenth floor, and when the doors open again, I’m met by our assistant, Annie, who is holding out a steaming cappuccino in one hand and a pile of messages in the other.

I nod toward her, our typical morning exchange of pleasantries. “Aren’t I popular this morning?” I say sarcastically.

“Indeed. By the way, Mr. Graves is waiting for you in your office.”

“Graves?” I ask, with a quirked brow.

“Yes, sir. He said he wanted to show you something and asked if he could wait in your office. I knew you would only be a few more minutes so I said this was okay. I made sure there was nothing confidential on your desk.” she explains. She’s come a long way from the quiet and mousey graduate we first employed. Now she’s worth her weight in gold and then some.

I smile at her, in a good mood after last night’s dinner and this morning’s conversation with Grant. “It’s fine, Annie. I’ll go see what he wants now. While I see him, could you please contact the board secretary for the maritime museum project and confirm the schedule for the museum project’s ground breaking and the start of construction?”

“Certainly, Mr. Alexander.”

I narrow my eyes at her but am unable to control the curling corner of my lip. “Every day I tell you to call me Callum, Annie?”

She gives me a knowing grin. “Yes, Mr. Alexander, and every day I have to explain to you, it helps retain a professional atmosphere in the office if everyone calls you and Mr. Richardson with more formal salutations.”

I shake my head at her, both of us more than well aware that this is a continually returning bone of contention—albeit a light-hearted one—between us.

Annie has been with us for six months. She’s cordial, on time, and extremely organized. She has never missed an appointment, a project deadline or a tender closing. With the extra attention and business that has been afforded to us since my latest award win, she’s been nothing short of a godsend.

I hired her knowing she was not the type of woman I would consider for myself. Her auburn hair is cut into a short, sleek bob just below her ears, and not once have I seen a single hair out of place. She wears perfect makeup, and her well-tailored corporate attire is made up of mid-thigh length pencil skirts and high heels that make her six inches taller than her diminutive frame. Although, standing next us, she’s bound to look small, with Grant coming in at six-foot-one, and myself an inch over that.

She sits back down behind her desk and I walk into my office to find the red haired young man I met at the college function standing by my window, taking in the view over the bay. “Mr. Graves,” I greet as I put my laptop bag down on top of my desk.

He jumps as if being interrupted, but spins around and walks toward me, a huge smile on his face and his hand outstretched. “Mr. Alexander, so honored you agreed to see me.”

“You were waiting in my office, Mr. Graves, I wouldn’t say I’d exactly orchestrated it,” I add.

His eyes widen before he laughs along with me. He’s a strange man, very enthusiastic and from what I remember of our first meeting, very ambitious. Grant told me he was very knowledgeable about the firm and the kind of projects we have done in the public sector, which is where my personal focus is now very much based.

“Sorry about that. I wanted to discuss my latest design with you. I was working on it for my professor but he suggested I might get you to cast your very valued and respected eye over the drafts before I hand them in to him. I’d really appreciate it if you have the time, sir.”

“I can probably give you about ten minutes now if you have your drafts here,” I reply distractedly, as I cast an eye over the stack of messages in my hand from Annie.

“Thank you, Cal—I mean, Mr. Alexander. It would be amazing to get your perspective on them.” He leans down to his leather satchel, which is leaning against my drafting table, and pulls out a bound folder.

I finish going through the notes in my hand when Grant walks in, oblivious to my impromptu guest. “Morning, partner. Again.” It’s then that his eyes fall to the intern. He looks back to me with a puzzled expression. “I thought your schedule was clear this morning. I’ve just accepted an invitation for the both of us to meet with a group of visiting city planners at that café down the road. The mayor’s executive assistant asked that we both attend as a favor to the mayor.” His eyes shift to Graves then return to me. “Should I pass on your apologies?”

I look to the small table flanking the window where Graves has set out his designs and is waiting patiently for me. Lifting my arm up, I look at the time and back to Graves, whose face now holds an indiscernible expression.

Realizing that I’m not going to be able to look over Graves’ plans as promised, I walk over to him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graves, I’d be happy to look at your designs another time if you want to make an appointment with Annie.”

“Much appreciated, Mr. Alexander.” His comment is short, his voice tight. Then it’s like he’s flicked a switch, the enthusiastic student returning to the room. “I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Alexander, so I’d appreciate the opportunity to meet with you again.”

“Right, sounds good, Mr. Graves.” I hold my hand out toward him and shake his hand when he reciprocates. “Please talk to Annie about finding time in my schedule.”

“Will do,” he replies, bending down and swinging his satchel over his shoulder, and carrying his designs under his arm as he walks toward the doorway. “Mr. Richardson,” he says as he passes Grant, before disappearing from view, presumably down the corridor to the cubicle he shares with the other intern, Rachel.

“And why, pray tell, was my intern just in your office?”

“He was waiting for me when I got here. Annie said he wanted to speak with me and offered to wait in my office.”

Grant raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. “Rather eager, that one.”

“He wanted to show me his designs before handing them in to his professor.” I explain.

“Okay then. So shall we head off down the road?”

“Lead the way,” I reply, earning a chuckle from Grant.

“Can’t let the mayor down, can we . . . ?” he adds.

The joy of playing in the big leagues, I guess.

Thursday afternoon Annie walks into my office the moment I return from a lunch meeting, an uncharacteristic frown marring her face. In her hands are a pile of papers and my usual afternoon coffee.

“Annie, is there something wrong?” I ask

“Nothing urgent, but the secretary of the museum’s board of directors called first thing this morning to ask that you and Mr. Richardson attend an extraordinary board meeting in three weeks’ time.”

Grimacing instinctively, I frown as I take the stack of papers from her. Confident in our concept and the building’s redesign we had signed off on the week before, I’m perplexed yet intrigued by the out of the blue request.

“Why are they calling an extraordinary meeting? We’re not due to meet them for another month.

“They wouldn’t say except that matters have arisen that need urgent discussion,” she explains.

“Is Grant aware of this?” I ask her as I walk into my office, her footsteps following behind me.

“He hasn’t made it to the office yet,” she replies quickly, as I round my desk and take a seat in my high-backed leather chair. Placing my coffee on my desk, Annie steps back and stands up straight in front of me, waiting for her next instruction.

“Okay. I’ll see him when he arrives, and we’ll get back to you to confirm.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Alexander?” she asks.

“That is all.” I bend down to the floor and I pull my laptop from my leather satchel, placing it in the docking station and powering it up before returning my attention to the stack of messages now sitting in front of me.

“I’m okay, thanks Annie,” I reply before she turns and leaves.

Flicking through the pile of mail on my desk, I come across confirmation of our suite for the children’s hospital charity baseball match next Saturday afternoon. Another event to be seen at—another instance where my mask of happiness, contentment and fulfillment, will be in place. Grant will be there with whichever female with legs, ass, a great rack, and a willing demeanor catches his eye for the week, and I’ll be going solo. Or do I . . .

My mind drifts to our dinner a few nights before. To Lucia.

What is it about this woman that keeps her forefront in my mind? Since meeting her, I’ve taken myself in hand, fantasizing over her eyes, her warm sultry smile, her curves, those legs . . . fuck! Even now I’m getting hard at the mere thought of having her, taking her, doing everything and anything I want to her.

Running my hands over my face and through my hair, I will my mind and my cock to calm down just as Grant walks in. He’s frowning, and I can tell with just one look that he’s pissed off.

“What the hell is this shit about meeting with the museum board again? They signed off on the blueprints last week.” He flops down in the chair opposite me with a sigh.

“I’m not sure, but no doubt we’ll find out at the meeting. They don’t have time to pussy foot around though. If they have questions, we answer them. If they want changes, we accommodate them. Whatever they want, as long as it works within the confines of the concept, we’ll work our asses off to meet their new requirements, if there are any, and deliver the design they want”

“For a fee of course,” he adds.

“Agreed.”

“So you’ll make the call or will I?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair.

“I’ll get Annie to confirm our attendance. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. We always do, don’t we?” I ask with a raised brow, knowing that together we can solve any problem that comes our way.

“Always. Anyway, nice chat. I’m going to just run over the plans again, see if anything jumps out at me.” He stands and walks toward the door, stopping just as he opens it. “You thought more about the restaurant owner?”

“Lucia?” I feign surprise, although the amusement I see dancing in his eyes tells me he isn’t buying my attempt at bullshit.

“Yes, Lu-ci-a. Such a beautiful name. Would sound fantastic rolling off your tongue as you—”

“Grant,” I growl.

“Knew it. You’re so fucking easy, Cal. Just call the damn woman. Ask her to accompany you to the game. Nothing too serious, but it shows you’re interested. Even if you can’t admit it to yourself.” He winks and steps out of my office, closing the door behind him with a laugh. Smug bastard.

“Santorino’s, you’ve got Lucia.” Her distinguishable melodic voice is light and energetic, almost as much as the woman behind it.

“Lucia, it’s Callum Alexander.” My voice is strong, even and steady, despite my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. Grant would have a field day with this.

“Oh hello, Mr. Alexander.” Her voice warms, and I’m pleased that it’s the only noticeable change. “Were you wanting to make a booking?”

“Call me Callum, please. But no booking just yet. We’ll definitely be coming back; the food was amazing.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. So how may I be of service?”

So many ways in which she could service me flash before my eyes, causing a groan to escape my throat.

“Callum?” she asks with amusement. “I thought I heard a groan. Are you okay?”

“Yes . . .” I clear my throat, my voice now carrying a timbre of rough sandpaper. “I wanted to say it was great seeing you again.” Smelling you, touching you, the feeling of your skin under my lips when I kissed your cheek, all of it doing things to me that should be illegal. These are the things I want to say.

“It was good to see you, too. I never imagined you’d walk into my restaurant. I know that you’re a very busy man.” Her words come thick and fast, almost as if she’s nervous. It’s a complete turnaround from her vivacious conversation at dinner.

“There was a reason for my call.”

“Do tell, Callum,” she replies cheerfully. If ever I could sense a smile over a phone line, it would be now.

“I wanted to ask if you’d accompany me to a charity baseball game for the children’s hospital next weekend. I’d love it if you could join me.” Her breath catches and my racing heart suddenly stops dead in the few moments of silence that stretch out between us. I wait for anything resembling a response from her.

“Hmm. Next weekend you say. I’ll have to check my super busy social calendar and let you know.” Hearing the teasing tone in her voice, I start to breathe again. I’ve never been this nervous before. What is so different this time?

“I’ll understand if you have already made other arrangements.” I switch into self-preservation mode, giving her the option to politely decline my invitation.

“Callum, I was just messing around. I definitely don’t have other plans. In fact, I have next weekend off and I’d love to come with you.”

Without realizing it, I’m grinning down the phone. “That’s fantastic, Lucia. I know we don’t know each other all that well and this invitation must seem like it has come out of the blue, but . . .” I pause, making an off-the-cuff decision to be honest with her. Starting off as I intend to continue. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Well, the feeling is mutual, Callum. I have a feeling there is a lot more to you than meets the eye. And I’d love to find out exactly what lies beneath your armor.”

“Just my armor?” I say without thinking.

“For now . . .” she replies wryly.

Leaning back in my chair, I cross my legs and rest them against my desk. I spin around to look at the framed photograph of the Spera building in Boston. The building that started it all.

“Interesting.” My voice is low and jagged, as if I’ve spent a night indulging in top shelf whisky and Cuban cigars. “Although I must say, anything more than meets the eye would usually include things typically inappropriate for a first date, don’t you think?”

“So it’s not just that I’m graciously accompanying you to this event then? It’s a first date?” she replies, not missing a beat, making me laugh.

“I wouldn’t want to mislead you, Lucia. This will definitely be a date. There will be small talk, awkward silences, and more than likely some inappropriate thoughts that we will want to verbalize but, due to social convention, we will refrain from doing so. I will pick you up from your door and will no doubt subtly peruse your body while politely commenting on how beautiful you look.” I fall quiet as I enjoy the imagery my words have created. “We’ll walk the red carpet together, the palm of my hand resting in a polite manner on your lower back at a very appropriate level before making our way to my company’s luxury suite where we will enjoy food and wine both before, during, and after watching the game. Then, no doubt, I’ll accompany you home before giving you a polite, acceptable kiss on the cheek with promises to call you the next day. Does that sum up an acceptable first date?”

I’m reminded of the effect she had on me at dinner as well as the complete blindside she gave me when I first met her. And her retort to my date plans does not disappoint.

“It does, Mr. Alexander. However I would hope that instead of subtly perusing my body, you will make it painfully obvious exactly what you are doing or hoping to do as your eyes travel the length of me, taking note of particular points of interest. After which we’ll walk along the red carpet, your warm palm resting at what I would hope to be an un-gentlemanly height on my lower back while the press will undoubtedly ask who you are doing and what you are wearing. After that enlightening experience, we’ll make our way inside and share food and wine and both appropriate and inappropriate conversation. When the date is over, I hope you will then choose to accompany me to my door, and then it will be up to you whether you end the date with a soft, acceptable kiss on my cheek or with something more real, something honest—a true reflection of your feelings after what I hope to be an awesome first date.”

It’s not my heart giving me grief this time; it’s my cock, as it starts to spark to life at the imagery Lucia has just painted of our night together.

“You’re one of a kind, Lucia,” I say honestly.

“I’m glad you think so. Unfortunately I’m not the giggling, hair-flipping, worshipping variety of date though. If that is what you’re looking for, you’ll be sorely mistaken and very much disappointed.”

If only she knew how much of a relief that was to hear. “I see that, and I’m definitely looking forward to our date now, even more so than I was at the start of this conversation.”

“I have this design fault that means I’m pretty straight to the point, if you haven’t noticed.” She laughs quietly and I soon join her.

“Some would call that a refreshing change.”

“I truly believe that first date or not, how are we supposed to get to know each other if we stick to just socially acceptable topics? If we just follow the rules? I’m not known for being appropriate at the best of times.”

“Noooo . . .” I reply with an uncharacteristic chortle.

“Shocking, I know.” She’s put me at such ease already. The flirtatious tone of our conversation has happened so seamlessly, it’s surprising—in a good way.

“I must go, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Luce.”

“Me too. I better get off the business line. My brother is staring at me like I have two heads and a tail, so I should really go reassure him that I am indeed from this world.” She laughs again and the sound warms my soul.

“You can’t have him thinking that. I suppose we should exchange numbers so I can make all of the necessary arrangements, of course.”

After exchanging numbers, including my private cell number—a rare occurrence—I bid her farewell. “I’ll call you next week. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Until next week, Callum,” she replies.