by Virna DePaul
I drink a glass of water, sit down for a bit, and force the anger from my body. Calm, I think to myself. I am calm, I am collected. I am not going to lose it. Because that’s just what Caleb would love to see happen. I think he gets off on making me angry.
My cat, a fat, fluffy Persian, gets on my lap and starts kneading my thighs, purring like a motorboat. I stroke his fur, and it helps calm me down.
“You’re always the best medicine, McQueen,” I say to the cat, named after my favorite designer. “Why can’t people be more like cats?”
McQueen just purrs louder and curls up in my lap, a heap of white fur.
I call Rebecca; she already left me a message about putting together a meeting, so I might as well get this over with. I don’t tell her I’m unhappy with the photos, but I definitely hint that they aren’t in line with my vision. Rebecca tells me that her assistant will set up the meeting and include Johnny as well. My stupid heart thrills when I think about seeing Caleb again, but I stamp down the excitement. I won’t be there to get all starry-eyed around him.
The day only gets shittier from there. Bo calls me, wanting to stop by to pick up a box of his old DVDs and running shoes. I had been tempted to dump them, but Bo would probably kill me if I got rid of his entire collection of Stargate DVDs.
By the afternoon, Bo shows up, and I try my best not to let him get on my nerves. It’s difficult, though, when he comes into my apartment—our old place—without so much as a knock, like he still lives here. McQueen runs when Bo enters, and I can’t say that I blame the cat overmuch.
Bo is a handsome guy, with dark, curly hair and a square jaw. He wears black hipster glasses and thinks that the Gap is basically couture, but I grudgingly admit to myself that he looks good.
“Nice to see you, Heather,” he says, embracing me. “You look great, by the way.”
“You look good, too,” I say, even though I don’t really mean it. He looks the same, to be honest: tall, skinny, handsome in a nerdy kind of way. Not like the heart-stopping handsomeness of another man, a man whose kisses I can’t stop thinking about, or dreaming about, or who I want to see again but know I shouldn’t…
“What have you been up to?” Bo sits down on the couch, and I sigh inwardly. I’m really not interested in chatting right now.
“Just working. Always busy, you know. I had a shoot last week that’s going to be in Bella.” I can’t help but tell him this bit of news in an arch voice, as if daring him to say that it isn’t a big deal. Even a guy as clueless about fashion as Bo has heard of Bella.
“Oh really? That’s cool. So somebody came and took pictures of your stuff? Will Bella be selling your stuff, too?”
“It’s a magazine, Bo, not a catalog. But it’ll be great exposure—amazing exposure. Bella is the most widely read fashion magazine in the world.”
“Huh.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “Well, I’m glad you’ve been keeping busy. I know your career is important to you.”
I grit my teeth. Of course he would bring this up. The biggest reason we broke up is because Bo was convinced I couldn’t have a relationship and a career at the same time. To his consternation, I chose the job over him. Now I realize how bitter he sounds, talking about my job.
“It is important to me. I’ve worked really hard, especially in the past year. Getting an opportunity to be in Bella is a dream come true.”
He nods, but I can see the tic in his jaw. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing well. I need to get back home. Eva’s looking for me. She’s cooking a huge dinner tonight for us.”
I ignore his bragging about his new girlfriend, who apparently loves to play housewife. I hand him his box of DVDs and shoes. “All your stuff’s in there.”
He doesn’t even look at the stuff, and I wonder again why he felt the need to come down here at all. Couldn’t I have just mailed him his stupid DVDs?
“I’ll see you later then.”
Once Bo is gone, I collapse on the couch. McQueen comes out of hiding to sit on my lap again. I stroke the cat, and I can’t help but think about Caleb.
God, why can’t I get him out of my mind? I wish I could act like he means nothing to me, but I can’t. I don’t know what I feel for him, but he’s in my thoughts so often that I feel like it’s a disease almost. The Caleb Disease.
Seeing Bo today, though, has once again reminded me of why Caleb and I could never be more than a fling. I’m not cut out for a relationship and a career, and I refuse to give up my dreams to follow a man to New York or take a second seat to his own career.
I sigh. “I guess it’s just going to be me and you, huh, McQueen?”
My cat just purrs, perfectly content with the situation.
“Oh Johnny, how nice of you to join us,” Rebecca says, her voice carrying across the meeting room.
I look up to see Caleb, looking annoyed. His jaw’s clenched, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in days.
“Sorry I’m late.” He sits down across from me, not even acknowledging my presence. He doesn’t sound remotely sorry about being late, either.
Before this meeting, I’ve thought and even written down everything I want to say regarding the photos. At the moment I’m calm and collected, and despite Caleb’s dour mood, I get started.
“Once again I want to reiterate how grateful I am for the opportunity to work with Bella,” I say to everyone at the table, which includes Rebecca, Catherine, Caleb, and a handful of other Bella staff. “Having my designs featured in the magazine is a dream come true, but when I looked over all of the photos, I felt that they weren’t what I’d imagined.”
Rebecca’s gaze is sharp, but her voice is cool when she asks, “What had you imagined?”
“Well, I had initially imagined something less…well, I think the best word is ‘weird.’” When I see Caleb bristle, I add quickly, “I agreed with Caleb—Johnny—that focusing solely on how delicate the designs were with the photos wasn’t the best idea, but in the end, it seems that we moved too far away from what I had envisioned. The shoot doesn’t represent Talina Designs at all, quite frankly.”
Caleb snorts, and I clench the pen in my hand to keep from tossing it at his face. Rebecca glances at Caleb with a stern look.
“You seemed happy with the photos at the end of the shoot,” Rebecca finally says. “Did you change your mind, or is this cold feet? I understand that designers can sometimes be afraid to go outside the box, especially with their first shoot.”
“Yes, please, tell us what happened,” Caleb drawls. “Because I can’t keep up with you at all. One second you’re happy, the next you’re unhappy. Which is it? I’m used to fickle designers, but this takes the cake.”
Now I’m angry. I set my pen down because I’m afraid I’m going to break it in half with my grip. I inhale, thinking of blue skies and the beach. I’m not going to let him get to me.
“This isn’t a matter of cold feet, or fickleness. The photos at the shoot were a rough draft; the editing since then has changed the tone entirely.” I look straight at Caleb now. “Even you as a photographer can agree with that.”
He’s about to say something, but Rebecca cuts him off. “So from what I understand, it’s not the photos themselves, but the editing. That’s a fairly simple fix. Isn’t it, Johnny?”
Caleb frowns, but eventually nods a tight nod. “But what happens when Heather decides she doesn’t like the next set of photos?” he asks, glaring at me. “Are we just going to keep redoing them over and over again until she decides that we have to redo the shoot entirely?”
At this point, I’ve had enough. I stand up and say in a surprisingly level voice, “May I speak with you outside, Caleb?”
I don’t give him a chance to respond. I leave the room and after a look down the hallway, find an empty office across from the conference room.
“What is your problem?” he demands, shutting the door behind him.
I whirl. “My problem? What is yours? I’m trying to get my designs to look the best
they can, but you’re taking this personally and refusing to do your job!”
He clenches his jaw. “When someone insults my work, then yeah, I’m going to ‘refuse to do my job.’ I’m the photographer here, not you.”
“And I’m the designer! Respect that I know my clothes more than you do.” I cross my arms, breathing fast.
His eyes flash. Suddenly I’m glad that I wore a top that shows off my cleavage. I’m enjoying the thought that he still wants me but will never admit it. I push my breasts up a little bit with my arms, and I can see his jaw clench even harder.
He steps closer to me. I have to lean against the desk, otherwise we’ll almost be touching.
“Are you really going to keep fighting this?” His voice is low, almost a growl. I wonder if he’s talking about the photo shoot anymore, or if he’s talking about us. “Are you going to keep being stubborn for no reason?”
“Speak for yourself.” My voice is breathy. I’m all flushed and my skin prickles and I know my nipples are all puckered and begging for his touch. I shift my legs, but he’s boxed me in against the desk.
“You’re driving me crazy.” He touches my jaw, runs a finger down my throat. “I’m not sure if I want to throttle you or kiss you more.”
I swallow. “How about you try one and see what happens?”
His eyes narrow. It’s the only warning I get before he kisses me.
12
Caleb
This is crazy. I’m crazy. I’ve lost my goddamn mind, but when I kiss Heather, all thoughts about why this is a bad idea go out the window. She tastes too fucking good, like strawberries. And when she moans that sweet little moan and wraps her arms around me?
Yeah, like I’m going to stop now.
I kiss her and plunge my tongue inside her mouth, because I want her to know I’m in control here. She’s mine. She doesn’t fight me: instead, she surrenders to me completely. It’s heady. I can’t get enough of her. She’s like some kind of drug, and I can’t stop wanting hit after hit.
My hands aren’t idle. I skim down her curves, grateful that she isn’t wearing much underneath her blouse and pencil skirt. My palm brushes a nipple, and she makes a noise in the back of her throat. I smile.
Memories of having sex with her in that dressing room come flooding back. I get hard as iron, my cock pulsing against my jeans, and it takes everything I have not to plunge inside of her warm, silky depths. I suck on her bottom lip, and her nails dig into my shoulders. I shudder at the sharp bite of pain.
“Caleb…” She says my name like a prayer. “Caleb, what are we doing?”
“Shush. Don’t fight it.” I don’t want to talk about what we’re doing, or what we should be doing, or what the hell this even is. I don't want to talk: I want to touch. To play, and to feel her bare skin underneath my fingertips. I unbutton her blouse, delving inside the parted fabric to cup her breast. She’s wearing a satin bra, although I can feel her nipple hardening underneath the fabric.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” I mutter, kissing down the slope of her neck. I pluck at her nipple, making her mewl. I need more. There’s too much clothing between us. I yank her blouse from her skirt and pull up her bra, not caring that I’m in a client’s office—that just beyond this door, Rebecca Harris sits in a meeting room with her Bella magazine employees, wondering what the hell we’re doing.
I don’t care about any of that. I only care about getting my mouth on Heather’s luscious breasts. I suck a nipple into my mouth, and she shudders and moans, loud and long. I roll the nipple around my tongue, but the position’s awkward. In a swift move, I have her turn so I can sit on the desk, which puts her beautiful tits right in front of me.
Perfect.
“Caleb,” she breathes, threading her fingers through my hair. I grunt at the contact just as I take her other nipple into my mouth. I inhale her sweet scent, cupping and playing with her other breast, wanting to make her nipples red and aching for me. I let go of the nipple in my mouth and blow air on it, watching as it hardens even more.
I can feel Heather shivering, almost uncontrollably, and I can’t help but wonder if I can make her come just by playing with her breasts like this.
“Sensitive?” I tongue the underside of her breast.
She grips my head and nods.
I bet she’s wet—soaking. I push her skirt up her hips and am beyond grateful that she’s wearing a very thin pair of panties and nothing else underneath. When I cup her, I can feel her moisture against my palm. I rub her through the silk as I suck her nipple once more, watching as her body shakes and a flush climbs up her chest into her cheeks.
She looks gorgeous, her eyes glassy and her hair falling down around her shoulders. Pushing her panties aside, I dip a finger between her folds, and we both groan at the wetness I find there. She’s practically dripping on my palm and my cock is about to burst from my jeans, I’m so hard. I consider pushing her onto the desk and fucking her right then and there, but when she makes that sweet little mewling noise again when I brush her clit, I decide to play with her for a bit longer.
“Sweet, sexy, beautiful Heather. I bet I could make you come, just like this, with my mouth on your tits and my fingers playing with your sweet pussy.” She squeaks. “Your little clit is practically swollen with desire. I can feel it begging for my attention.”
She looks down at me; she’s panting for breath. I keep eye contact as my fingers delve inside of her, her sheath grasping at my fingers like it can’t bear to let them go. My thumb is circling her clit now with light strokes, and Heather gasps. I begin to rub her, trying to find that perfect spot, and when I hit it, her body bows. She bites her lip to keep from screaming.
“There it is,” I croon. I can’t stop watching her. She’s magnificent like this, about to come all over my hand. “Just let go. Come for me, sweetheart.”
I crook my fingers in her until I hit her g-spot and begin rubbing her clit in earnest. Her entire body is shaking now. I suck one of her nipples into my mouth and that’s when she explodes. She lets out a low moan, shaking and convulsing, her hands gripping my shoulders. I keep playing with her clit and prolonging the orgasm as long as I can.
I want to make this the most amazing orgasm she’s ever had because then she’ll never be able to forget me. She’ll touch herself and remember how I made her come so hard she practically collapsed at my feet.
She leans into me, her limbs probably feeling like jelly, breathing hard. I kiss her, about to unbutton my jeans and push her hand inside, when we both hear a knock on the door.
“Everything all right in there?” It’s Catherine.
We freeze. Heather is still panting, so it’s up to me to answer.
“It’s fine! We’ve just finished our discussion and will be right there.”
Catherine doesn’t respond for a second, and I hold my breath, afraid she’ll open the door. But she just murmurs “okay” and then I hear her footsteps departing.
Heather’s still undressed, her expression dazed. But when I pull her skirt down, she seems to remember where she is, and who she is. She jumps away from me like I’ve burned her. Pulling her bra back down over her breasts—a shame, that—she buttons her blouse with shaky fingers.
“What have I done, oh my God, what am I doing…” Heather mutters to herself. When she looks up and sees me—like it’s the first time she’s realized that I’m in the office, too—she blushes bright red.
“Heather—”
“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. I told myself this was over.” Heather tries to put her hair up in a bun, but it keeps falling down. She’s shaky, like she’s in shock.
I’m about to take her in my arms and help her calm down, but she gives me a look that clearly says don’t touch me.
“This isn’t a big deal,” I say, mostly to fill the silence. “It happened. Just like it happened last time. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
The look on her face tells me that was the exact wrong thing to say. Her
brow furrows, and I could swear she looks like she could hiss at me like an angry cat.
“You know what, Caleb, you’re right. This isn’t a big deal. I’m acting like it should be—that there’s something between us that we can’t control—but clearly, it’s just hormones. Or insanity. Or something. But it doesn’t matter to you, of course. To you, it’s just another notch on your bedpost.”
“Heather, wait—”
She shakes her head and before I can stop her, she races out of the office, shutting the door behind her.
I lean back onto the desk. Well, that went well. Now she’s going to hate me even more than she already did. For some reason, I feel guilty, although I know she wanted me to touch her as much as I wanted to touch her.
I run my hand through my hair. I’m still half-cocked, despite everything, and I’m tempted to finish the job myself when there’s another knock on the door. I restrain myself from growling. Can a man not get any privacy around here?
“Johnny? Are you in there?”
It’s Rebecca. I make sure I’m presentable, adjusting my cock so it’s not so very obvious what was happening in here, and finally open the door. Rebecca gives me a brief onceover; I have to stop myself from shifting on my feet like some chastised schoolboy.
She steps into the office, shutting the door. “I’m glad I caught you alone,” she says in a pointed tone. She gives me another look, but I refuse to act like anything happened. For all she knows, Heather and I were just talking.
Of course, when I think of Heather, I think of what we were just doing in here, and I have to tamp down the arousal that shoots through me as a result.
Rebecca purses her lips. “I wanted to let you know that after much discussion—which you and Heather missed, by the way—the team has decided that we are going to redo the photo shoot entirely.”
I still. If there’s anything I don’t do, it’s retakes, like some school photographer. Anger burns through me. Retakes means I did shoddy work the first time around. I never do shoddy work.