"I seem to be experiencing the same dilemma," the doctor agreed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Our time is up, so tell my secretary to work you into my schedule again tomorrow. Preferably for a longer session. We need to delve deeper into this obsession."
"Hopefully by then I'll have convinced her to go on a date and none of this will be necessary," he said optimistically.
"One can but hope," Dr. Wilkes sighed.
Callie
Callie woke to the sound of a drum crescendo inside her skull and a roiling sensation in her gut. Gingerly lifting her head, she stared bleary-eyed at a drape covered wall of floor to ceiling windows. Nope. This was not her bedroom. That unpleasant thought was disturbing enough to have her sitting up in a panic for a better look around.
After shoving the hair off of her face, the lavish décor identified it as the guest room of Bastion's private suite at Opulent, his New York resort. With a sigh of relief, she laid back against the pillows and closed her eyes. That could only mean that she and Soraya had drunk way too much and he'd brought her here to sleep it off.
Considering the fact that she felt like death warmed over, she wondered how her friend was doing. A glance at the clock on the nightstand revealed it was six A.M. Damn. She'd wasted an entire day thanks to Ford fucking Hammersmith. When would that man cease to wreak havoc with her life?
Determined to put him out of her mind, she rose and ordered room service before indulging in a long, hot shower. While drinking a pot of coffee on the patio, she sent a text to check on Soraya and doubted the other woman was up yet. If so, her friend was probably feeling as bad as she was, so she didn't expect a response any time soon.
Once she arrived at her office with the hangover from hell, she stopped dead in her tracks and glared sheer venom at the two identical vases of roses that now resided on opposite ends of her desk. Jesus Christ. The bastard had sent another one! It was on the tip of her tongue to demand her assistant throw them out before she decided against it.
There was no sense in drawing attention to her aversion to the flowers, or the sender, so she'd just ignore them as if they weren't there. Easier said than done. The damn things taunted her every time she looked up. So did the cards that she hadn't bothered to read. There had been no need. After all, she knew that Ford had sent them.
The umpteenth time she caught herself staring at them, Callie made a sound of disgust before she snatched the vases up and placed them on the credenza behind her. Out of sight, out of mind, she hoped. Although she wasn't able to resist the temptation of removing the cards and reading them.
The first one merely read, Dinner? 555-555-3673. The second read, Dancing? Above the same phone number. She dropped both of them into the shredder next to her desk. Hopefully, her complete lack of response would deter the bastard and he'd leave her alone. It was just too bad that she didn't have a bit of faith in that logic.
Callie knew from experience just how persistent Ford could be when he wanted something. Sadly, the heartless bastard wanted her again. The man couldn't have picked a worse time because distractions were the last thing that she needed. Preparing for the upcoming New York Fashion Week was nerve-wracking enough.
Much to her complete disgust, her mind kept returning to thoughts of Ford, so when her mobile phone rang, she quickly answered without looking at the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Hello, sweet Callie."
Chills danced up her spine and heat flashed through her extremities. She'd know that seductively smooth voice anywhere. It was her worst nightmare after all. "How the hell did you get my number?"
"Jacinda was happy to give it to me when I told her that I needed to set up our date," he replied smugly. "She sends her love, by the way."
She muttered a particularly vile expletive under her breath. Jacinda Ames had organized the damn charity auction. If she'd known her friend would reveal her private number, she would have instructed her to give the office number instead. "There will be no date," she insisted. "Don't call me again."
Callie ended the call, tossed her phone on the desk, and buried her face in her hands. The muffled scream she gave penetrated beyond the wall of glass that separated her office from her assistants, unfortunately. When Amy's head poked up over the top of her computer monitor with a questioning look, she merely waved her away.
If only she could be so fortunate in getting rid of Ford.
Ford
"Tell me about the first time you met Feathers," Dr. Wilkes requested. "With as much detail as you can recall."
"It was a Halloween charity gala at the Opulent Resort. The woman I was dating had received an invitation so I went as her plus one," he began.
"You didn't receive an invitation?"
The question was understandable. Given his wealth and social standing, Ford was routinely invited to every event worth attending. "No. Bastion Baines was hosting the event and the man hates me," he explained.
"Interesting," the doctor mused as he scratched something on his ever-present notepad. "Please continue."
"A flash of color across the room caught my attention," he recalled and closed his eyes to better envision the momentous occasion. "Something about the vibrant peacock plumage drew me to it like a magnet. I don't actually remember crossing the room, but I suddenly found myself standing directly behind her."
"She was wearing a showgirl costume and the headdress was what had caught my eye. Then she turned and stared up at me with those stunning amethyst eyes. For a moment the entire world faded away as we just stood there, gazes locked. I was mesmerized," Ford recalled. "Before I came to my senses enough to introduce myself, she turned and ran out of the room."
"I'm going to assume that women do not generally take one look at you and run?"
"They don't," he confirmed. In fact, the exact opposite normally happened. Ford wasn't vain, but he knew that women considered him handsome. If his looks didn't attract them, his wealth did. Having a woman run from him had been a singular experience.
"Interesting," the shrink mused and made another notation in his notepad. "Could her disinterest have awakened your predatory instincts?"
"I suppose it's possible," he agreed. "But that doesn't explain my reaction before she ran away."
"What was it about her that mesmerized you?"
"Other than the fact that she was sexy as fuck?"
"Yes, other than that."
"Her eyes," he recalled. "They're incredible."
"Amethyst you said?" The doctor queried. "A most unusual color. I'm sure they would be quite memorable."
"They haunt me," he admitted. "At first I only saw them in my dreams. So sad and vulnerable."
"Feathers was sad and vulnerable?"
"No. Her eyes. It made me want to hold her and protect her from whatever had hurt her."
"So, you felt protective of her."
"Very."
"Interesting."
"Why do you say that?"
"In general, or this particular instance?"
"Let's stick with this instance for now," he replied facetiously.
"I find it interesting that you felt the need to protect a woman you'd encountered for the first time."
"Join the club."
Callie
Another day, another bouquet of those damn roses. This time the card read Theater? with his phone number again. White roses had always been her favorite, and having them dipped in purple just made them even more enticing. But if the bastard thought flowers would get her to change her mind then he was sadly mistaken.
When they had been together, Callie had thought it was a sweet, romantic gesture when Ford sent them. Now it just made her want to cry. Or scream. Maybe both. And break the damn vase over his head. They joined the collection on the credenza so she didn't have to look at them, but she could still see their reflection in the glass wall in front of her.
It was maddening. And frustrating as hell. Just like the man who sent them. Determined to put him out of her mind, she moved into
her workroom and got to work on one of the new designs she had made after the auction. Some of them had been really good, but this one was so exceptional that she was going to wear it at her upcoming show.
Callie loved every step involved in making her creations come to life. She started with a sketch and then selected the right type of fabric to fit the design. This one required something soft and flowing like elastic satin, with a breezy, lightweight train of chiffon tulle, heavily embellished with gemstones, of course.
She had already drafted a pattern from her sketch and designed the mockup, now it was time to cut and sew the pieces together. Once that was complete, she would try it on to perfect the fit and she was certain that the finished product would be the biggest hit of the entire show. She was practically giddy with anticipation.
The stunning fashions that she created now were a far cry from the doll clothes she had made as a child. Her mother had been a casino costume designer and Callie had used the scrap materials to dress her dolls. She'd been dazzled by the array of vibrant colored fabrics, bright, sparkling rhinestones, sequins, and feathers.
She was still so enamored with them that she incorporated a bit of bling into every design. A light dusting of sequins on a plain tank top and a rhinestone embellishment added to jeans took them from everyday wear to club apparel. Her high-end Prêt-a-porter line of clothing had made Callie Rose Designs a household name.
But it was her haute couture designs that celebrities and socialites alike clamored for. Her gowns were often worn at red carpet events and were equally popular at society galas. Her creations received high acclaim from the critics and she'd won several national and international fashion awards.
Callie had worked hard to get to this point in her career, but it wouldn't have been possible without Bastion. She'd been six when she'd proudly showed him her latest creation, a doll dress held together with staples and transparent tape. Even though the rhinestones she had glued on were falling off, he had praised her pitiful display of craftsmanship.
The next day he surprised her with a child's sewing machine that her mother had patiently taught her to use. There had been no stopping her after that. She had created entire wardrobes for her dolls before moving on to making outfits for herself. Callie hadn't been the only second grader dressed in sequins and rhinestones, but, hey, it was Vegas, and bling was a big thing.
By the time she made it to middle school, she was embellishing clothing for all of her friends and had even made a few prom and pageant gowns as well. When her mother died and Bastion became her legal guardian, she had taken over as his costume designer and done a fabulous job of it even though she'd only been fifteen.
Her job had entailed designing and creating the prototype costumes for the showgirls to perform in. Once they met Bastion's approval, the head seamstress handled the rest of the process so she could focus on her schoolwork. Even though she had enjoyed creating costumes, becoming a fashion designer was all she had ever wanted to be.
And she'd almost thrown it all away for a man who didn't even remember her. Yes, she'd been an idiot back then. Young, dumb, and madly in love with Ford fucking Hammersmith. If he hadn't walked away, she never would have followed her dream and gotten to where she was today. Maybe she should thank him for breaking her heart.
The absurdity of that thought shocked a surprised laugh out of her. Callie laughed so hard that she almost lost her breath. She was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes when her phone pinged that she had received a text. She swiped the screen and stared at a message from a number that seemed vaguely familiar.
555-555-3673: What are you wearing?
What the hell? Was this some kind of fashion joke? Ask a designer what she's wearing? Either that or a perv, she decided and typed out a reply.
Callie: Who is this?
555-555-3673: A slave to your beauty.
Oh-kay. Not a lot of help there. Either way, she didn't have time for games or perverts.
Callie: ???
555-555-3673: It's Ford.
Callie stared at the phone like it was a diamondback rattlesnake. She should have known it was him. Why, oh, why, hadn't she blocked him? Because she had known the sneaky bastard would call from a different number if she did and she hadn't wanted to mistakenly answer his call again. Like now.
Callie: I told you not to call me.
555-555-3673: Which is why I'm texting instead. See how accommodating I can be? Pick a date.
Callie: Not happening.
555-555-3673: It's so happening.
Callie: I don't have time for this. Harass someone else.
555-555-3673: No one else will do. If they would, I wouldn't be pursuing you. When are you free for our date?
Callie: Never. Stop texting me. And don't call again either.
She threw the phone down on the table before snatching it back up again. Not willing to take any chances of repeating her mistake, she added him to her contacts as Ford Fucking Hammersmith. When the damn thing immediately began to ring, she quelled the urge to throw it against the wall when the Caller ID revealed it wasn't him.
"The dead has risen," she said instead of a greeting.
"I am never drinking with you again," Soraya complained over the phone. "It took me all day yesterday to detox, and I still feel like shit."
"Don't blame me. You're the one who insisted we needed alcohol," she pointed out with a grin.
"You could have warned me that I was drinking the grape equivalent of jet fuel," her friend complained. "If potency is based on price, I'll stick with wine in a box."
Callie laughed in genuine amusement. "I think it was more the amount you consumed than the potency," she imparted.
Her friend snorted before admitting, "You're probably right. I've missed an entire day. How is the plan to get rid of Ford coming along?"
"We had a plan?" She queried in confusion. "The last I recall, castrating the bastard was my best option."
"Hey, I'm game," Soraya assured her like the loyal friend she was. "Seriously, Callie. How are you holding up?"
"Frazzled. Frustrated. Torn between screaming and crying," Callie confessed. "He's sending those damn flowers every day, and he's called and texted as well. No matter how much I dissuade him, he just won't give up."
"Honestly, his unwavering determination would be flattering if you didn't already know he was a serial seducer," she opined.
Callie sputtered with laughter. "A serial seducer?"
"Tomato, tomahto," Soraya responded in amusement. "Either way he's still a manwhore on the prowl."
"Well he's SOL this time," Callie said grimly and meant every word. "Ford made a fool of me once. He'll never get the chance to do it again."
CHAPTER FOUR
Ford
"Tell me more about Bastion Baines."
Ford didn't bother to ask the doctor why he thought such an off the wall topic was pertinent. Wilkes always had a reason for his questions, so he replied, "What can I say? The bastard hates me."
"Why?"
"I have no idea," he admitted and really didn't care. "I was told that I was in Nevada to meet with him about building his New York resort when the accident occurred. As you know, I don't recall any of that, but the deal fell through. I assumed it was due to my incapacitation."
"Interesting."
"Why is that interesting?"
"Most people find you charming and personable, yet you've mentioned that both Baines and Feathers hate you," the doctor pointed out.
"It's not that odd considering..." Ford's words trailed off as the ramifications of what he was about to say dawned on him.
"You had an epiphany," Wilkes pointed out and was obviously still very adept at reading him. "Share it with me."
"Baines and Feathers are business partners and friends. He's very protective of her," he confessed and met the doctor's questioning look with one of his own.
"So now you're wondering if her dislike stems from his," he opined. "Or vice versa."
; "Yes," Ford replied absently, a frown marring his brow as he mulled over the possibility. "The answer to that just might solve my problem."
Callie
Sporting event?
Callie read the card and snorted her disdain before dropping it into the shredder. She cared even less for a crowded sporting event than she did for Ford if such a thing were possible. After one last scathing look at the newest rose bouquet, she entered her workroom and a genuine smile lit her face. Her gown was almost ready and it was simply stunning.
It was time to try it on and make any adjustments required to perfect the fit. She had just stripped down to her birthday suit when her phone buzzed. Absently swiping the screen to open the text, she groaned aloud when she saw an animoji that looked a hell of a lot like Ford fucking Hammersmith's handsome face.
iPhone had these cute little interactive animoji's that you could design to look like yourself. They worked off of facial recognition and mirrored your facial responses as you recorded an audible message. Callie loved them since it was so much easier to just record a message instead of wasting time texting.
Against her better judgment, she tapped the message and heard Ford's seductive voice ask, "What are you wearing?"
She gasped in shock and whirled around, one arm covering her naked breasts. A quick look around the room confirmed that she was alone. There was no way that he could know that she was standing there naked. Pissed, Callie activated her own personalized animoji and snapped, "Why the hell would I tell you that?"
His voice sounded amused when he responded, "To torment me. You seem to enjoy doing that."
If he knew how she wanted to torment him he'd invest in a titanium jockstrap. The smirk was evident in her tone as she replied, "How would knowing what I'm wearing torment you?"
God. Even his animoji looked wicked when he answered, "Because everything you wear is sexy as fuck. Imagining you in one of your designs is pure torture."
Callie recorded herself laughing before she admitted, "Then it's too bad I'm not wearing anything."
Ford's animoji groaned in pain before he accused, "You are an evil woman."
She laughed merrily in response before adding, "And I'm still not going out with you so go away."
Heartless Bastard (Rich Ruthless Bastards, #1) Page 4