The worst part is, I can’t seem to fully convince myself that Calder is a bad idea. I mean, of course he's not a good idea, but when it comes down to it, the whole situation is more complicated than that. Yes, he's not exactly boyfriend material, but I never claimed to be into him for his personality. And what do I gain from staying away from him? He's not going to change his mind about the Center because I refuse to sleep with him. And if pride played any part in my resistance before, it doesn't anymore. There's no denying my attraction, not now. He knows I want him. A part of me wants to march down to him right this minute and grab him and kiss him. And why not? A girl deserves the chance to do something crazy every once in a while.
But I'm still hoping I might find a way to wear him down on the issue of the Center. If I could get under his skin, as he's gotten under mine…
He seems to enjoy our little power games. I just need to figure out how beat him.
My cell goes off, interrupting my plotting. It's Garrett.
I debate just letting it go to voicemail, but I'm in a reckless mood.
"Hello?" I answer as neutrally as I can.
"Lils." Garrett's voice is thick with relief. "Listen, about earlier… I was being an ass. I'm sorry."
I don't respond.
"Look," he rushes on. "I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean them. You know I didn't mean them. And you know how much you and the Center mean to me."
It's a typical apology for Garrett—meant, no doubt, to soften my heart a little and play on my sympathy. A year ago, I would have eaten it up, but I know better now.
"You're allowed to turn me down," I say carefully. "I know it wasn't exactly fair to ask you for anything. You don't owe me any favors."
"Actually, I think I do. And it wasn't fair of me to go off on you when you're already under so much pressure. I'm sorry, Lils. I know how much this means to you. I'll help you. Of course I'll help you."
This kind, groveling Garrett scares me more than the bitter, angry one from this morning, but beggars can't be choosers.
"All right," I say. "Maybe the Center has a shot after all." I pick at the corner of the fluffy white comforter. "Will you call the Center and let Dad know? He might have a game plan for you."
"You're not at the Center?"
"No, I'm—I'm in Barberville. Pursuing a lead."
"All the way in Barberville?"
"We're desperate," I tell him matter-of-factly. "And on that note, I should go. I have something I need to take care of. Call Dad, okay?"
"Of course." He pauses. "I miss you, Li—"
"Bye," I say quickly. I hang up before he can respond and throw the phone back down on the pillow.
That could have been worse, I tell myself. He's agreed to help you. The Center might have a fighting chance now. You should be thrilled.
But if that were true, then why do I feel so uneasy?
* * *
After much deliberation, I decide to dress up for dinner. Maybe it makes me look desperate to sport a snug little black dress and strappy heels after what happened this morning, but I feel sexy and powerful when I walk into the dining room, and one look at Calder's expression tells me I've made the right decision. He can toy with me if he wants, but I'm going to toy right back. If this is a game of cat-and-mouse, then he needs to prepare himself for a mouse with a few weapons of her own.
I sit down next to him, pretending to be oblivious to the way his eyes skim over my body.
"Would you like some wine?” he asks me. “Or would you prefer whiskey again?"
"Whiskey sounds good," I reply. I need some liquid courage.
He rises to go to the liquor cabinet, and I allow myself a peek at his backside as he walks away. After everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, I can't help but admire the way he fills out his pants. He, too, seems to have chosen nicer clothes for this particular meal. In his dark slacks and pressed sapphire shirt, this is the first time he actually looks the part of the billionaire playboy. He turns back around, and I quickly look down at my empty plate. I won't let him catch me checking him out.
"You look very nice this evening," he says when he returns to the table.
"Nice?"
He presses the glass of whiskey into my hand, and his fingers linger against my wrist.
"Breathtaking," he says, his voice low.
It's the reaction I was hoping for, but I'm not sure how to respond. Instead I raise the glass to my lips, effectively extricating myself from his touch in the same motion.
"I hope you had a pleasant afternoon," he says when I lower the whiskey again.
"Very relaxing." I don't want him to think I agonized over what happened in the gallery. "I hope yours was productive as well."
"Productive, yes, I suppose. But not particularly enjoyable."
I refuse to take the bait and ask him why he didn't enjoy himself.
"That's good." I unfold my napkin and spread it across my lap. When I'm done, I reach out for my whiskey again, but instead of raising it to my lips, I slide my middle finger along the rim of the glass. His eyes follow the motion.
"You know," he says, his gaze still locked on the lazy, circular motions of my finger, "you never delivered on our bet."
My finger freezes. "Excuse me?"
"You owe me a kiss," he says.
"I paid more than my share."
"Perhaps. But you never kissed me, and that was our bargain."
I roll my eyes, but I'm saved from having to respond immediately by the door flying open at the far end of the room. Martin leads a cart of food into the room and wheels it over to us.
"Mr. Cunningham!" he booms down the length of the room. "Ms. Frazer! You're going to love what I've cooked up for you tonight."
Neither of us says a word as Martin unveils tonight's feast. I keep my eyes carefully on my glass, and Calder keeps his eyes on me.
The chef is too cunning to miss the tension between us.
"Delicious food always softens the heart," he says casually as he serves the salad. “Things always look better when there's a good meal in your belly." He turns to Calder. "I'll leave the rest on the cart for you, sir. Let me know if you need anything else."
"Thank you, Martin," Calder says, but his eyes never move from me.
The chef turns and walks back down the room. Happy for the chance to change the subject, I dive right into the question I’ve been pondering all afternoon.
“Where is everyone else?”