Chapter 28

It takes almost an hour to put myself back together, most of which is spent pacing around the penthouse suite. Half of my footsteps are spent dishing out a slew of curse words spat in Blake's phantom direction. The other half are spent wiping away unwanted tears as they slide down my warm cheeks.

There's no way in fuck I'll give Blake that message, and there's not an ounce of remorse in me about it. In fact, I hope Phil shows up so late that Blake is already gone.

"Fuckin' asshole," I say through gritted teeth.

I mean, it's not as if I have a right to get upset. We're not together, and just last night we spent the remainder of our first, official date with Cade – a man who is fighting to make me his.

So why do I feel like my heart is being ripped from my chest?

I stomp into the master bedroom, scouring for my suitcase. It's sitting in the corner next to Blake's. My eyes narrow, silently accusing the inanimate object for choosing sides. There's nothing of mine I want left in here. Not a damn thing.

I drag my suitcase back out into the living room and throw it onto the couch. With frantic fingers I begin searching for a new shirt, suddenly hating the one I'm wearing now – the very one Blake said looked nice on me this morning.

The hotel phone begins to ring, the shrill sound stilling my frenzied movements. Who could be calling? Both Blake and Cade have my cellphone number. So is it a hotel worker? Is it the one who gave me Phil's note?

Maybe he wants to see if I've delivered the special note to Mr. Benson. Another fit of rage takes ahold of me as I walk over to the phone and swipe it up.

"Hello?" I shout into the receiver.

"Callum?"

Blake's voice catches me off guard. The familiar and masculine tone stirs up all kinds of emotion and desire I wish I could dismiss. Or even ignore. A fresh batch of tears sting the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks.

When did I start turning into such a pansy?

Just a few months ago I was ready to spend my summer getting lost in drunken nights and meaningless one night stands. I've never had feelings for someone. Well, not any that lasted longer than a few lust-filled hours, anyway. And I certainly have never done a relationship.

Look at me now - keeping my tears at bay and being duped into falling for someone. A dude no less. Fuckin' pathetic. I grit my teeth and blink them away as best I can.

"Callum, are you alright?"

It hurts to swallow, the mixture of embarrassment and sadness digging into my throat. I shake my head and side-step the question, trying to keep a steady voice.

"What do you need?"

Pause.

"I tried calling your cell, but you didn't answer. I was hoping you'd still be at the hotel to let me know if they dropped off my dry cleaning yet? If they have, I might try to swing by and change before my evening appointments."

I pull out my phone, frowning when I notice the two missed calls. Never once did I feel it vibrate. Then again, in my mental state, I don't think I would have noticed anyway. I swipe to unlock it, Blake's number popping up from both missed calls.

"Callum?"

"Yea, I'm here."

He sighs. It's a sigh I have come to learn well, one where I know his patience is running thin. There's another beat of silence and Blake forces out an uncomfortable laugh. It makes me wonder if other people are within ear shot of our conversation.

"Someone spilled a latte down my shirt. Could you please check on the dry cleaning for me real fast?"

"Yea. Hang on."

I set the phone down, pretending to take a few minutes to search the suite for the dry cleaning. Instead I just sit on the arm of the couch, looking out the window with a fuzzy mind. He's taunting me. He's tugging on my heart strings, and he doesn't even know it.

After what happened this morning and seeing our chemistry come to life, the doubt I had started to ease. I was still scared, but I was ready. I was ready to tell Blake the contest was over before it even started. What I didn't realize was that there were multiple competitions taking place – the one to win my heart and the one to win his.

Normally I'm all for a competition. I can't remember the last time I backed down to a challenge, in fact. But this time? The possibility of losing is one I can't chance.

I mean, c'mon. Who am I fooling?

Blake is the type of guy chicks and dudes alike dream about. He's the type of guy romance novels and bullshit movies are made of. When people like him come into the real world, they're untouchable. Unattainable for more than just a whisper of time.

It's laughable I thought I had chance.

I slowly raise the phone to my ear again. "Sorry, Mr. Benson. Hasn't arrived yet."

My voice is distant and cold, the epitome of a bitchy receptionist who hates their job. Indistinct chatter fills the background of the other end of the call. Blake sighs again, this one far more irritated than the last.

The chatter turns to silence, indicating to me he has walked far enough away to be on his own. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie.

"Callum..."

"What? Seriously bro, nothing's wrong."

Silence.

"Damnit, Callum! Is it because of this morning? Was it too soon? Are you having second thoughts?"

An ache blooms in my chest hearing his words and the care in his voice. He's worried I'm backpedaling from our intimate moment. He has no idea my change in demeanor isn't because I want less of him...but the realization that I can't have more.

After another few moments of silence pass, Blake sighs again.

"Can we talk about this tonight? Please?"

I'm about to say yes but stop myself short. I already feel like a fool. Talking about this subject so soon will only make things worse. My memory taunts me for a moment, dragging me back to the first time I met Phil. I remember the way his dark eyes studied me over, probably deeming me unworthy of Blake from the get-go.

Well, fuck him.

And fuck Blake too.

The tears clinging to the edges of my eyes lose their grip, falling from their walls of safety with anguish and regret. Their wetness stings my cheeks, each one giving me another reason to walk away.

"There's really nothing to talk about," I say through ragged breaths. "Have a good night."

I disconnect the call before he has a chance to respond. In the same movement I pick up my cell phone. My fingers hover above the screen, ready to send Cade a message about hanging out tonight.

The open thread between us stares back at me. I blink. No good can come from hanging out with him, I realize. Especially not with me feeling like this. Despite whatever is happening with Blake and Phil, I don't feel for Cade the way I feel for Blake.

It'd be a whole lot fuckin' easier if I did. But I don't. I just can't.

There will come a point soon enough that I'll have to let him know that, too. With a heavy sigh, I set my phone aside, forcing myself to stand and wipe away my humiliating tears. I walk along the newly vacuumed hotel carpet and try to think it all through again.

Phil and Blake are meeting for dinner tonight. Where? No idea. Why? No idea. Is it my business? Hell no. Do I want to know anyway? Hell yes.

Just coming out and asking Blake will show far more of my jealously and emotions than I can or will allow at this point.

So what else can I do?

Just as fast as I ask the internal question, a new idea surfaces. I dash over to the hotel phone again, grabbing it up and dialing the front desk before I lose my nerve. My heart picks up speed, the sudden shift of emotions catching it off guard.

"Hello Mr. Benson, how may I direct your call?"

"It's not Mr. Benson," I say to the concierge. "This is his assistant, Mr. Greene."

"Oh, my apologies, Mr. Greene. What can I do for you?"

"So the dinner reservations Br. Benson has tonight? Yea, I made them months ago and have since forgotten the time and place originally requested."

"Oh, no. Would you like us to call for a reservation elsewhere?"

I swallow hard and try to speak with the most authoritative voice I can muster. "No. I'm actually calling to see if you'd be able to call around the area to find out where the reservation currently is? I know this is a big favor, but I really don't want to bother Mr. Benson about this if I don't have to..."

I hold my breath, waiting for the man on the other end to put a stop to my plan. I have no idea if they're allowed to make these types of calls, especially if the request is given by me and not 'Mr. Benson' himself. Plus, it's a flimsy request in the first place.

Who – in this day and age – doesn't just schedule appointments on their phone or tablet? Better yet, who just 'forgets' where they made reservations in the first place?

Silence greets my ears for a few moments followed by the typing of keys on a keyboard. My lungs burn waiting to breathe, but I have to know if this will work.

"Of course we can accommodate this request, Mr. Greene. Mr. Benson is a high-priority customer of ours, and we always try to do what we can to ease his schedule. Shall we call you or Mr. Benson when we have obtained the reservation information?"

"Me," I answer quickly. "And please. Hurry."