by I. T. Lucas
That morning, he’d tried calling the university’s administrative offices, but he couldn’t get anyone to talk to him.
There was no way around it. He needed to drive over there, which wasn’t a big deal since he had nothing better to do until Logan supplied him with the agenda for their new business venture.
In person, Shawn had a better chance of getting the information he needed. Bitches responded to his charm, willing to do all kinds of favors for him to get into his pants.
Swaggering into the admissions office, he plastered his best smile on his face. “Good afternoon, pretty lady.” He leaned on the desk belonging to the flustered thirty-something soccer mom type. Those were the easiest to manipulate, their dried-up pussies yearning for a young dick to make them wet. “My sister misplaced her papers and asked me to stop by and get her another copy. Calypso Davidson is the name.”
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. She would have to come in person.”
He leaned closer. “Come on. All the way from Alabama? She can’t.”
“Then she could call and provide her social security number to verify it’s really her.”
If that was all the bitchy receptionist needed, then he was good. “I have her social. Please, the girl is going crazy. She is so worried she’ll miss her chance. Studying here is her dream.”
The woman relented, giving him a post-it and a pencil. “Write down her name and social security number.”
He scribbled it down and handed it back.
A few keyboard clicks later, the woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anyone under the name Calypso Davidson or under that social.” She handed him the post-it back. “Maybe she spelled her name differently, or you wrote the wrong number.”
Shawn double checked his notes, but the number was correct. Maybe she applied under her maiden name?
“Try Calypso Meyers.”
The woman typed it in and shook her head again. “Sorry, no Calypso Meyers either.”
“Try Callie. She goes by Callie.” It was a long shot. She would’ve used her legal name on the application.
“Nope, sorry. No Callie Davidson or Meyers either.”
What the hell was going on? Had she made up the whole story about getting accepted to UCLA? Had she even applied? And why would she lie about that?
Shawn ran his fingers through his hair. “Thank you. My sister is such a scatterbrain. She probably applied to a different university and sent me here for nothing.”
As he walked out and headed for his car, Shawn felt like he was in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Nothing made sense. Was he losing his fucking mind?
Back at home, he upended every drawer and searched every cabinet for any scrap of paper Callie might have left behind. There was no trace of any paperwork. Not the acceptance letter, and not the multiple scholarship forms she’d filled out right before his eyes.
She had either taken everything with her or destroyed them before leaving.
Either that or he’d imagined the whole thing. Could too much booze and drugs induce hallucinations?
Had he even been married? Or had it all been in his head?
Except, of that he had proof. The fucking divorce papers were exactly where Shawn had left them. On the coffee table.
A constant reminder of how the cunt had screwed him over.
CHAPTER 48: CALLIE
Going home with her new car had felt liberating.
Callie felt like she’d turned a new page, and even though she was still mad as hell at Brundar, she no longer felt like crying.
Keeping busy as heck had helped.
Between the doctor’s appointment and the car buying, yesterday had been a full day. She had barely had enough time to grab a bite to eat and put on her club T-shirt before driving to work.
Brundar, the coward, hadn’t shown up at all.
He hadn’t called or texted either.
Whatever.
She was moving on.
Today, she was going to find a new job.
A list of steakhouses in hand, Callie stopped next to the first one. It wasn’t that she had an overwhelming love of steaks, but the tips were better the higher the tickets, which they were in most steakhouses. The other requirement was a full bar. Besides the quality of meat, it was the most crucial factor in a steakhouse’s success.
“Hi, can I speak to the manager? I’m looking for a waitressing job.” She smiled sweetly at the host. The guy was about her age, but he was still a kid while she was not. Hadn’t been for a long time.
The guy smiled back, his expression all about trying to look cool and flirt with her. “I’ll get him for you. I don’t think we need anyone, but I hope he hires you anyway.” He winked.
God, it was good to feel young and free again. A cute guy was flirting with her, and it felt great even though she wasn’t interested.
A few moments later, he came back with a man who she presumed was the owner and not just a manager. The guy was in his late fifties, balding, and with the belly of someone who loved to eat. Managers were usually much younger.
He offered his hand. “Damian Gonzales.”
“Heather Wilson.” She shook what he offered.
He motioned for her to follow him into his tiny office. “Do you have any experience as a waitress, Heather?”
“Plenty. I worked at a steakhouse for over a year.”
“Which one?”
Damn it. She couldn’t use Aussie as a reference. She would have to lie.
“It was in Alabama.”
He eyed her suspiciously, probably noting the blush that had crept up her cheeks. She was a terrible liar.
“Would they give you references?”
Crap.
Callie locked stares with the owner, then decided to go for the truth. “I really worked in a steakhouse, and I’m a damn good waitress. But if you called and asked for references they wouldn’t know who you’re talking about. I just got divorced, and my ex is a dangerous man. For my protection, I’ve been given a new identity.”
Damian still looked skeptical. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because it’s the truth. Give me one shift, and I’ll prove it to you. I’m good under pressure; I don’t panic when I have to cover two stations at once because someone didn’t show up for their shift, and I can charm even the shittiest of customers. You will never hear any complaints about me.”
Damian chuckled. “Of that, I have no doubt. A pretty girl like you can get away with murder. You’re lucky to show up when you did. One of the girls just called in sick. I’ll give you her shift, and we will take it from there.”
“What, like now?”
The owner lifted a brow. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, not at all. But I need to be at my other job by seven.”
He nodded. “Do you intend to work two jobs?”
“Not for long. I’ll quit the nightclub when I have another full-time job.”
“What do you do there?” He gave her a once-over as if suspecting she was a pole dancer or something.
“I serve drinks. The tips are good, but the noise is not. I want to quit before my hearing gets damaged.” It was partially true. The other part about a jerky boyfriend who wasn’t a boyfriend was none of Damien’s business.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll test you. And if by six you prove you’re as good as you claim to be, I’ll hire you. How long of a notice do you need to give the other place?”
“A week or two should do it.”
Franco didn’t really need her, and the other servers would be happy to pick up more hours.
The owner rose to his feet and turned to the shelving unit behind him. Pulling out a T-shirt and an apron from a neatly folded stack, he handed them to her. “You can change in the ladies room. Tyler, that’s the host, will show you Brenda’s tables—the waitress you are covering for. Grab a menu and learn it by heart. It should be a breeze for you after working in a steakhouse for a year. We serve eve
ry cocktail imaginable and carry all the major brands. The drinks menu is three times the size of the food menu, but if a customer asks for something, we most likely have it. Just write it down, and the bartender will take care of it.”
Callie tucked the garments the owner had handed her under her arm and offered him her hand. “Thank you for giving me a chance. You’re not going to regret it.”
He took her hand, covering it with his other one, but it wasn’t a come-on gesture, more like fatherly. “I hope everything works out for you, Heather. It’s a shame a young woman like you has to run and hide from some abusive asshole. If you’re half as good as you say you are, you got the job.”
CHAPTER 49: BRUNDAR
As he got dressed in the morning, Brundar checked his reflection in the mirror, relieved to see that his eyes were back to normal with only a slight purplish hue serving as a reminder of the beating he’d taken.
Having the shit pounded out of him by his brother had been oddly therapeutic. Brundar hadn’t practiced hand to hand in ages, which was a mistake, as Anandur had proven.
Several good things came out of having his face busted, the least of which was him and Anandur getting closer than they had been in years. After his brute of a brother had proven that Brundar wasn’t as invincible as he’d thought he was, the two of them had actually embraced, then had gone back to their apartment and proceeded to demolish a bottle of whiskey each, while reminiscing about the old glory days of the Guardian force.
Anandur had managed to do something extraordinary. Not only had Brundar been nowhere near the zone while fighting his brother but he had felt great about it. In the zone, he felt nothing, good or bad.
Yesterday, even the pain had been good because it had made him feel alive.
But that was the physical pain. The other kind didn’t feel good at all.
The echo of Calypso’s sobs had haunted him throughout the night. He’d hurt her for no good reason. She’d had every right to call him a liar because he was. She hadn’t done it to spite him or to hurt him, she’d done it to force the truth out of him.
Regardless of the fact that he couldn’t have given it to her, he could’ve been much more understanding and forgiving about her accusation.
Bottom line, he needed to go to her and beg for forgiveness. Even if she refused to take him back, which would be the best for both of them, he needed to atone for the way he’d behaved. Brundar wanted the memory of their time together to be something they could both cherish, untainted by how badly it had ended.
He should’ve called, but talking, especially on the phone, wasn’t his forte. He sucked at it. Besides, an apology needed to be done face to face.
Pulling out his phone he did the cowardly thing and texted her.
Can I come over this afternoon?
There was no response.
She was probably still sleeping. Or what was more likely, she was mad at him, and rightfully so.
He hadn’t gone to the club after leaving her apartment. The following day he’d spent working, then training, then having the crap beaten out of him, and later, after he and Anandur had spent some quality time with their friends Jack Daniels and Chivas, he’d gone on rotation.
Two days of radio silence.
What did he expect? That she would text him back with hearts and kisses?
He fired off another one. I want to apologize.
No response.
Fuck, that was bad.
As little as Brundar knew about females, it was a known fact that they were more forgiving than males, especially when said males were offering to grovel at their feet.
His duties calling, he had no choice but stuff the phone in his pocket and head to Kian’s office. He kept checking for messages all throughout Kian’s three-hour morning meeting with Turner, and then during lunch with two dudes who needed funds for their startup and were trying to convince Kian to invest, then back at the keep.
A little before three in the afternoon she finally answered. I was busy running around all morning. You can come anytime before my shift starts.
Busy all morning? Doing what?
Never mind. It was none of his business.
I’ll be there in an hour.
Fine. If you want to eat, bring food.
In Calypso speak, it was like telling him to go screw himself. She was making a point, informing him he didn’t deserve her making an effort for him and feeding him.
Damnation. Did he have time to stop by Gerard’s and beg the guy to make him a to-go dinner?
The restaurant wasn’t open this early, and Brundar didn’t have a membership, but he was Brundar, and very few dared to refuse him anything. Except for one green-eyed spitfire who he could lift with one finger but wouldn’t dare.
A few phone calls later, and a string of profanities in French—Gerard’s—Brundar headed for Calypso’s apartment with a fancy dinner for two packed in an insulated food carrier and a bottle of wine.
She opened the door wearing pajama pants and an old T-shirt, her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail and no shoes—her way of telling him that she didn’t give a damn.
The thing was, she looked sexier in her homebody attire than when all decked out.
“What’s all that?” She eyed the big square carrier.
“You said to bring dinner, so I did.”
“I meant burgers or Chinese.” She moved back to let him and his bulky cargo pass through.
Brundar put the carrier and the bottle of wine on top of one of the dining room’s chairs, then pulled out another for Calypso. “My lady?”
She quirked a brow but took the seat he offered.
Gerard’s crew had packed everything needed for a fancy dinner, including a tablecloth, plates, utensils, napkins, and goblets. All he had to do was to set it up.
Calypso watched as he pulled things out one after the other, doing his best to make the table look as nice as she usually did. Gerard had numbered the containers so Brundar wouldn’t mess up the serving order, but there was nothing about what was in them. Supposedly, everything the guy made was as excellent as what he’d prepared for Syssi and Kian’s wedding.
As he opened the first container, marked number one, and lifted the appetizer plate, Brundar understood why each individual serving came with its own plate and was packed separately. The artistic presentation wasn’t something Brundar could’ve ever managed.
Calypso’s eyes widened as he placed the small plate in front of her. “Where did you get this?”
He smirked. “I told you I have a cousin who’s a renowned chef.”
“Right. Another cousin.”
Brundar pulled out the second appetizer plate and sat next to Calypso. “Don’t ask me what this is because I have no clue.”
She lifted one of the three forks that came with the place settings and held it above the small stack of unidentifiable ingredients. “I’m dying to taste it, but I feel bad about ruining this work of art.”
Brundar waited until she finally poked it with her fork and took a tiny bite. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Since you told me to bring food.”
“Impossible. That was an hour ago. No one can prepare a gourmet meal like that on such short notice.”
Brundar cast her one of his stern looks. “Are you calling me a liar again?”
Calypso let her head drop, sighed, then looked up again. “I’m sorry. Calling you a liar was rude.”
She wasn’t retracting her accusation, just apologizing for calling him out on it. Still, he appreciated it. It must’ve been difficult for her to do.
“I lied about the apartment, so I deserved it. But I didn’t lie about the other things.”
“What about this?” She waved a hand over the table.
Brundar smirked. “I bullied my cousin into it. He was preparing dinner for a private party tonight, and I twisted his arm to part with some of it.”
“What is he
going to do?”
Brundar couldn’t care less. Some of those French profanities Gerard had hurled at him were quite colorful. “He has enough time to fill the shortage.”
Calypso took another small forkful but didn’t bring it up to her mouth. “Why did you leave the way you did? And more importantly, why did you come back?”
He admired her directness. No beating around the bush for this gutsy girl. The thing was, he didn’t know how to answer that. But he was going to try. She wouldn’t let him get away without at least making an effort.
“I was doing my best under the circumstances, but it wasn’t enough for you. You kept pushing for more until I snapped. I’ve never been in a relationship. I don’t know how to play this game. It’s hard to explain, but in a situation like that, when I need to calm down, the best thing for me to do is to slip into the unfeeling, cold place I call the zone. That is where I function the best. I don’t need anyone when I’m there.”
Calypso put her fork down. “So if I understand correctly what you’re trying to say, you felt threatened, retreated into your safe place, and stayed there. That’s why you didn’t call or text?”
“Right.”
“What has changed?”
“Anandur beat the shit out of me.”
Calypso gasped. “What? Why? How? Aren’t you the best?”
“I am the weapons master. Anandur is the champion of hand to hand. He challenged me, and I accepted, thinking I could best him at that too, but he proved me wrong.”
“I still don’t understand what sparring with your brother has to do with you coming back to me.”
“A wake-up call. While he was beating me up, he talked some sense into me. He made me realize that living in the zone wasn’t living. To avoid pain, I was giving up on life.”
Calypso’s eyes softened. “He is a smart man.” She chuckled in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “From your description of him, I thought he was a silly clown. But apparently, he has depth.”
