Grind (Cal and Macy's Story 2)

"Did you two have a secret love affair?" she asks.

"No, nothing like that. It was a once only thing," I tell her.

I expect her to ask me more, and I'm slightly disappointed when she doesn't. That might mean she doesn't really have any interest in me other than a nice fuck, but that's one of the things that intrigues me about Macy--you just don't know what's going on inside that beautiful head of hers.

"Well, you'll always be a saint to me," she says in a voice that sounds an awful lot like deep appreciation, then she clears her throat and sounds embarrassed when she says, "you know... for helping me with this case."

"I'm glad to help," I tell her truthfully because even though when Mac approached me about this case a week ago and I didn't want a damn thing to do with it... I'm finding that I very much want to help Macy now.

Want to help her, get to know her, fuck her.

I want it all now that I've gotten a little taste.

A little preview.

With another short cough, Macy puts on her professional voice and says, "I actually called because I have some information about the case."

I'm silent, because she's switched tracks on me, and my brain is still slightly stuck on the purple dildo.

"Is it okay that I called you on your cell?" she asks quickly.

"What?" I ask dumbly, and then my mind processes... catches up. Gets back into the game. "Yeah... yeah, it's totally fine. So what information do you have?"

I hear her let out a sigh. Is that relief? "Well, I called One Night Only today--"

And my guts immediately cramp thinking of Macy making a date.

"--to cancel my membership--"

And my guts immediately relax, and my chest swells a tiny bit. She's fucking doing it. She's actually going to go celibate for me. For a guy that refuses to have sex with her until after her case is concluded. I'm frankly... amazed.

"--and the owner of One Night Only had some interesting information for me. I told him about the lawsuit and reminded him it was the same guy that had taken the photos of me. He told me that another woman had complaints about a man taking photos of her too."

"Was it Brian Merrill?" I ask, suddenly getting excited about the prospect of incriminating evidence.

"No, his name was Samuel Crane," she says, which is completely disappointing. But the tone of Macy's voice sounds almost... triumphant.

"I don't get it," I tell her flatly.

"He pulled up Samuel Crane's membership, and guess what...? It's the same guy. Brian Merrill. Same exact photo. Except this guy has his home address listed in Miami."

"What the fuck?" I say in astonishment. "Brian Merrill's an alias?"

"Or Samuel Crane is," she supplies.

I snort. "I'm betting neither one of those are his real name."

"He's a scammer," Macy says confidently.

"A grifter," I mutter. "That's the only thing that makes sense."

"So, Mr. Carson," she murmurs in a low, husky voice. "What are you going to do with this information? Because if you can hurry up and make this case go away, I can put Saint Cal back under the bathroom sink and amuse myself with the real thing."

I give a slight chuckle, but my brain is already in overdrive on how to best use this information. But I need more details first. I need to get this investigator to turn up every bit of information on this guy that he can, and then I need to figure out the best way to not only make this case go away, but how to slap him silly with it.

"I'll talk to you later, Macy," I say, and then I hang up on her. This is for the best, because I know if we continue to talk, we'll eventually get back around to sexual innuendo, and that will just drive me nuts. I'm far better served right now with getting online and doing some legal research on how to use this information against this douchebag who thinks he can get one over on my girl.

And... did I really just call her my girl?

Fuck.

Chapter 6

Janis buzzes my intercom to tell me that Mr. Russell Stokes, Esquire from Ogden, Utah is on the line. I'm expecting his call, especially after the message I left for him this morning. I timed the call so that his offices wouldn't be open, Utah being two hours behind us here in New York. I wanted to leave a very craftily constructed message for him that would practically have him begging to jump on my hook.

I simply said, "This is Cal Carson and I represent Macy Carrington in the lawsuit your client, Belinda Merrill, filed against her. Listen... my client really doesn't need this case hanging over her head, and she's authorized me to put some substantial money on the table right now if we can just make this go away. Give me a call back so we can discuss it."

I knew he'd call me back as soon as he got the message.

"Put the call through, Janis," I tell her, and then take a quick sip of my coffee.

The line rings and I answer it on the third tone, acting as if I don't know who's on the other end. "Cal Carson."

"Yes, Mr. Carson... this is Russell Stokes. I got your message about the Merrill v. Carrington case."

He sounds pompous and aloof, but he can't hide the underlying tinge of excitement I hear in his voice.

"Right," I say in an exuberant voice, and then I go an octave lower as if I'm letting him in on a big secret. "We need to put this case to rest. Miss Carrington is ready to deal if you're interested in some early money talks before we go any further."

And of course... he puts on a good bluster. "Well, I'm not sure my client would be interested. I mean... she's really hurt and devastated by your client's callous actions. She lost the love of her life over this nefarious affair. I think she might want to take this one all the way, and I know the press would have a field day with this."

I try to stifle my yawn because this clod is starting to bore me. But still, I play along. "We are well aware of the implications if this were to be drawn out in the court of public opinion. I think your client will be satisfied with the amount of zeroes that will be tacked on to the end of the offer."

Through the phone line, I swear I almost hear the sound of a cash register going ca-ching in his head. "Well, I'd be happy to entertain an offer of course. What would your client be willing to pay?"

"Sorry," I say bluntly. "But Miss Carrington wants to do this face to face. She doesn't want to have this drawn out. We're willing to fly to Utah to meet with you and your client. Just tell us when to be there."

He starts fumbling, and I can hear him rustling papers, then he screams at someone, "Jenny... get my damn calendar in here so I can set up an appointment."

I wait... he covers the mouthpiece on the phone and yells some more at his secretary, then he's back and says, "I'm free tomorrow. Will that work?"

Stifling my laugh, because come on... don't sound so desperate, I put him off just a bit. Just to make him sweat and hunger. "I'm slammed the rest of the week, but I can be there next Monday. Will that work?"

"Sure," he says hastily. "Nine AM?"

"Perfect," I tell him. "Please make sure Mrs. Merrill will be there, and of course, Miss Carrington will be there as well. I want to get full releases signed once we get this settled. I want everything handled before we leave."

And again... I almost hear him adding up the money in his head.

He's going to be in for a sad surprise when I get there though.

We iron out a few more details for the meeting before I hang up with him. I send a quick text to Macy. Can you meet me for dinner? News on case.

Yes, I know it's stupid to arrange a dinner meeting to bring her up to date on the case. I could easily just call her up right now and tell her everything the investigator has found so far, and that we are definitely going to put this case away once and for all next week, but I can't help myself.

I want to see her.

Even if I can't fuck her, I still want to see her.

See if she still has the same interest in me.

See if her celibacy is hurting.

See if I can poke further under her shroud of secrets.

Her response is quick. Your place? 7PM?

Mine is quicker. More definitive. I don't trust us to be alone. Let's meet at Onion Pie instead.

She sends me a sad face emoticon but confirms the time and place.

With that taken care of, I shoot off a quick email to Keith Marlow, the investigator who was able to find a shit-pot full of stuff on the Merrills in just a mere forty-eight hours. I want him to go to Utah with us because I have something very particular I need him to do.

I arrived at the restaurant early because I wanted to have a drink first to help me relax. I can't believe just the prospect of sitting at the same table with Macy has me wired and twitchy. I'm only half way through my rye Manhattan when I see her following the maitre'd toward our table. She reeks of cool sophistication in a silk, long-sleeve dress in bold, geometric patterns of kelly-green, white, and black. It's sexy because it hangs off one shoulder but demure that it comes below her knee, with a chunky, gold belt made of interlocking loops hanging low on her waist. Strappy, black high-heeled sandals that she totally rocks as if she were on the catwalk, and almost every man in the restaurant has his eyes on her as she saunters toward me.

I stand from the table and pull the chair next to me out for her sit. Her hair is done in a loose, wavy braid that hangs over her shoulder, and I get an amazing whiff of her shampoo as she steps in front of the chair and lowers herself while I slide it inward.