Grind (Cal and Macy's Story 2)

I make it just about ten feet when her voice calls out again, this time closer. "Cal... wait."

Turning around, I find Mac walking toward me down the hall with a worried look on her face. "What's up?" I ask, trying to sound for casual, but I know there's a hint of a growl in my tone.

"Are you pissed at me?" she asks quietly as she comes to a stop almost toe to toe with me.

"Nope."

Yes... that you even thought to take that check from Macy to hand to me.

"Pissed at someone else and taking it out on me?"

"Nope," I say again.

"You're lying," she says with narrowed eyes.

"So sue me," I quip as I turn away and head toward my office.

"Cal..." She calls my name in pleading fashion.

"Just leave it be," I call over my shoulder, and then to ease her burden, I add on, "It's not you so don't worry about it."

I can hear her huff out in frustration, but then I'm turning down another hall and she's out of earshot. I pull my phone out of my breast pocket to check it again. Still no word from Macy so as I step into my office, I quickly text her.

Just because you don't respond doesn't mean I'm not coming tonight. Don't even think about not being there.

Satisfied with my domineering ways, I tuck my phone back into my jacket and head around my desk, determined to get some productive work done before I have to leave. I no sooner set down in my chair than Janis is buzzing my phone.

"Yeah," I say tersely when I hit the speaker button.

"Camille Grant is here to see you," she says hesitantly, and then a little more quietly, "She doesn't have an appointment."

Pushing my fingers through my hair in frustration, I take a deep breath and blow it out. Every bit of me wants to tell Janis to chase Camille away, because I don't feel like dealing with her. But I also know she's nursing hurt and bruised feelings, and as much as I like to play at being an asshole sometimes, it's just not in me.

"Fine," I mutter. "Send her in."

I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, and call on a measure of patience to fill me up. I'm not in the mood to take whatever Camille will be dishing, but she doesn't deserve the ire that's welled up inside of me compliments of Macy.

"Hi," she says softly from my doorway, and my eyes open up.

As always, she's the picture of cool sophistication coupled with sensuous beauty. She's wearing a tailored, salmon-colored suit and nude heels, her long brown hair laying in soft waves over her shoulder. She really is stunning, and I wish for a moment that I could be interested in someone like her. It would make things so much easier.

I rise from my desk, and she meets me halfway across my office. Leaning in, I lightly grasp her shoulders and give her a kiss on her cheek. When I pull away, I ask with the utmost sincerity, "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she says, waving a dismissive hand, and that eases up some of the tension I had been feeling at seeing her here in my office.

Turning my back on her to walk behind my desk, because I want to maintain some distance, I motion toward my chairs. "Have a seat."

By the time I make it to my own desk chair, sit down, and turn to face Camille, she has big, fat tears sliding down her cheeks and she's looking at me like I kicked her poor, defenseless, puppy.

"What's wrong?" I ask her hesitantly, already dreading her fucking answer.

"I just screwed everything up with you," she wails, and then buries her face in her hands where she sobs with hunched, pathetic shoulders.

Christ, I don't need this.

I grit my teeth and close my eyes... take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Calling upon every gentle bone in my body to rise forth, I quietly say, "I know this must be hard on you."

She vigorously nods her head, keeping her face covered with the palms of her hands, for which I'm grateful. I don't do well with crying females. It crushes all my defenses and sometimes has me promising things that I have no business promising.

So I let her cry for a few moments. Finally, her sobs wane and she gives a tiny hiccup. Reaching into her purse with her face still lowered, she grabs some tissue. After blotting at her eyes and rubbing her nose--which is cherry red--she looks back up at me morosely. "Tell me I can fix this, Cal."

I know many men in this situation would be scrambling around for any excuse to throw out at this moment.

My job just transferred me to Siberia. I'm sorry, but long distance won't work.

I have a terminal disease. I only have a week to live, and I want to spend it with my parents.

I've just realized I'm a homosexual. Cock is the only thing that does it for me now.

I internally snicker at that last thought, because... well... never mind.

But I don't need the excuses. I've found the truth is usually better, so I lay it out. "I'm sorry, Camille, but I've moved on."

Her eyes go round with surprise and her mouth gapes slightly. "Moved on?"

I nod. "Yes. I'm seeing someone."

Well, actually, I'm just screwing someone. She's only into me for the sex, but hey... I think I can reach her sometime this millennium.

"I don't understand," she says as her eyes narrow at me. "We didn't break up very long ago."

"I know," I say with a huff of resignation as I rub the back of my neck while leaning back in my chair. "This is new. I haven't been seeing her long."

"So it can't be very serious," she says dismissively as she tucks the damp tissue paper back into her purse. Her eyes are surprisingly dry now, and her chin has a stubborn set to it. "I'd like for you to consider perhaps giving me another chance."

Okay, so much for the truth. This isn't turning out to be the easy rebuff I thought it would.

Standing from my chair, I walk back around my desk and take the seat next to her. I angle my body to face her, cross one leg casually over the other, and drum my fingers on the armrest.

"Camille... I'm with someone else," I say as I look directly into her eyes. I say it clearly... emphatically... making no bones about it.

She swallows... her eyes flickering between my own. "Are you in love with her?"

"God... no," I blurt out quickly, and then immediately analyze the truth of my words. They came out so fast... unbidden... almost with free will. Yeah... I'm good. I don't love Macy. That's the truth.

I'm completely in lust with her, totally fascinated by her secrets, and I yearn for something more.

But this is not love.

Not yet, and sadly, what I've come to know about Macy, probably not ever.

Still... I'm not ready to walk away from her. Not sure if I ever will be. But I know that there will probably come a day when this is going to end, and that's probably going to be the day that Macy decides she's had enough of me.

It makes me wonder if I'm a fool or just a hopeless romantic.

Maybe I'm just a horny man that knows fantastic sex when he has it.

Who knows, but one thing I'm sure about... there's nothing left for the woman sitting next to me.

"Look, Camille," I say kindly as I reach out to squeeze her shoulder companionably. "What we had--"

I don't make it any further because before I know it, Camille is launching herself out of her chair and throwing herself at me... on me... straddling my lap while I try to figure out what the fuck is going on.

My hands come to her hips and I try to push her off, even as she scrambles to get closer to me, her hands pulling at the lapels of my suit jacket, her mouth trying to descend on to mine.

"Jesus, Camille," I snarl as I try to dislodge her grip without hurting her.

"Am I interrupting something?" I hear from the doorway, and I cringe when I hear Macy's voice. I have no clue how long she's been standing there, but I turn slowly to look at her.

I quickly stand up from the chair, dumping Camille off my lap. I do grab onto her arms to keep her from falling to the carpet, and once I know she's steady on her feet, I release my hold on her and step backward. This, of course, brings me right up against the chair I was just sitting on, but I don't let that stand in my way of freedom. I push it back several feet and follow right along to put some more space between us.

Camille's chest is heaving, and her face is flushed with anger. Her eyes even have this crazy Samuel L. Jackson look in them, and I expect her to pounce at me again.

I want to tell Macy that she's not interrupting anything, and in fact, her presence is welcome. I want to walk over to her, kiss her hard, shove that stupid check back at her, and then kiss her hard again. I want to do all of this while Camille watches so she knows that I am without a doubt with someone else.

Instead, Camille turns to Macy and snaps, "Yes, we're busy if you don't mind."

"No, we're not busy," I snap in response, my eyes narrowed on Camille for a moment before I turn away and walk toward Macy. I hope she sees the relief in my eyes that she's here, but all I get back from her is a calculated and aloof look.

Reaching a hand out, I lace my fingers with hers and pull her further into my office. "I'm so glad you're here," I whisper to her.