Dear Heart, I Hate You

He choked on a laugh. “Fired? No. Why would you think that?”

“To be honest, I’m surprised to see you at all, but I’m even more surprised to see you during the work week. I didn’t peg you for the type of guy who took days off to apologize to women.”

He grinned. “I’m not.”

“So you’re not going to tell me?”

My annoyance faded for a second as I stared at Cal’s profile. It was sexy. Those stupid lips were still as full and gorgeous as ever. I missed looking at his face, and I hated how much I missed those lips.

He shook his head, and it looked like he was holding back a smile. “Not yet.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m just—”

“Pouting,” he said, speaking for me.

I wanted to stay mad, but I let out a laugh instead. “Yes. I’m pouting.”

He reached across the center console and grabbed my hand, squeezing it before he brought it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to my fingers.

“I do love you, Jules. I know I should stop saying it, but I need you to know I’m serious.”

Biting my lip, I pulled my hand away and placed it back in my lap. I wanted so badly to tell him I loved him too, but I couldn’t. Not until I knew what he wanted to show me. Not until I knew what the hell was going on.

“I’m starting to believe you,” I said. When he grinned at that, I added, “A little.”

His grin only widened. “I’ll take it.”

A while later, he navigated away from the coast and through the winding roads toward Hollywood. I had a feeling he was heading toward Sunset Boulevard, but I still had no idea why.

Was he taking me to a club? Had he set something up with Ron? When we reached Sunset and he made a right, I was still no closer to an answer about where we were headed.

Finally, we pulled into an underground parking lot of one of the most well-known buildings on Sunset. I’d been in this building before, but it had been a long time. It was primarily an office building, filled with everything from entertainment agencies to real estate brokers.

“What are we doing here?” I asked as he parked the car and turned off the ignition.

Cal opened his door and hopped out. “Come on.”

He extended his hand to me and helped me from the car, but he didn’t let go, twining his fingers with mine. Instead of pulling from his grasp, I gripped his hand tighter.

When he swiped a keycard and the door to the building buzzed open, I was confused.

“How do you—?”

Cal stopped walking and turned to face me. “No questions. Just give me two minutes.”

“You’re so bossy.”

He led me toward a bank of elevators and pressed the call button. When the doors opened and we stepped inside, a flush rushed up my face at the memory of how his body pressed against mine each time we’d taken the elevator in the hotel in Boston.

Wondering if he was thinking the same thing, I slid a sideways glance at his pants and hid my smile. Yep, he was having flashbacks of his own.

The elevator dinged on the seventh floor and we stepped out, Cal leading the way as if he’d been here a hundred times before. He stopped us in front of a door marked 732 and pulled a key from his pocket. Logically, I knew what this meant, but my brain refused to put the puzzle pieces together. It just didn’t make sense.

When we stepped inside the fully furnished one-man office, he waved a hand at the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced Sunset. “Well, what do you think?”