NautiCal (Forever Wilde 8)

“It sounds like you have a good plan,” I said. “And I’m glad you changed your mind about Singapore.”

“Yeah, me too. My sister reminded me about their views on gay sex. I’m not sure I could have lived there a few years and not have been able to hook up with random guys whenever I wanted to.”

I opened my mouth to tell him it was still plenty easy to find hookups in Singapore since the laws weren’t really enforced, but then I closed it again. I wanted Cal to hook up with a random stranger about as much as those Rodeo Drive shop ladies wanted to help Julia Roberts pick out fancy clothes. Not at all. Aggressively not.

Just talking to him on the phone made me think of his Pretty Woman references.

I cleared my throat. “Right, so I’ll arrange for you to meet with someone from the foundation and you can take it from there.”

“That sounds great. I really appreciate the help. Thank you, Worth.”

I wanted him to go back to calling me Jon. I wanted him to be the one person in the world who had special rights to call me whatever the hell he wanted.

After we got off the call, I sat back and closed my eyes.

I wanted him, full stop.

Because it was crystal clear to me now that I was in love with him.

I thought about connecting Cal with the director of the JAC Foundation. Erik Burns was tall, broad, and beautiful. And he was gay. And single.

I blew out a breath. Did I really want to help Cal learn how to apply for grants so he’d have to spend the next several months trying to convince the powers that be that he was a good bet?

No. What I really wanted to do was much, much more.

What’s stopping you?

Right. What was stopping me? My stubborn pride? What was the point of pride when I didn’t have the one thing I wanted most in the world?

Realizing that I wanted to make Cal happy above all else in my life was immensely freeing. Suddenly, I didn’t care if he was out to take all of my money. He could have it. If my money made him happy, it was his.

Why had I never felt this way before about anyone other than my siblings? This was the difference between what I’d had with Mason, and Russ before that, and the tiniest promise of what I could have with Calgary Wilde.

I hopped up and strode out of my office to hunt down my assistant. We had work to do.

23

Cal

I couldn’t remember the last time I wore a suit. If only Erik had arranged the meeting over lunch, preferably at a pizza place or diner, I could have worn normal clothes. As it was, I’d had to buy a shirt and belt in the airport shop after realizing I’d forgotten to pack them. I’d been so obsessed with not forgetting the suit itself, I’d forgotten several other essentials. My credit card was still gasping for breath from that little jaunt.

The lobby of the JAC building on West Monroe Street was crisp and cool. The windows dimmed the early autumn sun but still allowed an unfettered view of late commuters hustling by. Chicago seemed to have a very different vibe from Dallas, which wasn’t surprising, and I hoped I’d have more time later today to explore a little bit.

After the security desk confirmed my identity and issued me credentials, they directed me to a bank of elevators in a recessed alcove. I hit the button for the twenty-fourth floor and tried not to hold my breath with nerves. I wasn’t sure if I’d run into Worth here or not. My meeting was with the director of the JAC Foundation, but my credentials showed I was visiting Spinnaker Capital. Did Spinnaker have their offices in the same building? Was Worth even in town right now? Was he away on an important business trip? What would I do or say if I saw him?

Don’t kid yourself—you’d climb him like a tree and beg for mercy.

I squeezed my eyes closed and reminded myself about professionalism and how it didn’t include climbing up men’s bodies. Within seconds, the elevator doors were sliding open with a muffled ding to reveal a sleek lobby decorated with colorful splashes of abstract art.

I cleared my throat and rubbed my sweaty palms together. “Um, I’m here to see…” I swallowed and tried again. “I’m Cal Wilde here to see Erik Burns, please. He should be expecting me.”

As soon as I said my name, the receptionist’s face softened from professional to friendly. “Welcome, Mr. Wilde. We’ve been expecting you.” She stood up and came around her station, gesturing with one hand toward a pair of glass double doors. “Right this way to the conference room. How was your flight?”