Descent (Black Heart Romance)

I watch as he slides the matte black business card across the table. “Meet me here at seven o’clock sharp.”

It feels like I’m getting away with something, but even knowing he doesn’t deserve my time or my honesty, I don’t feel better about it. I take the card and slide it into my clutch. “All right.”

I wait for him to get up and go now that I’ve agreed to meet him, but he lingers. I swallow and take another nervous sip of my drink.

“I’m trusting your word, Hallie. I’m hesitant to do that so soon, but I’ll take a chance this time. If you prove to me that was the wrong call, I won’t do it again.”

His words send a shiver down my spine. They clarify expectations, promise repercussions. My stomach flutters nervously, and for the craziest moment, I feel compelled to apologize and beg forgiveness for trying to trick him.

Frowning at the odd impulse, I shake it off.

My chest is tightening and it’s getting a little harder to breathe. I need to step outside and get some fresh air, but I don’t want to do it while he’s still here. I don’t want to risk him following me.

Desperate for him to leave, I nod quickly. “I understand.”

He nods slowly, then stands. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of Charity’s wedding.”

I feel like I’m on the brink of an anxiety attack so that feels impossible, but I nod hurriedly anyway, hoping he’ll get the message that I want him to get lost.

He does.

I watch with a skittering heart and constricted lungs as he walks over to the girl in purple and leans down to murmur something in his ear.

I’m horrified to realize I completely forgot about her. At the very least, I should have asked to make sure she wasn’t his girlfriend. Watching now, it doesn’t seem like she is. There’s still no noticeable affection between them. He doesn’t give her a kiss goodbye, she doesn’t even give him a hug, just nods and smiles. Then, with a last lingering look at me, Calvin leaves.

Chapter Nine

Hallie

As six bleeds into seven, and seven into eight, I sketch, sketch, sketch.

I decided that burying myself in work would be the best thing. Work pays my bills, but it also provides an escape from my troubles by allowing me to focus on lines and shading rather than… well, Calvin Cutler.

Marie—my cat—hops up on my drawing table and brushes her bushy white tail right in my face before trying to step on my paper.

I grab her and snuggle her against my chest before her claws can destroy two hours of hard work. “I don’t think so, little girl.”

I pet her head and she nuzzles me, placing her paw over my wrist as if giving it a hug.

I smile and give her a warm hug, then I push back my chair and bend down to put her on the floor. “Just give me a few more minutes, okay? I’m almost finished, then I’ll feed you dinner. Are you hungry?”

She sticks her tail in the air and prances away, not deigning to respond since I made her get off my drawing table.

I’m a little relieved checking the clock and seeing it’s after eight. I needed to keep busy during the time when I should have been heading to the steakhouse Calvin told me to meet him at, but now that it’s too late to show up even if I wanted to—and no big, scary men with syringes have shown up at my door—I can finally relax.

It’s over. It’s done. He knows now I didn’t show up, and I no longer have to wrestle with myself over the ethicality of it all. I’ve never met someone so fixated on the truth before. People tell each other polite little lies all the time, but with Calvin’s emphasis on honesty, I feel ickier about it than I normally would.

It doesn’t matter now.

I go to the kitchen and dig a can of food out of the cabinet for Marie. Now that I’m not displeasing her, she comes over and rubs up against my leg.

“Which one do you want?” I ask, holding up a green can and a purple one. “Chicken or fish?” I bend down to let her investigate each can and she paws at the purple one. “Chicken it is,” I tell her, standing back up to open the can.

As I’m dishing the food into her bowl, I think I hear a noise at the door.

I freeze, and so does my heart. I wait for a knock, but there isn’t one.

I drop the spoon and hurry over to the door to make sure it’s locked. When he said all that stuff about the men and syringes, I told myself he wouldn’t really resort to such drastic—and illegal—measures, but who know? Maybe he would.