She needed to get out of here, go home and hide under the covers for a while. She’d opened herself up to Cal, and he’d seen too much. Monica didn’t feel vulnerable baring her body, but she’d just revealed a piece of her soul, and that frightened her.
First she dried her hair, then rubbed at the faint mascara smudges beneath her eyes. She grabbed the robe hanging next to the door and took a deep whiff. Cal. The lemon shower gel mixed with his woodsy scent. She shrugged into it and cinched the belt.
She was going to march into that bedroom and get firm with him. She needed to go home, back to her life, where she didn’t get banged doggie-style in her office, where she didn’t share her deepest secrets. With her head high, she opened the bathroom door.
But then she saw him, lying in the middle of the deep red sheets, holding an enormous piece of chocolate cake and two forks. And he was still buck-ass naked.
That lopsided grin melted her determination. Every single bit of it.
He patted the space next to him. “I’ll hold the cake, you run and jump.” He lifted the plate in the air and nodded encouragingly.
Letting out a laugh, Monica ran four feet and belly flopped onto the bed. He was correct yet again. Soft and inviting, the mattress cradled her. Like a marshmallow. She felt as if she might sink right down into it.
“See, what’d I tell you?” he asked.
“You’re annoyingly cocky. If I admit you’re right, you’ll become insufferable.”
“I’d never be insufferable. I’m far too charming.”
“See? Cocky.” She took the fork he offered and cut a tiny piece of cake. Cal didn’t take his eyes from her mouth as she ate it. “Oh God. This is so good.”
“I told you so. I’m always right. It should get boring, but it never does.” He crossed the space dividing them and licked the corner of her mouth. “You missed a crumb. And I have an idea about this cake. But first, you’ll have to take off the robe.”
Chapter 17
The next four weeks passed by in a blur. Monica hadn’t heard a word from Allie. And it bothered her. She didn’t feel good about the way they’d left things. Monica had every right to be angry at Allie’s constant interference, but she could have handled things differently. Somehow. She could have kept a hold on her temper, for starters.
At the office, Monica worked nonstop on the gala, shored up donors and sponsors, and tackled every crisis that popped up. She had two run-ins with Marcus Stanford, reiterating her position on his wife’s charity, and explained, for the millionth time, why the staff weren’t there to wait on him, type his letters, or photocopy his shit. But she said it nicely and with a smile.
Monica also spent a part of her days avoiding Ryan McMillan. He texted every afternoon, called each morning—which she declined—and sent gifts. Right now, the break room contained Belgian chocolates, flowers, and mini-muffin baskets. Ignoring him wasn’t working. She needed to have the talk. Eventually. Maybe after the gala, when things calmed down.
With everything else going on, Monica hadn’t done any work with the international grants. She’d pretty much given up her goals of changing the foundation’s agenda. Maybe in another year or two, but probably not. Still, every once in a while, Monica would take out the folder and read over the research she’d compiled. Then she’d chastise herself for wasting time and shove it back in the drawer.
On a happier note, after only three days in town, Jules had wandered into the office and volunteered her time. Apparently, talking Cal’s ear off while he replaced an exhaust system wasn’t as thrilling as she’d hoped it would be. Monica immediately put her to work on the silent auction.
Cal’s sister had the vocabulary of a truck driver and an opinion on everything, and she freely shared both. Jules’s clothes still rated a nine on the skank scale, but she’d toned down her makeup and removed the extensions from her hair. They started a routine of eating lunch together, and Monica grew fonder of her by the minute.
Jules had made herself at home in Allie’s mansion. She loved Allie’s fussing—weird, but true—thought Trevor was a god, and played with the twins every afternoon.
“Do you know what your cheeky little nephew, Zack, did?” she asked, lounging in Monica’s guest chair. Today, Jules had packed her boobs into a short white dress that had to be at least one size too tight, and stomped around in a pair of monster heels. “He took my phone while I wasn’t looking and added this farting app. So every time my phone rang that day, it sounded quite rude. The boys thought it was hilarious.”
Monica smiled. “Yeah, you gotta watch Zack. He’s the sneaky one.”
“They miss you.” Jules cast her eyes to the window, sipped on her iced coffee, and failed to appear nonchalant. “You could stop by the house, you know. Take an evening swim or a stroll around the garden.”
“Don’t even,” Monica said. “You know Allie and I aren’t speaking.”
“Which is rubbish, if you want my opinion.”
Monica started tapping on her keyboard. “I don’t. When you fix your relationship with your parents, I’ll take your advice. Until then—”
“Right, get back to work. I’m here for free, you know. It’s not like I’m getting anything out of this.”
Monica glanced up as Jules tromped to the door. “Actually, I’m sending your lawyer a letter, telling him how helpful you’ve been. He’s going to pass it along to the judge.”
Jules turned. “Really?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Cal put you up to this?”
“No. And by the way, are you coming to the villa tonight?” A couple nights a week, Jules ate dinner with them. Cal enjoyed his sister’s company. They teased each other mercilessly. It made Monica miss Allie, just a smidge. Before Monica had taken the job at the foundation, their relationship had finally been in a good place. Monica wished they could go back to those days.
Jules sighed dramatically. “No. It’s spaghetti night at the Blake house, and I promised the twins I’d be there. Thomas says he can stuff four meatballs in his mouth at once. We’ll see.” She left the office, slamming the door behind her.
As soon as Jules left, Monica began plowing through her to-do list like a woman possessed. In the last few weeks, her life had been divided in half. During the day, she was all business, but she no longer stayed late, and she didn’t work on weekends. Once six o’clock rolled around, Monica blew through the office door…and straight into Cal’s arms. Now, she devoted her nights to pleasure.
They’d eat dinner on the patio, then make love in the pool…and the living room, the kitchen, the foyer. And every night she’d lay in his bed, engulfed in his arms, listening to him talk about his travels.
“What about Egypt?”
“Rode a camel to see the pyramids. I was…twelve, maybe? Camels are disgusting animals. Give me a Mercedes Gullwing any day.”
“Great Wall of China?”
“I’ve seen it. But do you know what’s really fascinating? The Shaolin monastery in Dengfeng, and the nearby martial arts school. Seeing these vast demonstrations, masses of children going through their motions, like a choreographed dance.”
She’d asked him if he’d ever hit the clubs on Ibiza or partied on the beaches in Barcelona.
“When I was younger. That gets old after a while. Temples, ruins, talking to people in the marketplaces—much more interesting.”
“Favorite place in Africa?”
Cal remained quiet for a beat. “Safaris are marvelous. Sleeping in a tree-house suite, watching the animals in their habitat was amazing.”
“What about the poverty?”
“Awful. The conditions in some of the countries are deplorable. No sanitation, no clean water. It’s heartbreaking. That’s not what you want to hear though, is it? You want to hear the good stories, the exciting places.”
Monica rolled over to face him. “No, that’s not all I want to hear. I know what conditions are like in developing countries, Cal. I may not travel, but I can read.” She propped herself up on one elbow. “They need medicine, doctors, more clinics.”