Page 98 of The Contract

She leaves me standing there in the rain, my hands aching to pull her back.

I run a hand through my soaked hair, exhaling sharply as the storm continues to rage around me.

My chest is tight, my pulse unsteady, and for the first time in a long time, I feel completely out of control.

This woman.

She’s inside me now. Beneath my skin, in my fucking head, making me want things I swore I didn’t need.

I should go inside.

I should shake this off, pour myself a drink, get my mind back where it belongs—on the merger, on Calloway, on anything but the way Elena Moreau just looked at me.

But I don’t move.

I just stand there, fists clenched, watching the door she disappeared behind, knowing that sleep will be a long, long way off tonight.

The vibration in my pocket pulls me out of the rain and into the bungalow.

I reach for my phone, swiping away the droplets still clinging to the screen. A message from Calloway.

Calloway (Group Text—Marcus & Me): Conference call—five minutes.

That was three minutes ago.

I exhale sharply, shaking off the lingering tension from the storm, from her, from everything. My clothes are soaked through, clinging uncomfortably to my skin, and the last thing I need is to sit through this call looking like I just crawled out of the Atlantic.

I head to my bathroom, peeling off the wet fabric and tossing it onto the counter. The muscles in my back protest as I scrub a towel over my skin, trying to wipe away the chill that has settleddeep inside me. But it isn’t the cold that’s gotten under my skin. It’s her.

It’s the way she looked at me when I told her about my past.

The way her hands settled on my face when she was trying to calm me down.

The way she almost let me kiss her.

I rub a hand over my face, forcing my mind to shift. Focus, Wolfe.

Sliding on a dry shirt and comfortable lounge pants, I run my fingers through my damp hair just as the conference call rings.

From the living room, I answer, and the flatscreen flickers to life.

And just like that, my mood sours because sitting next to Calloway, smug as ever, is Adrian Kingston.

Of course, he’s here.

Marcus’s face appears in another box, his usual easy expression slightly more alert. He notices Adrian too. The flicker of irritation in his gaze is subtle, but I catch it.

Calloway leans forward, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “All right, gentlemen, let’s get this squared away before the night is over.”

I settle onto the couch, gripping the remote a little tighter than necessary. I already know exactly what this is about.

And I already know I’m not going to like it.

The second Calloway clears his throat, I know exactly where this is going.

I lean back against the couch, arms stretched along the top, my posture deceptively relaxed. I’ve played this game long enough to recognize when a man is gearing up for yet another round of Adrian’s bullshit.

Sure enough, Calloway sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw before speaking.

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