Page 58 of Kentrell

“I’ll pull up the fuck up.”

My heart skipped. I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling to calm the storm rolling through my chest.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you can’t play hard to get.”

“Seven?”

“Seven.”

He hung up just like that. No goodbye. No follow-up.

I sat there for a minute, phone still pressed to my cheek like he might say something else.

Of course it was an unknown number.

I stood, crossed the room, and stared at my reflection from what I could make out in the streak-free window.

I looked calm. Untouched.

But I was lying to myself.

That man kissed me three days ago and I hadn’t slept right since.

I wasn’t scared of him.

I was scared of how bad I wanted him.

Scared of the fact that Mars might’ve been right—some fires weren’t meant to be put out.

Some were meant to consume.

And maybe—just maybe—I wanted to burn.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the contact I’d just saved.

Mr. Caldwell.

Not Kentrell. Not even an emoji. Just... cold, clean, and professional.

Exactly what I needed it to be.

I took a breath, steadied my nerves, and typed:

Mr. Caldwell, I actually change my mind. I can’t go to dinner with you.

Then I hit send before I could punk out.

No typing bubbles.

No reply.

Not even a “K.”

My stomach turned a slow somersault, but I squared my shoulders and turned back to the real estate contract on my monitor, determined to act unbothered. Focus, Zoe. Focus.

I read the same damn sentence twice before?—

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