Page 47 of Untethered Heart
Lee’s been a big help. He told me communication is everything. We can never move forward if we don’t address what’s holding us back. He said it with a self-satisfied smirk that died the moment he saw Claire’s arched eyebrow. She whispered something in his ear that had his cheeks blushing, and I decided that was my cue to leave for work early that night.
I stare up at the high-rise of Heart Assets. Claire offered to join me this morning while I went to see Caleb, mostly for moral support, but she said while she waited for me, she’d go visit her Mum at work, who’s just up the street at the Callahan Hotel.
My stomach is whirling with nerves. I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start. Why did he show up at my house last weekend? Why did he pay for the repairs at Claire’s salon? How are we meant to act like nothing’s happened between us when it’s all I can think about?
“I’ll come find you at the hotel when I’m done,” I say, chewing on my lip.
“You got this,” Claire says, placing both hands on my shoulders. “Act confident, even if you don’t feel it. That’s what the shoes are for.”
I look down at my feet and the white strappy wedges I’m wearing. I guess the shoesdomake me feel a little better. I nod and kiss Claire’s cheek before I step up to the glass doors and into the building.
An older gentleman is seated behind a desk, looking up with a smile. “Good morning, miss.”
I rest my fingertips against the counter, leaning forward slightly, and catch the nametag pinned to his jacket.
“Good morning, Desmond. I was hoping to see Caleb Heart.” My pulse spikes chaotically just from saying his name. “He isn’t expecting me, though.”
“Not a problem. I’ll call up to his assistant and see if he’s available.” He smiles and reaches for his phone. “May I ask who’s enquiring?”
“Lex Morgan.”
He nods his head once, then pushes a few buttons. I worry my lip, the anticipation nearly choking me.
“Hi, Riley. I have a Miss Lex Morgan to see Mr Heart, if he’s available.”
After a few seconds, Desmond puts the phone back in its holder. “You can head straight up to the twelfth floor. Riley will greet you up there.”
His words are encouraging, prompting me to move, but I still hesitate for a second.
“The elevators are just to your right.” Okay, maybe I hesitate for longer than a second.
I force a smile—grimace may be a more accurate description, judging by the concern on Desmond’s face—and somehow put one foot in front of the other.
The elevator opens as soon as I push the call button. I can see my finger trembling as I reach out and press number twelve.
I shake out my hand and my head, banishing the unease. The ride up is both too short and too long. The doors open, and I’m immediately greeted by the sight of a young guy leaning his chin on upturned palms, a manic grin on his tanned face.
I look at the overhead numbers in the lift, making sure I’ve stopped at the twelfth floor and not an alternate dimension.
“You must be Lex.” He looks far too excited by that prospect.
My feet move forward on autopilot. “I-I don’t have an appointment.”
The guy’s black hair falls in thick locks over the side of his face.
He chuckles. “I get the feeling that even if Mr Heart was busy, your name would have cleared his schedule, anyway.”
As if the words summon him, a door in front of me opens with a clawing force and there stands Caleb Heart.
Tailored black slacks mould to his strong thighs. His white button-up shirt is rolled up his forearms, which should be illegal as far as I’m concerned. Thick, veiny forearms are far too provocative for ten in the morning.
A deep red vest and matching tie highlight his broad chest and tapered waist. I’m drooling and I haven’t even gotten to his face yet.
“Lex.” At the adored sigh of my name, my eyes are called upward.
Caleb’s chestnut waves are perfectly styled off his face, as per usual. I can just imagine him stepping out of the shower in the morning and running his fingers through the tendrils. And there they would stay, meticulously put together and effortlessly unthought of, all the same.
He steps forward with a hand outstretched, beckoning me closer. I meet him halfway, letting my hand reach for his.
