out of town,” he explained smoothly. “I’d just like to leave a message for her.”
“Oh.” The secretary mellowed. “Sure, Mr…”
“Damien Winter. I was hoping to take her to lunch while I was here, but her cell phone isn’t connecting.”
His answer passed muster. “I’ll give this to Ms. Verona. Thank you, Mr. Winter.”
Well, at least he knew she still worked there. Why wouldn’t she be on the site?
He emailed Kat, saying she didn’t need to call Camille and reconfirming his demonstration there for Saturday night.
It would be quite the enjoyable weekend, once things fell into place.
For three days Cam had jumped at every electronic noise coming from her phone. Text messages, email alerts, phone calls—they all kept her on edge. No more random emails from Shawn had appeared and no new threats had surfaced. She was ready to assume the pissed-off reader was over his or her little fit and would leave her alone. Media hype in general had calmed down once Finnick announced they were doing an internal inquiry and holding accountable any responsible parties, which seemed to be blood enough for the piranhas at Midnight Entertainment .
When Kathy, the sweet front-office receptionist, brought her a phone message, her whole body cramped. Once she reconciled Kathy’s smile with her gut instinct, Cam offered a wan smile in return.
“Some man called for you, Cam. Sounded pretty sexy too.” She fluttered the phone message in between two perfectly filed, shell-pink fingernails.
Cam extended her own woefully unmanicured hand for the note. “Thanks, lady. Here’s hoping it’s my Prince Charming—or Publishers Clearing House saying I’ve won a million dollars!” They cracked up, and Kathy headed back to her desk.
Cam braced herself for the worst, then looked at the note. Her heart tripped when Damien’s name popped off the page. Friend in town. Lunch date? was the whole message, penned in precise handwriting, followed by his phone number.
She hadn’t stopped thinking about Damien, though after reviewing their night together a hundred times, awake and asleep, she’d simply concluded that the note he’d left was a courtesy so that he wouldn’t be that guy sneaking out after a one-night stand. He seemed decent enough to make the gesture.
Before she could think about it too much, she called him. Out of pure curiosity, she insisted to herself, though that bullshit was thicker than Tolstoy’s oeuvre.
“Hello?” Sexy voice indeed! Something about the airwaves dimmed the intensity of Damien’s voice—as evidenced by her underwear that hadn’t gone completely damp—but there was no denying he’d be hell on a mic.
“Damien?” Her voice hit an embarrassingly high register and she rolled her eyes. Taking a sip from her now-cold coffee, she winced and continued. “It’s Cam…from the weekend. You left a message for me?” Smooth, Verona. Very smooth.
His laugh rumbled through her speaker and pulled at her nipples. “I know who it is, sweetheart.”
Aw fuck. There went her panties. “How can I help you?”
“You can start by taking that tone out of your voice.” His words belied his jovial tone.
She snuck a look around the office. No one was within hearing range, but she was still in her real life now. “We’re not at the club anymore!”
“Does that mean all your manners are gone?” She pictured the look on his face, the expectant arched eyebrow and quirked lip, waiting for her to dig herself in deeper.
Her heavy sigh ruffled the loose papers on her desk. “Sorry.” She’d been saying that far too often the past week. Maybe she needed to surround herself with men who were a little more beta.
“Good girl.”
His words sizzled through her, burning aside the crazy thought of eschewing Doms. She just couldn’t help herself.
“Now are you ready to listen?”
Cam nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”
“I’ll let that slide since you’re at work,
“Oh.” The secretary mellowed. “Sure, Mr…”
“Damien Winter. I was hoping to take her to lunch while I was here, but her cell phone isn’t connecting.”
His answer passed muster. “I’ll give this to Ms. Verona. Thank you, Mr. Winter.”
Well, at least he knew she still worked there. Why wouldn’t she be on the site?
He emailed Kat, saying she didn’t need to call Camille and reconfirming his demonstration there for Saturday night.
It would be quite the enjoyable weekend, once things fell into place.
For three days Cam had jumped at every electronic noise coming from her phone. Text messages, email alerts, phone calls—they all kept her on edge. No more random emails from Shawn had appeared and no new threats had surfaced. She was ready to assume the pissed-off reader was over his or her little fit and would leave her alone. Media hype in general had calmed down once Finnick announced they were doing an internal inquiry and holding accountable any responsible parties, which seemed to be blood enough for the piranhas at Midnight Entertainment .
When Kathy, the sweet front-office receptionist, brought her a phone message, her whole body cramped. Once she reconciled Kathy’s smile with her gut instinct, Cam offered a wan smile in return.
“Some man called for you, Cam. Sounded pretty sexy too.” She fluttered the phone message in between two perfectly filed, shell-pink fingernails.
Cam extended her own woefully unmanicured hand for the note. “Thanks, lady. Here’s hoping it’s my Prince Charming—or Publishers Clearing House saying I’ve won a million dollars!” They cracked up, and Kathy headed back to her desk.
Cam braced herself for the worst, then looked at the note. Her heart tripped when Damien’s name popped off the page. Friend in town. Lunch date? was the whole message, penned in precise handwriting, followed by his phone number.
She hadn’t stopped thinking about Damien, though after reviewing their night together a hundred times, awake and asleep, she’d simply concluded that the note he’d left was a courtesy so that he wouldn’t be that guy sneaking out after a one-night stand. He seemed decent enough to make the gesture.
Before she could think about it too much, she called him. Out of pure curiosity, she insisted to herself, though that bullshit was thicker than Tolstoy’s oeuvre.
“Hello?” Sexy voice indeed! Something about the airwaves dimmed the intensity of Damien’s voice—as evidenced by her underwear that hadn’t gone completely damp—but there was no denying he’d be hell on a mic.
“Damien?” Her voice hit an embarrassingly high register and she rolled her eyes. Taking a sip from her now-cold coffee, she winced and continued. “It’s Cam…from the weekend. You left a message for me?” Smooth, Verona. Very smooth.
His laugh rumbled through her speaker and pulled at her nipples. “I know who it is, sweetheart.”
Aw fuck. There went her panties. “How can I help you?”
“You can start by taking that tone out of your voice.” His words belied his jovial tone.
She snuck a look around the office. No one was within hearing range, but she was still in her real life now. “We’re not at the club anymore!”
“Does that mean all your manners are gone?” She pictured the look on his face, the expectant arched eyebrow and quirked lip, waiting for her to dig herself in deeper.
Her heavy sigh ruffled the loose papers on her desk. “Sorry.” She’d been saying that far too often the past week. Maybe she needed to surround herself with men who were a little more beta.
“Good girl.”
His words sizzled through her, burning aside the crazy thought of eschewing Doms. She just couldn’t help herself.
“Now are you ready to listen?”
Cam nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”
“I’ll let that slide since you’re at work,
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