After three rings, the line clicked and a very feminine voice said, “Good morning, Dominic Moretti’s phone, this is Pauline.”
Everything stopped—breathing, blinking, her heart, her ability to speak. Calli sat there at her desk, numb. His assistant was answering his personal phone. What had he done, gone straight to her place last night? Wow, Calli. Maybe this relationship was indeed too soon. Or maybe all men are like Bennett.
Recovering, she stammered, “H-hi.” Pause. “This is Callista Lindley, is Dom available?”
The sound of water running trickled through the line, and a door—a shower door by the sounds of it—closed.
Sweetly, Pauline answered, “I’m afraid he’s a little indisposed right now. Is there something I can do for you? Oh—oh, hang on one sec.” The creaky glass shower door sounded again, then she was back. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
Calli gasped, throwing a hand over her mouth. Had they really meant that little? “Can you just tell . . . Mr. Moretti”—she swallowed, no, choked on the name—“that his account has been reassigned and Jordan Shuler will be in contact to reschedule his appointments?”
“Of course.” The sound of running water faded.
Calli tapped the end button and stared at the dead phone, then threw it onto her desk, disgusted. He was showering. And Pauline answered his phone. He certainly didn’t waste any time with moving on—or maybe back—to the next piece of ass. She dropped her face into her hands. How could she have been so stupid to have fallen for a player like that?
When she had recovered from her moment of shock, she switched to the browser and pulled up a travel site to look for deals. She needed to get away. She had her sons right now, free and clear. Scrolling through, she found flights to Orlando for two hundred each. She moved the pointer to the Book Now button. Her finger hesitated over the mouse button for a second, then clicked and booked flights leaving Friday and returning in a week. Then she went to the company vacation calendar and sent a request for six days off. Two more tasks, and she’d be all set. She booked a room at the Hilton right outside of Disney, then walked down to Jordan’s, threw Dom’s folder on the desk, and recapped her conversation with the harlot Pauline.
Jordan
In Thursday’s class, Jordan finished the warm-up run—alone, without her gym partner. She picked up the workout list from Trisha’s pile and read through the partnered exercises. Dom wasn’t there either, but his friend, Joe, appeared at her side.
“Looks like we’re both partnerless today,” he said.
“It might be a good idea if we found other partners,” Jordan replied.
He motioned to the rest of the class. “I think everyone else is already paired up. Looks like you and me.”
Reluctantly, Jordan went to the equipment room and grabbed kettlebells for the work Trisha had prescribed. She started at the top of the list.
“Where’s Calli?” Joe asked.
Jordan glared at him. “After what your friend”—he didn’t deserve to be called by name—“did, she won’t be coming back to class.”
Joe’s brows dropped. How incredulous, Jordan thought. He didn’t know or didn’t understand, she couldn’t be sure which.
“Where is he, by the way?” she asked.
“He took an unexpected business trip. What did he do?” Joe air-quoted.
“He dumped her in the middle of her having to deal with her ex endangering her kids’ lives.”
“No way?!” He looked genuinely shocked.
“You didn’t know? Then he had the nerve to shack up with his admin assistant.”
“What?! Not a chance.” Joe shook his head.
“Well, when Calli called his personal phone, Pauline answered, and someone was showering in the background. You’re a lawyer, right? I think you can put two and two together.” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Let’s just work out, can we?”
Chapter 34
Calli
Calli stepped off the shuttle at the Hilton into the hot, sticky air. It felt wonderful to be in shorts at the end of January and away from all the stress she’d been under. This was her leaving it behind, her chance to not be with a man, the start of finding her new identity as a single woman and mother. Seeing her boys so happy after the stress of their father’s DUI was likewise refreshing.
Jax stopped and waited at the door, two plastic Universal Studios bags in hand, and Kent came running off the shuttle after her, carrying his wand and still wearing the Hogwarts robe that she’d splurged on for him. She still couldn’t believe she’d forked over more than two hundred dollars for a souvenir, but she would’ve paid double to see her youngest in a state this happy. It probably also helped that she’d pulled him out of school to come on this trip.
Inside, they went to the glass elevators, passing all the gardens that spilled into the lobby from the outdoors, and up to the ninth floor. Jax swiped the card to unlock the room and held the door while they entered, Kent first.
Kent hung up his new wizard’s robe—probably the only piece of clothing he’d hung up in months. Calli hid a smile. Maybe one day, he’d learn to care for all his things better. Maybe this was a sign. She could hope. Back in modern-day shorts and T-shirt, he threw himself down onto the bed and grabbed the remote. “Hey, Mom,” he called. “There’s a red light blinking on the phone.”
Calli picked it up and pressed the message button.
“Good afternoon. This is Sal from the concierge desk. Your limo to dinner will be waiting at the front door at seven for your seven-thirty reservation at Moonfish.”
The message beeped to an end, and Calli stared at the dead phone. “But we don’t have a reservation?” she questioned, confused.
Her boys also gave her a pair of puzzled looks.
“I’ll be right back.” She grabbed the room key and headed down to the concierge’s desk where she waited in line behind an older couple wearing matching white and yellow golfing attire. She smiled at the sight; it would have been so nice to have grown old with someone. At the thought, she turned and chewed on a nail, scanning the lobby that bustled with tourists returning from one amusement park or another.
“May I help you?” the gentleman behind the desk asked.
Calli whirled around. “Oh, yes.” She read the nametag. “Sal. I am in room 938, you left a message on my room phone about a limo that would be here to pick me up for a dinner reservation.”
Sal scrolled through something on his tablet, then apparently finding what he was looking for, smiled. “Yes, your driver will be waiting at 7:00 p.m. Did you need to change the time?”
She shook her head. “No. I think you may have called the wrong room. I didn’t order a limo, and I don’t have reservations.”
The concierge dropped his brow, scratching his goatee. “Funny, it says here that we have a reservation for three at Moonfish—quite a lovely seafood restaurant, might I add—at seven-thirty. And the notes say that the restaurant called to confirm it this morning around ten. The names on the reservation are Callista, Jackson, and Kent Lindley. That is your party, correct?”