Stop it.
He took a deep breath, put his shoulders back, and stepped out of the car. When he opened James’s door, he kept his gaze straight ahead, not looking right at James and sure as fuck not staring at his own feet like a scolded kid. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
James stopped when he was out of the car, and he stood just behind the door, making it impossible for Cal to close it without hitting him. Which, Cal had to admit, was mildly tempting.
And in his hands was that damned envelope.
“Callum.” There was a hint of last night’s James in his voice. Subdued, a little uncertain. “I, um, wanted to apologise.”
“You did earlier,” Cal growled. “When you gave me the money.”
“Right. Yes. I did.” James exhaled. “But I didn’t realise what I was implying when I gave it to you. I didn’t . . . that wasn’t my intention at all.”
Cal narrowed his eyes and looked right at James. “You paid me for a night of sex. What was your intention if not to pay me for—”
“I didn’t mean it that way at all.” James shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry. I felt like I’d taken advantage of you last night. Like I’d abused my position, and I didn’t know how else . . .” He trailed off, lowering his gaze and biting his lip. “I’m sorry, Callum. That’s really all I can say. I never intended to make you feel like a whore, and I’m sorry for that.”
The anger in Cal slowly simmered down, and it was replaced by a flurry of emotions he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Much as he’d known last night had been a mistake—one apparently worth apologising for with cash—part of him wanted to believe James hadn’t thought it was a mistake after all. That Cal really had done something or been something that James needed, not something he regretted.
That complicated things. A lot. Cal wanted to believe last night had been a good thing, but if it was, then what? Did they dare do it again? Did he dare hope they would?
Avoiding James’s eyes, he cleared his throat. “Will you be needing me any more tonight, sir?” Immediately, he cringed.
Right. That was the best question to ask right then.
“No, you can go.” James stepped out of the way of the door. “Good night, Callum.”
Cal shut the door, wondering when it had become so fucking heavy, and heard himself repeat what he’d said on the way out of James’s bedroom last night: “Good night, sir.”
It took a few days for their routine to settle, and it was a full week before Cal had his head together enough to think about writing. He read instead. Crammed his head full of other people’s words, hoping that might squeeze out all those restless thoughts, maybe even crush them.
At least he and James had gone back to behaving professionally. The other night was over. They’d fucked. It had been bloody amazing. But now they both needed to save face. Right?
Right.
He focused on being a good driver. They didn’t talk. He listened, half-disinterested, to James’s conversations on the phone, opened the door for him, closed it behind him, kept the car spotless and available. On his writing, he hit a productive phase about a week later, actually getting some work done for once, with most of it being good quality. So much so that he declined an invite from a couple friends from uni to hang out in London so he could get more work done. The thesis was progressing well, too. He had a solid outline and a decent twenty-five thousand words. He’d be done in a month or two if he managed to stay focused.
Not long after they’d returned to their normal routine, Cal felt a shift in James. Something like an impending full moon or turning tide. A kind of tension and restlessness. Cal knew what that meant, so James calling him on the intercom one Saturday night didn’t come as a big surprise.
“Could you get me into London tonight?”
“Yes, sir. When?”
“Half an hour? I’m going to Market Garden.”
And his heart sank.
What did you think he’d do? He’s been fucking guys from that place ever since his marriage went south. You think you have some magical healing cock that will get him away from that place so he’ll . . . what? Fuck you and then go find a boyfriend or something?
“I’ll be there, sir.”
Hesitation. “I know you will be, Callum. Thank you.”
I know you’ll be there for me.
Cal closed his eyes and gently banged his forehead against the wall. Why are you doing this to yourself, James? Why the hell do you pay these guys? Why don’t you date and flirt and fuck another banker and be fucking happy?
He didn’t get it. James’s tastes couldn’t be so outlandish that he couldn’t find a consenting partner for it? Cal really struggled imagining James getting into something so freaky, so horrible, that he couldn’t find it in the regular dating pool.
Hell, I’d do it. Let me make you happy, James.
No, Cal. He’s your boss.