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There’s something thrilling being with Cal. Like he went from talk of danger to dragging me around like he has no cares. But I know he does that because there’s a reckless streak in him. Which isn’t good. Is it?

I try and focus on that when he pulls me to a stop. “Here we are.”

“Where’s here?”

“You want to shop on my dime. Then in here, you have free rein.”

We’re in front of a nondescript shop front, with windows that have a soaped-over look. No name. Nothing.

He presses a buzzer and a supermodel answers.

She probably isn’t a supermodel, but she’s tall, statuesque, thin with fantastic boobs, and a face that could stop traffic and earn her a million bucks.

“Mr. Murphy. Lucie, come in.”

I shoot him a dirty look, but he smirks.

And then… my jaw drops. It’s beyond insane. There are exactly two racks in the store, with about six dresses each on them. A red curved leather sofa takes up the center of the store, and there’s a big red curtain that drapes on the floor opposite.

On the far side is a slender counter with an iPad set up and some jewelry on display, a stunning pair of heels on a pedestal, and a designer bag so ridiculously ornate and small it has to be worth a fortune.

Then I see the name in red cursive.

This designer is impossibly high-end. The clothes and accessories are sought after and an appointment at their secret location is booked months ahead.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

How the fuck did Callahan pull this off?

What am I thinking? It’s Callahan.

It really doesn’t take long to look at the dresses, and I pretty much fall in love with them all. Callahan sits on the sofa, sipping a whiskey that Mistress Bombshell—my name for her—brings out for him. She leaves the bottle, and he stays put on the couch, watching me.

She then models a whole bunch of other outfits and coats, and as she does that, he keeps glancing at me.

And then he seems to pick the ones I like.

“What do you want to try on, Lucie?”

I swallow. “I…”

I’m not used to this. My nerves are razor-edged.

When I went shopping with his brother, it was for a revenge spree.

This time it’s under his gaze, and I almost want to go back to his checklist spree where I follow him around.

“She’ll have them all in the dressing room,” he says, “along with the other things you put in there.”

“Very good, Mr. Murphy.”

As she disappears, I hiss, “Do you know how much everything costs in here?”

“Very much so, including buying out the space for the evening. She’ll make herself scarce in the back when the room’s ready. And you… you’ll tell me all about lunch today.”

Oh, shit. A wave of heat surges up inside of me. “It was just lunch. I had a salad.”

“Yummy,” he mutters in disgust. “I bet that was your choice.”