Page 24 of Sugar

“Hi, is Easton Wells available?”

“He’s in a meeting right now. Can I take a message, or is this an urgent matter?”

“A message is fine. This is Madeline Baker from…”

From Greer’s kitchen? From his hand on my lower back or wrapped around my wrist?

“From Coastal,” I finished. I rattled off my number, and the woman said he would be in contact.

I ended the call and flopped back onto the bed with a sigh.

I’d known it was unlikely that he would be sitting around with all the free time in the world to take calls the instant they came in, but I was still anxious to get it over with.

Hopefully, I hear back in a few days. Otherwise, I’m going to have to annoy his office with daily calls while Joel badgers me with messages multiple times per day.

I’d barely finished my thought when my phone started ringing from a number I didn’t recognize.

I touched the screen to connect the call, hopeful it was Easton but expecting spam about my car’s extended warranty or a tax bill that could only be paid with a gift card. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Maddie.”

A shiver went down my spine at the gravelly voice. As good as it sounded in person, there was something intimate about hearing it right in my ear.

That was my only excuse for why my greeting came out weak. “Mr. Wells?”

He didn’t tell me to call him by his first name. He did, however, make half my brain cells fritz out when his voice lowered and became somehow rougher. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No, I just didn’t think I’d hear from you right away. Your office said you were in a meeting.”

I assumed he’d say that was their go-to excuse to screen calls. Or maybe that the meeting had just wrapped.

What I didn’t expect was for him to say, “I am. I stepped out to return your call.” That was enough to throw me even before he added, “I was wondering when I would hear from you.”

The remaining half of my brain cells dissipated in an instant.

Poof.

Gone.

“W-what?” I stammered out.

“I figured when your editor saw us talking yesterday, you would draw the short straw and get stuck with interviewing me.”

Oh.

Duh.

That makes more sense than…

Yeah.

Ignoring the conclusion my lust had jumped to—and the disappointment swirling in my belly—I let out a soft laugh. “Technically, it was eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”

“It was unavoidable then.”

Lying in bed, giggling at his self-deprecating banter. This is not the way I do things.

I sat up, using the change in physical position to mentally shift into some semblance of professionalism. “As you’ve obviously gathered, The Coastal Chronicle wants to do a profile on you for our Alumni Edition. I understand this is short notice, so it can be done over the phone. Or I could email you the questions?—”