"You better get out of here," I say. "I'm calling the police."
But it's not Garrett's voice that answers me—it's Calder's.
"Lily. Can I talk to you?"
I scramble out of bed. What’s he doing here?
“Just a minute!” I say. I look frantically around the room for something—anything—that isn't the ratty t-shirt I'm currently wearing. I can’t believe he would just show up at my apartment. Doesn’t he have bigger things to worry about? I haven’t heard from him in two months. Did my texts last night really trigger some change of heart?
I should probably send him away. I’m not sure I’m ready for this conversation yet. I’m not even sure what I want to happen, what I want him to say. I was just starting to resign myself to the idea that I’d never see or hear from him again. He can’t just show up like this. Not without giving me the chance to mentally prepare.
I find a pair of jeans draped over a chair and tug them on. I pull off my t-shirt, then grab a black tank top out of my top drawer and put that on in its place. But where's my brush? I scrabble around on my desk for something to pull through my hair, but in the end I just tug the tangled strands back and tie them in a ponytail.
By the time I make it to the door, I'm breathless and flushed.
"Good morning," I say with more energy than I feel. I look up at the man who's caused me so much angst over the last few months.
Damn. I don't know how it's possible, but he's even sexier than I remember. He's let his hair get a little longer, the scruff a little thicker, and it's a good look for him. His eyes seem both darker and brighter all at once, and I feel that familiar tugging in my belly. I reach out and prop my hand on the door frame, trying to look more confident and steadier than I feel.
"Lily," he says. His voice is smooth as silk and thick as velvet, and I imagine that I can feel it on my very skin.
"Yes?" My own voice is high and thin.
"May I come in?"
I move wordlessly aside. He steps inside, brushing against me as I pass. My heart flutters in my chest. I can't believe that after all these months I still react so strongly and so suddenly to his nearness.
My apartment only has two rooms: the kitchen/living room and the bedroom. I know better than to lead him into my bedroom, so I usher him into the kitchen.
"Would you like anything? Coffee?" I begin fiddling with my crappy coffeemaker. My hands are shaking as I peel off a new filter. I feel Calder's eyes on my back the entire time.
"Is it all right that I'm here?" he says quietly.
I look up in surprise.
"I mean, you didn't answer my text," he says. "I don't want to intrude. If you don't want me here, just say the word, and I'll leave."
I stare at him for a long moment, shocked by the genuine concern I see in his features.
"You're not intruding.” I ram a few buttons on the coffeemaker. "But I would like to know why you're here in the first place."
He runs his hand through his hair. "I just…” He sighs. "I just wanted to explain."
The coffeemaker starts burbling, and I turn to face him. I'm not sure whether I should sit or stand, so I lean against the back of the chair.
"What do you need to explain?"
His gaze on me is dark, intense. "Everything."
Oh. This is definitely a conversation where I need to sit. I pull out the chair and sink down. My feet brush against his beneath the table, and he doesn't move away.
"I'll admit, I was surprised to get your text yesterday. Pleasantly surprised. I didn't expect to hear from you ever again."
I tug at the hem of my tank top. "I just wanted you to know that I'd taken your advice."
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I'm glad you texted." His thumb slides across the back of my hand. "I've been thinking…”
He trails off, and for a brief moment I think he's expecting me to finish his sentence, to know exactly what he's here to say. I don't dare take a guess.
"I want to talk about the money. And why I lied."
He tightens his grip on my fingers.
"My father…" His eyes search my face. "My father was a good man, in many ways, as I'm sure you know. He loved me and my sister. He gave a lot of money to a lot of worthy causes." He sighs. "But he had a number of problems, too. He was too trusting, too gullible. He made a number of terrible investments and allowed himself to be caught up in a couple of financial disasters. He did his best to cover it up, of course, and he hid most of it from me and Louisa, too. We didn't realize the extent of his financial problems until after he died."
He looks so sad, so emotionally exhausted, that I feel like my heart is going to burst. I squeeze his fingers encouragingly. He gives a small smile.
"And so I've spent the last several months trying to set things right. I've laid off most of our family's employees—except the lawyers, of course, though they’ll soon be gone, too. And I've kept Martin as long as I could, since he's been with us so long. I've been working with an auction house to catalog a lot of our things, as well as a realtor to list the house inconspicuously."
The coffeemaker dings behind me, but I ignore it.
"So you have to sell everything?"
His fingers jerk through his hair again. "Most of it, if I want to cover all his debts. It's—it's a mess. I've been elbow-deep in this for months now." He glances up at me. "Which is why I was so pleased when you showed up and offered a most delightful distraction."
I don't know what to say to this, either, so I just look down at our interlinked hands.
"I shouldn't have misled you," he says. "It was never my intention. But I got caught up in it all. I wanted to keep you around. You wanted the money, and that was all I had to entice you to play along with me. It was wrong, I know, but I was a desperate man. You were the first bright spot in my life after months of dealing with wills and debts and the legal muddle my father left. I'm sorry."
I frown. His apology seems genuine, but I'm still not sure what to make of all this.
"I understand what you're saying," I tell him, "but I still can't figure out why you're here now."
He pulls his hand away from mine. Suddenly he seems awkward, too formal.
“First of all,” he says, “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. What happened with Garrett? Did he hurt you?”
I don’t want to get into this, not after he’s laid out so many of the other things that formerly stood between us. But I don’t want to lie to him, either.