"How soon?" he asked
She hesitated. There was no graceful way to say this. "Six to seven months?" Naomi gave him a tiny smile.
Callum leaned back in his chair. He looked genuinely unsettled. He looked away for a moment. Heathcliffe and Associates had handled delicate matters for his family for years.
Dorian was not someone sensible people antagonized casually. Especially not when his firm already held privileged access to information that could damage more than one Sterling. "I must speak to my father about this."
"Of course. I understand," Naomi said.
Callum gave a small nod, as though the matter had been settled. "Like I said, clear out your space. I’m driving you home."
"I’m still working," she said carefully. "And I would like to maintain my job, Callum."
"Surely you know the family you plan on marrying into."
Callum glanced around the restaurant. His eyes moved over the low lighting, neatly dressed tables, cutlery and the quiet weekday crowd.
Then his mouth tightened.
"A chef working at a..." He paused, looking around again. "What is this... cheap restaurant?"
Cheap?
Naomi almost laughed. She truly would have if she weren’t still trying very hard to behave like a reasonable adult.
The restaurant was not cheap. It was not Michelin-starred or filled with billionaires who needed reservations six months in advance, but cheap was ridiculous.
Normal people saved up to eat here. Apparently, normal people were invisible to Callum Sterling. Naomi pressed her lips together and allowed him to continue.
"It doesn’t exactly look good on my family."
There was so much wrong with that sentence that Naomi didn’t know where to begin. Her job did not look good on his family?
Her actual job? The one she had trained for? The one that paid her bills? She smiled sweetly instead. "As soon as I find a more expensive establishment, I will change jobs."
Callum looked at her. Naomi kept her face innocent. If he caught the sarcasm, he did not acknowledge it.
Honestly, that was disappointing. Dorian would have caught it. Probably thrown something worse back at her.
She immediately frowned at herself. Why was she comparing them? There was nothing to compare.
One man was her accidental husband. The other was her arranged fiancé.
Both were rich. Both were arrogant. Apparently she had a type, and the type was men who needed to learn humility.
Callum rose from his chair and adjusted his jacket. "I will get back to you."
Naomi nodded. "Alright."
"Make sure you make yourself available."
Her eyebrow twitched. She inhaled. She needed this arrangement. She needed the debt cleared. This was not the time to explain to Callum Sterling that ordinary human beings generally checked whether someone was free before appearing at their apartment or workplace.
Then again... Maybe there was a diplomatic way to suggest it.
"How about I give you my phone number?" she offered. "So you can call ahead."
Like normal people do. She wisely kept that last part inside her head.
Callum seemed to consider the suggestion. Naomi did not wait for permission. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her chef jacket and pulled out a pen.
"Here."
Callum glanced toward the table, probably expecting her to find a napkin or receipt. Naomi did neither.
She reached for his hand. He stiffened. Naomi barely noticed. She turned his palm upward and started writing.
Callum’s entire face changed. Horror might have been too dramatic a word. "What are you doing?"
"Giving you my number."
Callum looked down at her bent head. Naomi continued writing.
"There." She capped the pen and released him.
Callum slowly lifted his hand. A ten-digit number was written across his palm in blue ink.
"Just... call me."
His expression made it clear that nobody had written anything on his body ever. "Do you not have a card?" he asked.
"A business card?"
"Yes."
"No."
He frowned. Naomi gestured toward his palm.
"That works."
Eventually, Callum lowered his hand.
"Have a good night."
"You too... sir."
The word slipped out before she could stop it. She nearly bowed. Something about him demanded absurd levels of formality.
Maybe the fact that he carried himself like someone was supposed to announce him before he entered rooms.
Naomi caught herself before she completed the movement and immediately felt ridiculous. "Good night."
He gave her one final look, then turned and walked away. Naomi watched him leave. Even his walk was arrogant.
She shook her head. Just how rich was the man exactly that the world had to bend for his convenience? She watched him disappear through the restaurant doors. Her shoulders dropped.
God.
She needed a drink. Unfortunately, she was working. Rich people and their drama.
*****
The moment Naomi stepped out of the taxi, she was immediately swallowed by camera flashes. Light exploded directly into her eyes.
She stumbled back. "What the fuck?!" she yelped.
The taxi had barely pulled away before people crowded around her. Phones were shoved toward her face.
Questions came from every direction.
"Mrs. Heathcliffe, is it true you married Mr. Heathcliffe for money?"
"What?"
"Do you plan on going through with the divorce?"
"Did you trick Mr. Heathcliffe into marrying you?"
"Were you aware of his previous marriages?"
Naomi looked from one reporter to another. How exactly was she supposed to answer fifteen questions at the same time?
The reporters had completely blocked the entrance to her apartment building. Naomi looked toward the door.
There was no way through. She tried moving left. They moved with her. She lifted her handbag and covered her face before the camera flashes permanently damaged her eyesight.
"Mrs. Heathcliffe!"
"Naomi!"
"Is your marriage legitimate?"
"Were you paid to marry him?"
"Did you know Mr. Heathcliffe was recently divorced?"
Naomi’s exhaustion snapped. "Get the hell away from me!" she yelled. She tried pushing through again, but another camera appeared inches from her face. Her pulse started racing.
It was frightening. How had they even found out where she lived? Yesterday they didn’t even know her name.
Naomi tightened her grip around her bag. "Please, just let me get inside."