* * *
I spend the afternoon in my room, thankful for the time to myself. Calder's gone off to take care of some “business,” though what that could possibly mean from him—a guy who's never had to work a day in his life—beats me. Maybe he hopes to break more of his father's promises.
There’s a knock on my door about an hour after I’ve retired, and for a moment I think he’s come to tease me some more. I consider pretending to be asleep, but I refuse to play the coward. Instead I run a hand through my hair, smooth the wrinkles out of my skirt, and pull open the door with a smile.
It’s not Calder. Instead, I find a tray of food waiting for me. I stick my head out and glance down the hallway, but whoever left this here has already gone. It’s funny—all this time I’ve been here I’ve only seen Calder and Chef Martin. In a house this size, I expect it would take a small army to keep things running smoothly, but instead the place feels deserted.
In the end, I decide not to eat the food. I don’t have much of an appetite, anyway. I’m too distracted.
I sink down on the bed and throw my arm across my eyes. I don't know what I'm doing here. I've only made our mess worse, and now I've played right into Calder's hands. This is not how things were supposed to go.
I can still feel his touch on my skin, feel the heat of his breath along my neck. I found Garrett attractive, but I never responded to him like this. This thing—this crazy, twisted thing—is way more intense. I feel like I'm dangling over the edge of some bottomless chasm, and that terrifies me.
The worst part is, I can’t seem to fully convince myself that Calder is a bad idea. I mean, of course he's not a good idea, but when it comes down to it, the whole situation is more complicated than that. Yes, he's not exactly boyfriend material, but I never claimed to be into him for his personality. And what do I gain from staying away from him? He's not going to change his mind about the Center because I refuse to sleep with him. And if pride played any part in my resistance before, it doesn't anymore. There's no denying my attraction, not now. He knows I want him. A part of me wants to march down to him right this minute and grab him and kiss him. And why not? A girl deserves the chance to do something crazy every once in a while.
But I'm still hoping I might find a way to wear him down on the issue of the Center. If I could get under his skin, as he's gotten under mine…
He seems to enjoy our little power games. I just need to figure out how beat him.
My cell goes off, interrupting my plotting. It's Garrett.
I debate just letting it go to voicemail, but I'm in a reckless mood.
“Hello?” I answer as neutrally as I can.
“Lils.” Garrett's voice is thick with relief. “Listen, about earlier… I was being an ass. I'm sorry.”
I don't respond.
“Look,” he rushes on. “I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean them. You know I didn't mean them. And you know how much you and the Center mean to me.”
It's a typical apology for Garrett—meant, no doubt, to soften my heart a little and play on my sympathy. A year ago, I would have eaten it up, but I know better now.
“You're allowed to turn me down,” I say carefully. “I know it wasn't exactly fair to ask you for anything. You don't owe me any favors.”
“Actually, I think I do. And it wasn't fair of me to go off on you when you're already under so much pressure. I'm sorry, Lils. I know how much this means to you. I'll help you. Of course I'll help you.”
This kind, groveling Garrett scares me more than the bitter, angry one from this morning, but beggars can't be choosers.
“All right,” I say. “Maybe the Center has a shot after all.” I pick at the corner of the fluffy white comforter. “Will you call the Center and let Dad know? He might have a game plan for you.”
“You're not at the Center?”
“No, I'm—I'm in Barberville. Pursuing a lead.”
“All the way in Barberville?”
“We're desperate,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “And on that note, I should go. I have something I need to take care of. Call Dad, okay?”
“Of course.” He pauses. “I miss you, Li—”
“Bye,” I say quickly. I hang up before he can respond and throw the phone back down on the pillow.
That could have been worse, I tell myself. He's agreed to help you. The Center might have a fighting chance now. You should be thrilled.
But if that were true, then why do I feel so uneasy?