The Miami Sofitel (12/?)
Title: The Miami Sofitel (12/?)
Author: SomewhereApart
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Characters: Eric/Calleigh
Rating: NC17
Summary: After the events of "The Deluca Motel," Calliegh gives Eric an upgrade.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven
Calleigh woke feeling off-kilter. Uneven, and still raw, and embarrassed. Apparently once she’d cracked the lid on her bottled emotions, she couldn’t get the seal back on tight, and that was just unacceptable. It had been unacceptable to wake in the middle of the night with a tight fist of anxiety around her heart, even more unacceptable to let it make her wake Eric up to…what? Make her feel better? Ease her pain? Service her needs? And then, God, the capper on it all, pleading with him to always be there, asking him to move in with her. It was mortifying. It was weak, and silly, and far too open for a relationship that had only been romantic for, what? Three days now. And she’d sobbed on him like a basket case, then roused him for comfort sex.
Now he was spooned behind her, tracing his fingers along her arm in slow, tender strokes, and they probably should have been comforting, but they weren’t. She couldn’t decide quite what they were, couldn’t get her bearings anymore when he was around. And he was always around. When she woke, when she showered, at work, at night. She hadn’t felt stifled until just this moment, but now she felt like she was suffocating. Like someone had sealed the room off without telling her, and she was on her last few minutes of oxygen. Light-headed, over-warm, claustrophobic. She needed to get up, needed to get out of bed, needed a few minutes alone to snap out of this and pull herself together.
If he hadn’t already figured out she was awake, the dead giveaway came when she sat up, rubbing her hands over her face and yawning. He reached out, stroked his fingers down her bare back, and murmured a sleepy “g’morning,” but Calleigh’s only response was a quiet “yeah,” before she peeled the covers back and slipped out of bed, thankful for the thick curtains that kept the room in near-darkness.
She heard him say her name again, questioning, right before she shut the bathroom door behind her and flipped on the light, blinking against the harsh brightness.
She beelined for the shower and cranked the water to scalding, stepping in and easing herself gingerly under the spray. Maybe the heat would melt away the relentless anxiety. She shouldn’t feel this way. Logically, she knew that. She knew that letting someone in shouldn’t make her feel so ridiculously exposed, that needing someone shouldn’t make her feel like running. But she couldn’t remember a time when she’d needed so fiercely, when she’d let someone in so completely. It wasn’t just the tear-fest. The sex had been achingly, horribly, beautifully intimate. Too intimate. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet, not even with Eric.
Maybe this had all been too soon. Maybe five nights had been too long. Two nights, maybe three, would have been better. Or maybe she should have just booked him into the Comfort Inn and stayed at her own place. They still could have talked about his parents, still could have talked about taking the next step together, but they wouldn’t have been in such a bubble. Wouldn’t have been cocooned in their luxury hotel room with the big bed and the whirlpool jets and the opportunities to fall into each other over and over again like the real world didn’t exist, like nothing mattered but how good they could make each other feel. Maybe she should sleep at home tonight.
Maybe she should stop thinking about maybes.
She reached for the shampoo just as the bathroom door cracked open, and she cursed herself for not locking it. She’d come in here to get away, to be alone. She heard the water running in the sink, heard the clatter as he fumbled his toothbrush, and ducked her head around the curtain. “Eric… do you have to do that right now?”
He paused, toothpaste poised over the bristles, and looked at her. Something was up, and he knew it, and she hated that. Hated that he could read her so well right now. Figuring if he couldn’t see her then he couldn’t see through her, she disappeared behind the curtain again. “No,” he sighed, and she heard the toothpaste tube drop to the counter with a thunk. ”No, I guess I don’t.”
The bathroom door clicked shut a moment later and she was alone again. She spent the rest of her shower stewing, and as a result she was no less irritable when she emerged, minty-fresh and towel-clad, from the bathroom.
Eric was reclining on the bed, watching her as she moved silently to the closet. Did he have to study her every move like that?
“Can I brush my teeth now?” he asked, a hint of irritation edging his voice.
That he was irritated when she’d done nothing more than wake up without sunshine, smiles, and kisses grated on her, and her response came out bitchier than she’d meant: “Do whatever you want.”
She heard his slow exhale from across the room as she slipped into underwear, and ignored it. If they were both keyed up, this would not end well. Better to just leave it alone. Maybe she could slip out while he showered, and apologize later when she’d gotten coffee and breakfast and breathing space.
But no, apparently Eric wanted to talk. “Is this about last night?”
Hooking her bra into place, she shook her head and yanked slacks off a hanger. “I don’t want to talk about last night, Eric.”
“I knew you’d change your mind in the morning, Cal,” he assured, clearly trying to diffuse the situation, but not particularly succeeding. He thought this was just about that? “It’s really not a big deal; I’ll check into another hotel after tonight.”
“This isn’t about that.”
“Well, at least you’re acknowledging that this is about something,” he muttered softly, and that just pissed her off.
“I never denied that-You know what? I don’t want to have this conversation.” Pants on, zipped, buttoned.
“No, of course you don’t,” he grumbled, and she heard him push off the bed, finally, as she reached for her last clean shirt. “I’m going to shower. You go ahead and… do this.”
Calleigh paused, hand still on the hanger, and listened to the bathroom door shut before shaking her head and yanking the shirt free. What the hell was that supposed to mean, anyway? ‘Do this.’ Do what? Be in a bad mood? She was allowed to wake up in a bad mood and not want to share it with him; not everything was his damned business. Dating him didn’t make it his right to know every thought in her head, and if she wanted to deal with something on her own, she had every right to.
She shrugged into her shirt and reached for her deodorant, his words still ringing in her head. You go ahead and do this. Like she was some irrational female, flying off the handle. She was Calleigh Duquense. She was strong, she was smart, and most of all, she was private. She needed that. She needed some degree of space or she couldn’t keep her life together the way she liked it.
She hadn’t realized how irritated she really was until she had already made her way across the room and shoved open the bathroom door. “I’m sorry, I just-“ She took a deep breath, shook her head. “Do what exactly?”
He turned his back on her to spit out his toothpaste, then reached for a towel and slung it around his waist as he turned to lean against the counter. “What are you talking about?”
“You said I could ‘go ahead and do this,” she reminded. “Do what?”
“Wall up. Shut me out because you ‘don’t want to have this conversation.’ You wanna be pissed at me, fine. Be pissed at me, but don’t expect me to just stand there and smile pleasantly while you do.”
“I’m not mad at you!” That probably wasn’t very convincing when she was standing there, hands on her hips, glaring at him with her shirt still unbuttoned. But it was true. She wasn’t really mad at him.
“So who are you mad at then? Yourself?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was mad at anybody, Eric.”
“Really? Because you sound pretty mad.”
“Okay, you know what? I’m done with this conversation. If I wanted to pick a fight, I’d call Jake,” she muttered, heading back into the bedroom as she buttoned her shirt. She didn’t realize quite how close she’d hit the mark until she looked up and found him waiting by the bathroom door, looking sucker-punched and angry and hurt. “What?”
“You know what.”
She rolled her eyes, hard, stalking to the nightstand for her watch. “Oh save it, Eric. Don’t pull the jealousy crap with me. In the entire year we were together, I never, never let Jake get even half as intimate with me as you were last night, so just don’t.”
“Oh, that’s what this is about. The intimacy,” he surmised, a little too pleased with himself for her tastes. “You let someone in, got too close, and now you’re pissed about it.”
Bull’s-eye. She dropped her eyes to her watch, latched it fiercely, and told him simply, “No.”
“Okay, now you save it. Don’t lie to me; I can see right through it.” She pressed her lips tight and flared an irritated breath through her nostrils. “See? That, right there. That means I’m right.”
“Fine! You’re right! Be right, Eric, if it makes you happy.”
“You think it makes me happy that letting me in makes you cranky?” he questioned, and something in her snapped.
“Cranky??” she shot back, ready to rumble now.
“No, shut up, I’m not done.” That he’d actually told her to shut up surprised her enough that she complied-for the moment, anyway. “Letting someone in is what you do in a relationship, Calleigh. It’s what happens when you get involved, and you know that. That’s the risk you take, and two days ago, you were willing to take it. Hell, last night you were.”
“Last night was different. I was hurting last night.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed with a little shake of his head. “Join the club.”
That threw her, set her off-kilter enough that she nearly wobbled as she slipped her feet into black pumps. “What?”
“I said ‘join the club,’ Calleigh. You don’t rule the market on pain. You've had a long few months. I get that. I know it's been hard, and I don't mean to belittle what you’re going through, but I just found out everything I’ve ever known about myself and my family was a lie. So excuse me if this Great Wall of Calleigh you've decided to suddenly put up pisses me off. You’re not the only one who needed last night, and you’re not the only one who isn’t used to being that close."
“I didn’t… I…” Calleigh felt a pang of guilt, which mixed with the other roiling emotions in her gut and just made her feel even worse. She simply hadn’t thought of that. They’d gotten so caught up in the sex and the new love that she’d almost forgotten that his world was falling apart around him. Just one more reason this hotel haven had been a bad idea for them.
They stood there, staring at each other. Eric with his hands on his hips now, Calleigh with hers crossed tightly across her chest. She wanted to tell him something, something comforting, something that would make this better, but she couldn’t find the words. All she could find to say was, “I don’t think I should stay here tonight.”
He scoffed, looked incredibly hurt, and Calleigh couldn’t make her brain work enough to backpedal. He’d been there when she needed him, and now she couldn’t work up the words to be there for him, and it felt wretched. But he mustered up all his hurt, balled it together and shot it back at her with one retort: “I thought you couldn’t sleep without me. Isn’t that what you said?”
Calleigh went cold. He hadn’t. There was no way that he had just thrown her sleepless nights back in her face, no way that he’d used the intimacy she’d given him as a weapon.
“Oh, that is it,” she bit quietly, stalking toward the door and feeling like he’d just taken the heart she’d so freely given him and let it fall to the floor to shatter.
“Wait, Calleigh-“ He caught up to her as she twisted open one of the double doors, grabbing her around the bicep. His other hand slapped the door shut again.
“Get your hand off me,” she ordered. His grip was solid, but not bruising. He was impeding her, not forcing her, but she needed out. Right now. Before the lump of grief in the back of her throat made it any further. That Eric of all people would be the one who used her emotions against her…
“I’m sorry,” he insisted, but he didn’t let go.
“Get your hand off me,” she repeated, trying to wrench away from him his time. She expected him to either let go or tighten his grip, but he did neither. Just followed her movement and cupped this other hand to her shoulder.
“Hey, no - listen to me. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her gently, but she was pretty sure it was to reassure her more than anything else. “That was out of line.”
“You’re damn right it was,” she hissed, rolling her shoulders to buck his hand and reaching for the door again. “I need to go to work.”
“You’ve got plenty of time, Cal.” She did. He was right, but that wasn’t the point.
“I need space, Eric,” she told him, finally, deflating slightly and wondering if telling him that an twenty minutes ago could have spared them this. “Right now, this morning, today… I need space. I need you to give me some space.”
He hesitated for a moment, then finally released her arms with a quiet, “Fine.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, wrenching the door open and feeling wretched and moody and on the verge of tears as she headed to the coffee table to scoop up her purse.
She was barely halfway there before he followed, calling out to her again, “Wait!”
She turned, shook her head, and offered him a pleading look. “Eric, don’t.”
He looked for a second like he was wrestling with something, and then he just exhaled, defeated, and told her, “I love you.”
Calleigh pressed a hand over the heart that felt bruised and raw, and pressed her lips together hard for a moment. “I know,” she told him finally, knowing it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I have to go.”
She didn’t wait long enough for him to protest again, just grabbed her purse and hightailed it out of the room. It wasn’t until she was in the elevator that she realized her hair was still wet, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. She couldn’t go back in that room, though, not right now. She’d have to drive all the way back to Bal Harbour to finish getting ready, which meant she’d be late for work.
Blinking back tears, she leaned against the wall of the elevator and tipped her head back, as if gravity could keep her tear ducts from spilling over. One fight. One little fight, and she felt this way. Felt nauseous and flushed, and like she couldn’t suck in oxygen.
Suddenly she saw the logic in everything - all her reasons to stay just friends, her carefully constructed walls, even the IAB no-fraternization rule. How was she supposed to work with him today? What if they got a call out together? For a crazy half-second she considered calling out of work entirely, but that was ridiculous. She never missed work, and she wouldn’t miss it over this. She needed a breather, though. Needed time to get her head together. Which meant she needed to make a phone call.
She fumbled her phone out of her purse, dialed the familiar number. It picked up after one ring. “Horatio, it’s Calleigh. I’m going to be a little late today…”
Author: SomewhereApart
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Characters: Eric/Calleigh
Rating: NC17
Summary: After the events of "The Deluca Motel," Calliegh gives Eric an upgrade.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven
Calleigh woke feeling off-kilter. Uneven, and still raw, and embarrassed. Apparently once she’d cracked the lid on her bottled emotions, she couldn’t get the seal back on tight, and that was just unacceptable. It had been unacceptable to wake in the middle of the night with a tight fist of anxiety around her heart, even more unacceptable to let it make her wake Eric up to…what? Make her feel better? Ease her pain? Service her needs? And then, God, the capper on it all, pleading with him to always be there, asking him to move in with her. It was mortifying. It was weak, and silly, and far too open for a relationship that had only been romantic for, what? Three days now. And she’d sobbed on him like a basket case, then roused him for comfort sex.
Now he was spooned behind her, tracing his fingers along her arm in slow, tender strokes, and they probably should have been comforting, but they weren’t. She couldn’t decide quite what they were, couldn’t get her bearings anymore when he was around. And he was always around. When she woke, when she showered, at work, at night. She hadn’t felt stifled until just this moment, but now she felt like she was suffocating. Like someone had sealed the room off without telling her, and she was on her last few minutes of oxygen. Light-headed, over-warm, claustrophobic. She needed to get up, needed to get out of bed, needed a few minutes alone to snap out of this and pull herself together.
If he hadn’t already figured out she was awake, the dead giveaway came when she sat up, rubbing her hands over her face and yawning. He reached out, stroked his fingers down her bare back, and murmured a sleepy “g’morning,” but Calleigh’s only response was a quiet “yeah,” before she peeled the covers back and slipped out of bed, thankful for the thick curtains that kept the room in near-darkness.
She heard him say her name again, questioning, right before she shut the bathroom door behind her and flipped on the light, blinking against the harsh brightness.
She beelined for the shower and cranked the water to scalding, stepping in and easing herself gingerly under the spray. Maybe the heat would melt away the relentless anxiety. She shouldn’t feel this way. Logically, she knew that. She knew that letting someone in shouldn’t make her feel so ridiculously exposed, that needing someone shouldn’t make her feel like running. But she couldn’t remember a time when she’d needed so fiercely, when she’d let someone in so completely. It wasn’t just the tear-fest. The sex had been achingly, horribly, beautifully intimate. Too intimate. She wasn’t ready for that, not yet, not even with Eric.
Maybe this had all been too soon. Maybe five nights had been too long. Two nights, maybe three, would have been better. Or maybe she should have just booked him into the Comfort Inn and stayed at her own place. They still could have talked about his parents, still could have talked about taking the next step together, but they wouldn’t have been in such a bubble. Wouldn’t have been cocooned in their luxury hotel room with the big bed and the whirlpool jets and the opportunities to fall into each other over and over again like the real world didn’t exist, like nothing mattered but how good they could make each other feel. Maybe she should sleep at home tonight.
Maybe she should stop thinking about maybes.
She reached for the shampoo just as the bathroom door cracked open, and she cursed herself for not locking it. She’d come in here to get away, to be alone. She heard the water running in the sink, heard the clatter as he fumbled his toothbrush, and ducked her head around the curtain. “Eric… do you have to do that right now?”
He paused, toothpaste poised over the bristles, and looked at her. Something was up, and he knew it, and she hated that. Hated that he could read her so well right now. Figuring if he couldn’t see her then he couldn’t see through her, she disappeared behind the curtain again. “No,” he sighed, and she heard the toothpaste tube drop to the counter with a thunk. ”No, I guess I don’t.”
The bathroom door clicked shut a moment later and she was alone again. She spent the rest of her shower stewing, and as a result she was no less irritable when she emerged, minty-fresh and towel-clad, from the bathroom.
Eric was reclining on the bed, watching her as she moved silently to the closet. Did he have to study her every move like that?
“Can I brush my teeth now?” he asked, a hint of irritation edging his voice.
That he was irritated when she’d done nothing more than wake up without sunshine, smiles, and kisses grated on her, and her response came out bitchier than she’d meant: “Do whatever you want.”
She heard his slow exhale from across the room as she slipped into underwear, and ignored it. If they were both keyed up, this would not end well. Better to just leave it alone. Maybe she could slip out while he showered, and apologize later when she’d gotten coffee and breakfast and breathing space.
But no, apparently Eric wanted to talk. “Is this about last night?”
Hooking her bra into place, she shook her head and yanked slacks off a hanger. “I don’t want to talk about last night, Eric.”
“I knew you’d change your mind in the morning, Cal,” he assured, clearly trying to diffuse the situation, but not particularly succeeding. He thought this was just about that? “It’s really not a big deal; I’ll check into another hotel after tonight.”
“This isn’t about that.”
“Well, at least you’re acknowledging that this is about something,” he muttered softly, and that just pissed her off.
“I never denied that-You know what? I don’t want to have this conversation.” Pants on, zipped, buttoned.
“No, of course you don’t,” he grumbled, and she heard him push off the bed, finally, as she reached for her last clean shirt. “I’m going to shower. You go ahead and… do this.”
Calleigh paused, hand still on the hanger, and listened to the bathroom door shut before shaking her head and yanking the shirt free. What the hell was that supposed to mean, anyway? ‘Do this.’ Do what? Be in a bad mood? She was allowed to wake up in a bad mood and not want to share it with him; not everything was his damned business. Dating him didn’t make it his right to know every thought in her head, and if she wanted to deal with something on her own, she had every right to.
She shrugged into her shirt and reached for her deodorant, his words still ringing in her head. You go ahead and do this. Like she was some irrational female, flying off the handle. She was Calleigh Duquense. She was strong, she was smart, and most of all, she was private. She needed that. She needed some degree of space or she couldn’t keep her life together the way she liked it.
She hadn’t realized how irritated she really was until she had already made her way across the room and shoved open the bathroom door. “I’m sorry, I just-“ She took a deep breath, shook her head. “Do what exactly?”
He turned his back on her to spit out his toothpaste, then reached for a towel and slung it around his waist as he turned to lean against the counter. “What are you talking about?”
“You said I could ‘go ahead and do this,” she reminded. “Do what?”
“Wall up. Shut me out because you ‘don’t want to have this conversation.’ You wanna be pissed at me, fine. Be pissed at me, but don’t expect me to just stand there and smile pleasantly while you do.”
“I’m not mad at you!” That probably wasn’t very convincing when she was standing there, hands on her hips, glaring at him with her shirt still unbuttoned. But it was true. She wasn’t really mad at him.
“So who are you mad at then? Yourself?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was mad at anybody, Eric.”
“Really? Because you sound pretty mad.”
“Okay, you know what? I’m done with this conversation. If I wanted to pick a fight, I’d call Jake,” she muttered, heading back into the bedroom as she buttoned her shirt. She didn’t realize quite how close she’d hit the mark until she looked up and found him waiting by the bathroom door, looking sucker-punched and angry and hurt. “What?”
“You know what.”
She rolled her eyes, hard, stalking to the nightstand for her watch. “Oh save it, Eric. Don’t pull the jealousy crap with me. In the entire year we were together, I never, never let Jake get even half as intimate with me as you were last night, so just don’t.”
“Oh, that’s what this is about. The intimacy,” he surmised, a little too pleased with himself for her tastes. “You let someone in, got too close, and now you’re pissed about it.”
Bull’s-eye. She dropped her eyes to her watch, latched it fiercely, and told him simply, “No.”
“Okay, now you save it. Don’t lie to me; I can see right through it.” She pressed her lips tight and flared an irritated breath through her nostrils. “See? That, right there. That means I’m right.”
“Fine! You’re right! Be right, Eric, if it makes you happy.”
“You think it makes me happy that letting me in makes you cranky?” he questioned, and something in her snapped.
“Cranky??” she shot back, ready to rumble now.
“No, shut up, I’m not done.” That he’d actually told her to shut up surprised her enough that she complied-for the moment, anyway. “Letting someone in is what you do in a relationship, Calleigh. It’s what happens when you get involved, and you know that. That’s the risk you take, and two days ago, you were willing to take it. Hell, last night you were.”
“Last night was different. I was hurting last night.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed with a little shake of his head. “Join the club.”
That threw her, set her off-kilter enough that she nearly wobbled as she slipped her feet into black pumps. “What?”
“I said ‘join the club,’ Calleigh. You don’t rule the market on pain. You've had a long few months. I get that. I know it's been hard, and I don't mean to belittle what you’re going through, but I just found out everything I’ve ever known about myself and my family was a lie. So excuse me if this Great Wall of Calleigh you've decided to suddenly put up pisses me off. You’re not the only one who needed last night, and you’re not the only one who isn’t used to being that close."
“I didn’t… I…” Calleigh felt a pang of guilt, which mixed with the other roiling emotions in her gut and just made her feel even worse. She simply hadn’t thought of that. They’d gotten so caught up in the sex and the new love that she’d almost forgotten that his world was falling apart around him. Just one more reason this hotel haven had been a bad idea for them.
They stood there, staring at each other. Eric with his hands on his hips now, Calleigh with hers crossed tightly across her chest. She wanted to tell him something, something comforting, something that would make this better, but she couldn’t find the words. All she could find to say was, “I don’t think I should stay here tonight.”
He scoffed, looked incredibly hurt, and Calleigh couldn’t make her brain work enough to backpedal. He’d been there when she needed him, and now she couldn’t work up the words to be there for him, and it felt wretched. But he mustered up all his hurt, balled it together and shot it back at her with one retort: “I thought you couldn’t sleep without me. Isn’t that what you said?”
Calleigh went cold. He hadn’t. There was no way that he had just thrown her sleepless nights back in her face, no way that he’d used the intimacy she’d given him as a weapon.
“Oh, that is it,” she bit quietly, stalking toward the door and feeling like he’d just taken the heart she’d so freely given him and let it fall to the floor to shatter.
“Wait, Calleigh-“ He caught up to her as she twisted open one of the double doors, grabbing her around the bicep. His other hand slapped the door shut again.
“Get your hand off me,” she ordered. His grip was solid, but not bruising. He was impeding her, not forcing her, but she needed out. Right now. Before the lump of grief in the back of her throat made it any further. That Eric of all people would be the one who used her emotions against her…
“I’m sorry,” he insisted, but he didn’t let go.
“Get your hand off me,” she repeated, trying to wrench away from him his time. She expected him to either let go or tighten his grip, but he did neither. Just followed her movement and cupped this other hand to her shoulder.
“Hey, no - listen to me. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her gently, but she was pretty sure it was to reassure her more than anything else. “That was out of line.”
“You’re damn right it was,” she hissed, rolling her shoulders to buck his hand and reaching for the door again. “I need to go to work.”
“You’ve got plenty of time, Cal.” She did. He was right, but that wasn’t the point.
“I need space, Eric,” she told him, finally, deflating slightly and wondering if telling him that an twenty minutes ago could have spared them this. “Right now, this morning, today… I need space. I need you to give me some space.”
He hesitated for a moment, then finally released her arms with a quiet, “Fine.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, wrenching the door open and feeling wretched and moody and on the verge of tears as she headed to the coffee table to scoop up her purse.
She was barely halfway there before he followed, calling out to her again, “Wait!”
She turned, shook her head, and offered him a pleading look. “Eric, don’t.”
He looked for a second like he was wrestling with something, and then he just exhaled, defeated, and told her, “I love you.”
Calleigh pressed a hand over the heart that felt bruised and raw, and pressed her lips together hard for a moment. “I know,” she told him finally, knowing it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I have to go.”
She didn’t wait long enough for him to protest again, just grabbed her purse and hightailed it out of the room. It wasn’t until she was in the elevator that she realized her hair was still wet, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. She couldn’t go back in that room, though, not right now. She’d have to drive all the way back to Bal Harbour to finish getting ready, which meant she’d be late for work.
Blinking back tears, she leaned against the wall of the elevator and tipped her head back, as if gravity could keep her tear ducts from spilling over. One fight. One little fight, and she felt this way. Felt nauseous and flushed, and like she couldn’t suck in oxygen.
Suddenly she saw the logic in everything - all her reasons to stay just friends, her carefully constructed walls, even the IAB no-fraternization rule. How was she supposed to work with him today? What if they got a call out together? For a crazy half-second she considered calling out of work entirely, but that was ridiculous. She never missed work, and she wouldn’t miss it over this. She needed a breather, though. Needed time to get her head together. Which meant she needed to make a phone call.
She fumbled her phone out of her purse, dialed the familiar number. It picked up after one ring. “Horatio, it’s Calleigh. I’m going to be a little late today…”