First message
The phone rang at 12:17 a.m.
Romeo watched the red light pulse against the darkened desk before answering. The call center had emptied hours ago, leaving only fluorescent hum, rain against the windows, and distant voices from the few operators still working the late shift. This was what the place was built for: late-night callers looking for a helping hand after dark, a warm voice to keep them company while they took care of themselves.
“Romeo speaking.”
Silence.
Then the faint click of someone shifting the receiver in their hand.
“Well, hello, sweetheart.”
A floorboard creaked somewhere beyond the line, followed by a quiet, embarrassed laugh.
“You sound nervous.”
The connection crackled softly.
“Don’t be.”
Romeo leaned back, settling comfortably into his chair.
“You called me. That means some part of you already knows what you want.”
The caller seemed to start answering, then thought better of it.
“Go somewhere private. Get comfortable. Then come back to me.”
A moment later, a door clicked shut. The background noise disappeared.
“That’s better.”
Romeo lowered his voice, letting the words roll slowly through the receiver.
“You don’t have to say the perfect thing. Just settle in, put that phone somewhere comfortable, and let me do the talking.”
A quiet amusement colored his voice.
“I’d much rather hear those pretty little noises you make when I say something you like.”
His fingers traced the edge of the desk.
“So relax, baby.”