Calloway // Michael Gray x Reader - Peaky Blinders Fanfic

Chapter 41

Calloway

"Calloway?"

I'm sat on Michael's desk, legs swinging gently when Tommy's voice makes me freeze. Michael stills also, his pen hovering over the page where he works, face darkened in concentration.

I swallow. "Yes?" I call back.

Tommy comes to the door, eyebrows raised. He stares at us for just a moment before speaking. "Phone's for you."

I frown. "For me?" I can't think of anybody who would think to call the Shelby office looking for me.

"The bank," is all Tommy offers as explanation, before lighting his cigarette and leaning against the doorway.

Sensing he rather wants to have a conversation with Michael in my absence, I leave the room and head for the phone. But their voices reach me as I walk down the corridor.

"Why did John see you leaving the bathroom together?" Tommy says.

Michael clears his throat. "Ever heard of bloody cubicles?"

Tommy pauses. "This is the office, Michael, not a public fucking toilet. There aren't any cubicles here."

I'm suddenly very glad for the excuse to be absent when I reach the phone, and pull the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

"Calloway." George's voice floods the line, relief evident. "How are you?"

I bite my lip guiltily. "I'll be back at work soon, I promise."

"No, no, don't worry about that," he adds in a rush. "Mr Shelby made it very clear... Please don't give him the impression we're rushing you at all."

"Okay."

"No, it's just that your father called."

My stomach sinks. Shit. "What did he say?"

"Well, that he couldn't reach you at home. He seemed rather concerned."

I place a hand to my forehead. Between Tommy and my father, poor George might be on his way to an early grave. "What did you tell him?"

"That I'd have you call him at once. He's staying in Birmingham, he did give me the number for his hotel... Just a tick..."

"Oh no," I mumble.

"Ah, here it is."

George recounts to me the number while I jot it down, then thank him and hang up. I stare at the piece of paper in my hands, dreading the phone call. But still I dial, asking the operator for his hotel and room. Michael appears in the doorway as the line clicks, his arms folded across his chest and face creased in concern.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad," I say weakly.

Michael freezes.

"Where the bloody hell have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you for a week. There's been no answer at your flat, the bank won't tell me a thing. There better not be a boy involved," he adds warningly.

His words ring loud, reverberating from the phone and through the room. Michael pales.

"I'm fine, dad," I reassure him. "I had to step away from the bank for a bit, there's an investigation into a client and I chose to remove myself."

He pauses. "I don't like the sound of that."

"It's fine. I'm fine. I'll come home and visit soon and meet you for dinner, alright?"

"I'm in the city. Came to visit you, your mum's gone to your aunt's while Uncle Rick's away for work."

"Oh." I pause. The timing isn't great, but it has been a while since I've seen my father. "Alright."