by B. Celeste
Where The Little Birds Are
B. Celeste
Contents
Playlist
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Stay in Touch
Also by B. Celeste
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This Book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Where the Little Birds Are
Copyright © 2020 by B. Celeste
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Artist: RBA Designs
Formatting: Micalea Smeltzer
Published by: B. Celeste
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
To the believers
Playlist
“Something Borrowed” – Lewis Capaldi
“Bad Liar” – Imagine Dragons
“Change Your Mind” – Nashville Cast
“Call Out My Name” – The Weeknd
“Two Ghosts” – Harry Styles
“What About Us” – P!nk
“Every Little Thing” – Carly Pearce
“Need You Now” – Lady Antebellum
Blurb
Corbin Callum rumored to be involved with bestselling author on set of his latest movie
Corbin Callum, 28, reportedly has affair with bestselling author Kinley Thomas, 26, on the set of the film Through Shattered Glass.
Callum and Thomas were seen together on multiple occasions off set of the movie based on Thomas’s novel. Pictures taken of Callum sneaking in and out of the Five Seasons hotel where Thomas stayed sparked more rumors following the images of the two out together earlier in the month.
One source working at the hotel tells Entertainment Daily that Callum would “wear an oversized hoodie and sunglasses and take the employee’s only entrance at the back of the hotel to visit Thomas in her room after dark.”
Another source claims that Hollywood’s Most Desired Man would wait in the lobby for Thomas to come downstairs and “cut the calls from his wife short as soon as Thomas would appear.”
Hotel photos reveal a disguised Callum walking the halls trying to remain inconspicuous, not leaving Thomas’s room until hours later.
No comments have been made from either party.
Chapter One
Kinley / Present
There’s a tingling awareness of the hardened skin beneath my oversized sweater. The baggy material on my lean figure is premature, but the anxiety of the wrong eyes seeing too much keeps me sweating under the scratchy cotton.
Tugging.
Gripping.
Squirming.
Nobody is looking, yet they see too much.
Pushing the plastic cart to check out, I do everything in my power not to turn my head a fraction to the left. It’s a worthless feat. The colorful covers and bold print are there for the world to see, preying on helpless customers stuck in line with nothing else to do.
His face.
His hands.
Those eyes.
Mine are plastered on the way he holds Lena Dasani’s hand as they walk toward the photographers on a crowded street. His shades are hooked on the collar of his pristine white tee, not covering his silver eyes like they were when he was with me. There’s no hat. No disguise. Why would there be? When he’s with his wife, he doesn’t have to hide.
Swallowing the rising nausea, I take a deep breath and force my eyes to look at any other magazine. Cooking. Lifestyle. Fashion. But Corbin Callum is on every fucking one like I’m the butt of the universe’s pathetic joke.
“Isn’t he sexy?” a voice says from behind me, causing my gaze to lift to a blonde girl no older than sixteen.
I blink. “Uh…”
The blonde rambles despite my lack of conversational interest. “Anyone would be blind not to admit how beautiful the man is. It’s unfair.”
That catches my interest. “Unfair?”
She scoffs in exasperation. “That men like him exist. It seems unreal to me. Have you seen pictures of him shirtless?”
My stomach twists. Can she see my skin gloss with dotted sweat? The back of my mind replays the moments shared with the very man she’s gushing over. Unreal is right. Fingertips tingling over the memories of them trailing over sculpted abs and mountains of muscle confirms everything she assumes.
And once more, I hate myself.
Tugging on the hem of my sweater for the millionth time, I give her my best nonchalant shrug like I’m indifferent to the man who plagues my mind. “He’s okay, I guess.”
One of the girl’s blonde brows arch like she doesn’t believe me. Shifting from one foot to another, I shoot her a small smile. It’s all I can offer under the scrutiny of my own conscience. I know what I’ve done. Corbin knows what he’s done. But the world doesn’t know the intimate details despite the article published almost two months ago.
I shut the world out after getting back, keeping silent hoping the worst would pass. Missed calls, texts, emails all pile up from people who claim they care. But my chest struggles to differentiate those who are telling the truth or not, so I stop looking at them.
The girl’s eyes narrow, and the slightest tilt of the head has anxiety blasting warning signs that I should just leave. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
My black leggings, oversized sweater, and messy brown hair pulled back helps me blend in. I don’t look out of the ordinary and do my best not to draw unwanted attention to myself. People in Lake Roe don’t recognize me very often. It’s a large enough town not to be noticed, giving me privacy that I’ve had no choice but to keep.
I push my cart forward once the line moves, turning slightly. “Sorry, I don’t think so.”
Not giving her a chance to press, I busy myself by pulling my credit card out of my wallet and move to start unloading my purchases onto the conveyer belt. It’s hard not to feel the burn of curious eyes. I’ve acknowledged that I’m this person now—the one who cheats, lies, and destroys people’s lives.
But is his destroyed?
My eyes can’t help but dart back to the magazine rack, where Corbin’s small smile to the photographers graces the front. He doesn’t look destroyed. The only life I’ve ruined is my own.
The girl behind me picks up one of the magazines and tosses it on to the conveyer. “It’s okay to admit you like that sort of s
tuff. My mom gets all weird about it too.”
Freezing over the magazine shifting closer to the cashier as the belt moves, my eyes turn to the teenager. I don’t know what to say and can’t put it back in fear of how that will make me look. When I go outside, I’ll throw the magazine away and never open the pages to see the newest story they’ve printed.
Yet another lie.
The curser on my laptop blinks, the empty screen taunting me as I draw my knees up to perch on the edge of the cushioned office chair. Tapping my nail against the desk, I reach toward the keyboard to write something, anything, before sighing in defeat.
Resting in the desk drawer beside me is every edition of my life in fifteen hundred words or less. Grainy pictures. Professional pictures. Choppy quotes. Wild assumptions woven together by truth and exaggerations. I collect every magazine and don’t know why.
My cell rests screen down, buzzing with an oncoming call. Hands twitching against my stomach, I prepare myself for any name to appear when I flip it over. Picking it up, I exhale in the tiniest bit of relief as I swipe to answer.
“Hello, Jamie.”
“Kinley,” my agent greets. Long nails tapping against keys fills the hesitant silence between us. The noise abruptly stops. “How have things been going since we last spoke? I expect you’re nearly done with the second book?”
My eyes go back to the blank screen. “It’s a work in progress,” is the only thing I can think to say. It’s better than the last update she got almost a month and a half ago. The story ideas that normally swirl through my head all disappeared the second I got back to New York.
“They’re expecting it next month. We’re all on deadlines here,” she reminds me, sternness in her tone. “The remaining two books need to be finished by the end of the year.”
Her reminder of the three-book deal leaves thick anxiety creeping up my throat until it hurts to swallow. The first book was one I polished off in California—a way to distract myself from a certain silver-eyed man. “I know they’ve been patient with me, but I may need a little extension—”
“No.” I wince back into my seat at the all-business, no-bullshit response. The few times I’ve witnessed it in person were never directed at me, but it made shivers roll down my spine regardless. “They gave you time after what happened with Parker, but you promised you’d make the new deadlines. We’ve worked very hard to secure this deal, Kinley. You cannot risk losing that. One House is too big of a publisher to get on their bad side.”
Parker.
Normally, the name deepens the little crack in my heart he left behind after calling off our engagement. It’d taken a long time to open up to someone who seemed supportive of my career, crazy schedule, and preferred seclusion, but he’d been that person for me. I knew exactly what Corbin meant when he told me that Lena was what he needed for a while because Parker had been the same distraction for me. But somewhere along the way Parker Jennings got tired of it all. I couldn’t blame him and the way he called me out for focusing more on my books than him. He was right.
Now his name doesn’t give me the same ache in my chest. In fact, there’s no feeling at all. I know the reason behind it is because there’s a hole much deeper from somebody else. The crack Parker left is nonexistent in comparison.
Numbness aside, I find myself nodding. What else can I do when I know Jamie is right? If I mess up this deal, I’ll lose the advancement and any opportunity to publish through them again. But the itchiness of another risk lingering in the depths of my conscience keeps me unsteady regardless of the final two books that I have yet to write.
The truth sits at the tip of my tongue but refuses to escape past my parted lips. After the first accusations of Corbin and I being involved made gossip outlets all over the country, I convinced Jamie Little and her team to let it slide instead of making a press release to deny anything. It would have made the public more eager to believe something happened if we were quick to say nothing had. The last thing I wanted was for someone like Jamie, who took a chance on me when I was younger, to be disappointed.
I can shut myself away from the world and layer in clothes to hide what’s growing inside me, but it won’t last forever. Rumors will become reality the second the wrong person sees. Every day I try figuring out how to accept that this can’t be undone, but I choke on the bitter pill I swallowed when I admitted to myself that I still love Corbin.
Nine years of pretending like I let go is almost a decade spent suffering. How many people have I brought down with me? My ring finger still feels the absence of the silver band I wore—the one Parker wouldn’t even let me give back despite the limited money he made.
“Kinley?” Jamie sighs, typing again and clicking on something. “Your schedule is wide open right now, so you should be able to finish if you stick to daily deadlines. Pace yourself like you did when you wrote Through Shattered Glass.”
Nostrils flaring over the book that got me into this mess, I shake my head. Writing that book doesn’t compare to the standalone series following new characters that I took on when I signed with One House. The characters are new and have nothing to do with me or my life, which was supposed to make it easier. Instead, I’m suffocating under the pressure of living somebody else’s life like a fraud when I have so much to say that’s left unsaid like it isn’t important.
I’m pregnant!
I’m in love!
I’m miserable!
I want to write my truth on paper and submit it for the world to see hoping it’ll relieve the pressure sitting on my chest. Every day when I force myself to sit down and write all I do is focus on the things I can’t fictionalize for the sake of admission. My conscience needs clearing, but the guilt just continues festering until I fear I’ll explode.
And I let it because I know that it’s smarter than risking everything I’ve worked hard for. “I’ve just been off since getting back from California. Seeing the movie took a toll on me and it was hard to sit back down and write.”
Her pause allows me to breathe, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead while I wait for her response. Sweat dots my brow because I know Jamie’s perspective isn’t like my own. We come from two different backgrounds. “Do you remember when you came to my office the first time all those years ago?”
Walking down memory lane isn’t what I anticipate her response to be. Wetting my lips, I say, “Yes.”
“You’ve accomplished a lot since then.” The statement is one I’d usually be reveling in considering Jamie rarely passes out praise. “I know you have a lot more success in you, but you need to stay on track for that to continue. Do you understand?”
I understand that I’m screwed—that I’m about to let her down. I consider her more than an agent. She’s like a second mother to me. One who helps me achieve every dream I have no matter the size and is proud of me for making something of myself despite the odds.
It isn’t what I answer. “Understood.”
I know there isn’t a smile on her face, but certainly a victorious glint in her dark eyes. “I’ll let you get back to work. Oh, and be on the lookout for something in the mail this week. I was sent mock-ups of the movie posters that will be used for promotional material. In fact, the publisher wants to use the same image for the new book covers. You should receive it in the next few days. Otherwise, let me know if there’s anything you need from me.”
All I can think is, a miracle.
Chapter Two
Corbin / Present
A soft hand gripping my hard cock stirs me from a deep sleep, causing me to groan as it moves up and down in torturous strokes. My lips part as I arch my hips, seeking more. Half asleep, I reach out to the person responsible. Caressing smooth skin, I notice the slightest curve of lean feminine arms.
“Fuck, baby. That feels good.”
“Mm. I missed you too, handsome,” an accented voice purrs back at me.
Eyes shooting open, I jerk away from the wafting scent of seawater and jasmine—the combination u
ndoubtedly belonging to my wife. The one whose finger I put a ring on when I had no right to. She might’ve been what I needed at the time, but I knew I was fucking up. Kinley was the only woman I should’ve ever put my ring on.
Sitting up, the sheet covering me drops to reveal my naked body. Lena’s blue eyes flash with appreciation, landing on the way my cock tents the thin material barely covering it.
“Jesus Christ, Len.” She’s kneeling on the side of the bed she used to occupy, dressed in her favorite floral maxi dress she bought in Greece a few years back. The amount of cleavage shown always gets her attention when she wears it out. And she does. Often.
Her painted bottom lip sticks out. “Why do you sound so angry?”
Blowing out a breath, I scrub a palm down my scruffy jaw. “I’m not angry, you just surprised me.”
She reaches out and brushes hair from my forehead, letting it tangle in her tan fingers. I can tell she’s noticed how long it’s grown. “You need a haircut. Want me to schedule you one?”
“I’m fine.”
Her brow quirks. “You’re not.” Before I can stop her, her hand grazes my morning wood again. I jerk in her palm as she cups me. “Let me relieve your stress. It’s the least I can do after being gone so long.”
