by Hannah Ford
He looked at me, the desperation and confusion evident on his face. He shook his head slightly, like he couldn’t believe it himself. “I don’t know,” he said, and then his mouth was on mine, his lips owning me, his hips pushing hard into mine.
My body sagged and my knees weakened. He was just so big, so strong, physically, yes, but also in his stature and the effect he had on me. I was powerless to resist him.
It didn’t help that my instinct, my deepest desire, was to surrender to him. I wanted to give myself to him, in whatever way he required of me – sexually, emotionally, spiritually, giving him possession of my body and mind.
His kiss intensified in its passion, his hands roaming over my ass, awakening the stinging that was still there after the beating he’d given me at his mansion in Florida.
And then, suddenly, like a strike of lightning in an otherwise blue sky, I remembered Kiersten, my new boss, and what she’d said.
If I find out there’s something unprofessional going on between you and Callum Wilder, if there’s even any hint that the two of you are engaged in anything inappropriate, I will fire you immediately.
“Callum,” I breathed, pulling away from him. “Callum, I can’t…”
His mouth found my ear, nipping at my ear lobe, his hands gripping my ass tighter at my protests, his nails sinking into my flesh until I hurt.
“Callum!” I pushed him away with all my might, my strength completely ineffectual against his rock hard body.
But my tone must have snapped him back to reality, because he took a step back from me, looking dazed.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins. His lips were swollen from our kisses, his hair mussed, his tie loose. He looked so sexy.
Hell, another night with him might be worth losing my job.
But it was my hormones talking, and that was why he was so dangerous. One kiss, one look, one touch from him, and I would sacrifice everything. And for what? Certainly not true love – in fact, not even a promise or a possibility of a real relationship.
“You have to leave me alone,” I told him. “You cannot keep doing this.”
He took a step toward me again, but I held my hand up. “Stop! I refuse to keep being put in these situations with you.”
“What situations?”
“The situations where you end up saying insane things to me, then pushing me up against a building and kissing me!” Didn’t he realize this was the second time he’d done this in less than a week? Normal people didn’t push people up against buildings and kiss them.
Normal people didn’t take someone away for a weekend and make them sign a contract promising not to ask any personal questions.
Normal people didn’t get someone a job after tying them to a bed post and fucking them senseless.
Callum Wilder was anything but normal, though.
He was extraordinary.
He still hadn’t said anything. He was just staring at me with those ocean blue eyes, and I realized he was waiting for me to change my mind.
“We are going to keep this strictly professional,” I said. “If you see me at work, we will treat each other as work contacts. That is it. You will not contact me outside of work. Do you understand?”
Tell me no.
Tell me you can’t stay away from me, tell me you want more.
Callum swallowed hard, and then he nodded. “Fine.”
“Good.” I was dying a little inside, but I forced myself to stick my hand out to him, and he took it, his big hand enveloping mine. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. Wilder.”
His eyes burned bright at me calling him Mr. Wilder.
I probably shouldn’t have said something so deferential.
I turned and walked away from him, struggling to hold back my tears.
And once I was around the corner, I began to run.
***
His kiss stayed burnt on my lips all day.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him, his hands pushing up my skirt like that right in the park. What would he have done if we’d been alone? My pulse raced at the thought of seeing him again at work, the anticipation made more intense by the fact that I had no idea when that would be.
I was desperate to talk to someone about what had happened, but Nessa worked until six, and then she was accompanying the doctor she worked for to something called a Botox party, which as far as I could tell meant she was going to help him inject people’s faces with toxic chemicals while everyone drank champagne. If I were having a party, the last thing I would want to do would be to poke myself with needles during it, but who was I to judge? I’d spent my weekend tied up and bound, getting whipped and cuffed and fucked by a man who was so much of a mystery it made my head spin.
And then there was the subject of the contract I’d signed. It had said I wasn’t to talk about our weekend with anyone. But how could I explain what had happened today if I couldn’t talk about the things Callum and I had done in Florida? Did I even want to tell anyone those things?
I took a hot bath in an effort to calm my racing mind (it didn’t work) and then ordered Chinese food. I turned on Netflix and decided to start binge watching House of Cards while I waited for my General Gau’s to come.
When the doorbell rang ten minutes later, I thought my food had come early.
But it wasn’t the Chinese delivery guy.
Instead it was a smartly dressed woman, her ash blonde hair cut in a stylish bob around her face.
“Adriana O’Connor?” she asked sharply.
“Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”
She motioned over her shoulder toward the steps that led from my apartment up to the sidewalk. Suddenly three men in suits were rolling racks of clothes into my apartment, the metal wheels sliding across the carpet.
“Sign here,” the woman said, thrusting a clipboard at me. Clipped to the top was a receipt. Bloomingdale’s, it said in swirly script across the top. Personal Shopping Invoice.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t… I didn’t order any of these things.”
“They’re bought and paid for, Ms. O’Connor,” she said. “All we need is your signature.”
“But I –”
“Right here,” she said, her voice stern as she tapped a fingernail impatiently against the receipt.
I took the pen and scrawled my name, and a second later she was gone, along with the men who’d brought the clothes.
I stared at the rolling racks which now stood in my living room crowding the small space, each one filled with hanging black garment bags. I took a deep breath and began opening them. Each zipper gave way to a more gorgeous piece of clothing. There were the things I’d been about to try on in the dressing room today and much, much more.
Luxurious cashmere sweaters in shades of caramel and cream, crisp black trousers, wrap dresses in muted prints, suits with matching blouses, pencil skirts and cardigans – all of it sophisticated and elegant, the kinds of things I would have picked for myself if I had an unlimited budget and a working knowledge of fashion.
The bottom of the racks were filled with shoes – high heels and flats and even pairs of leather boots. There was a heavier bag, clear, and inside were accessories – chunky necklaces and diamond earrings, bracelets and belts to match any combination of garments.
Taped to the front of the bag was an envelope.
One word was written on the front.
Lemon.
I pulled it off, my heart pounding, my hand shaking as I slid my finger under the flap.
Lemon,
Please accept these gifts as a token of apology. I will not contact you after today, and if I see you at work, I promise to be nothing but professional.
Good luck on your first day tomorrow. I have every reason to believe you are at the beginning of a very long and successful career.
All best,
Callum
The words blurred before me as furious tears filled my eyes. I felt the side of my face st
arted to twitch, that’s how infuriating this gesture was.
All best?
A token of apology?
For what?
Making me feel something for him before taking off not once, but twice?
He was a sociopath, I realized. He was an insane, crazy sociopath who cared about nothing but himself.
The thought was comforting for a moment, but I couldn’t convince myself to believe it. I saw something in him, saw something in the way he was with me, the way he’d treated me that night in Florida, bringing me ice cream in bed.
I’d felt a connection to him, not just sexually, but emotionally, intellectually.
Was all of this because had had a girlfriend? That girl who’d shown up at lunch that day, the whispered conversation he’d had on the terrace of his bedroom in Tampa, the way he insisted on me not talking to anyone about what had happened, the contract I had to sign in which I promised to pretend not to know him.
Was he telling me I needed to stay away from him because he was with someone else?
“Wow,” a voice behind me said, and I turned to see Nessa standing in the living room, her eyes wide. “What’s all this?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable. How the hell was I supposed to explain this?
“It looks like a whole lot of something,” she said, dropping her bag on the couch and walking further into the room.
“I thought you had to work late,” I said.
“Botox party was cancelled,” she said. “The birthday girl got cold feet when she realized botox is made from botulism.”
“Botox is made from botulism?” I asked. “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. Where did you get all this stuff?” She peeked into one of the garment bags, her eyes widening when she saw the designer label.
“It was a gift,” I said.
“From Callum?”
I hesitated, then nodded.
“Wow, are you guys… I mean, is this like…”
“No.” I shook my head. “No, this was... he just wanted to congratulate me on my new job.”
“You got a new job?”
I nodded. “At Archway.”
“Adriana, that’s amazing!” She threw her arms around me, and I hugged her back, touched by her excitement for me. “What’s the job?”
“Publicity assistant,” I said, realizing I hadn’t gotten any other information. I had no idea the salary or even what responsibilities the job entailed. But Nessa didn’t care about any of that. After her initial congratulations, she was right back to focusing on Callum.
“So this is a gift?” she asked gently.
“Yes.” I nodded. “We’re just… “ I trailed off, not sure exactly what we were. I didn’t want to reveal that we were going to be working together, because that was going to lead to all kinds of other questions, and I really wasn’t ready to admit that Callum was the one who’d gotten me the job in the first place. “We’re friends.”
It was a lie. Callum and I weren’t friends. At all.
Nessa repeated the word. “Friends.”
“Yes,” I said, with more conviction.
“Friends who buy each other twenty thousand dollars worth of clothes and shoes.”
I shook my head. “No. I can’t accept them.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “Adriana, yes, you can.”
“No, it’s too…” It made me feel cheap, like he was buying me off. He was trying to smooth things over why? So he could soothe his conscience with the fact that I’d gotten something out of our weekend away together? To buy me off, so I would keep quiet about what we’d done? His motives were as confusing as his moves.
“Adriana,” Nessa said. “Yes. You can.” She might not have known the details, but the look on her face said everything. She wasn’t stupid. She could read between the lines. She knew I’d gone away with him for the weekend, and now suddenly he’d sent me a super expensive gift.
Whatever she thought – whether it was that I was somehow being paid for sex, or whatever – she seemed to think it was okay that I keep these clothes.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly.
“Adriana, he’s a billionaire,” she said. “You do realize that him spending twenty thousand dollars is like us buying a stick of gum, right?”
“I don’t think that’s really how you’re supposed to look at it.”
She shrugged. “I’d keep them.” She slid her feet into a pair of high heels and let out a tiny groan of pleasure. “These shoes feel like butter.”
I laughed as Nessa began trying on all the different pairs of shoes, sounding like someone on the home shopping network as she narrated.
I ran my hand over the shimmery fabrics.
I knew it would be wrong to keep the clothes.
On the other hand, was it so wrong to feel like maybe Callum did owe me something?
Shouldn’t I at least get something out of the weekend besides memories and a bruised heart?
Yes, I decided, I should.
And if what he was offering was a whole new wardrobe, well, then, I would take it.
***
The next morning, my commute was rainy and drizzly, and everyone on the subway was cranky. I felt like Anna Hathaway during the beginning credits of The Devil Wears Prada, walking along with her onion bagel, looking totally out of place.
Only I didn’t have an onion bagel, I had a coffee from Peet’s Coffee, and I was dressed in some of my new clothes – a pair of tan trousers, a loose white blouse and a chocolate colored crocodile belt. On my feet were soft suede booties, and around my neck was a chunky gold necklace.
I’d scraped my hair back into a twist and kept my make up to a smoky eye and a nude lip.
I was excited and nervous, my stomach flipping as I closed my umbrella and walked into Archway.
When I got to the sixth floor, I was surprised at how alive the office was already. Phones rang, keystrokes tapped, papers ruffled, voices hummed. It was going to be the soundtrack to the rest of my life, and the thought filled me with excitement.
I made my way back to Kiersten’s office.
She was sitting at her desk, a long sheet of paper before her, her nails sliding down a line of printed numbers.
I knocked softly on her open door.
“Come in,” she said absent-mindedly before glancing up at me. “Oh, good,” she said. “You’re here.”
I might have just been being paranoid, but I felt like she was insinuating I should have been there earlier. I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall over her desk. It was 6:58.
“Yes. You said seven, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “We have an important meeting this morning with Aubrey Zane and her people, and it’s going to be a bloodbath.”
Right. Aubrey Zane, the pop star who had written a book about her struggles with an eating disorder, the book that was supposed to relaunch her career.
“Why will it be a bloodbath?” I asked. I was hovering awkwardly by the door, so I walked into the office and took a seat in front of Kiersten’s desk.
“Her preliminary sales numbers aren’t good.”
“How bad are they?”
“Bad,” she said. “Aubrey’s book was bought at auction. Archway gave her a huge advance, and it should be performing better. Part of the package we used to woo her over here was the promise of a huge publicity push. And now everything’s falling apart. The sell-in wasn’t great, but we were hoping the bookstores would reorder. Her launch party is tonight, and we haven’t gotten RSVPs from half the people we were hoping for.” Kiersten shook her head. “It’s just not coming together the way we envisioned, and it’s frustrating, because Wayne is the one who worked on this, and I’m going to get the blame.”
Wayne. Right. Kiersten’s predecessor, the guy with the porn addiction who’d put blinds up in his office.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
; “Come to the meeting and take notes,” she said. She picked up her bag and set it down on her desk, rummaged through it until she found her lipstick, pulled it out and gave her lips a relining.
Her phone buzzed, and she pushed the button for speaker.
“Yes?”
“Aubrey Zane and her people have arrived,” a voice said.
“Please show them to the conference room.” Kiersten ended the call and turned to me, the first time she’d really looked at me since I’d gotten here. “Do you have any ideas?”
“What?”
“I need ideas,” she said. “A way to take the content of the book and make it more front and center. We need to get away from the book being all about Aubrey and find a way to make it more about the broader conversation involving mental illness.”
My mind went blank and my throat went dry. “I’m not, I mean, I’d have to think about it.”
“You read the book, right?”
“No.” I shook my head. Had she forgotten that I’d told her yesterday that I hadn’t read the book? I’d specifically mentioned it to her.
“You haven’t read it? I told you to read it!”
“Oh. I thought you meant, like, at some point in the future.”
She shook her head, like she couldn’t believe she’d hired someone so incompetent.
“I’ll read it tonight,” I said. “I’ll pick up a copy as soon as –“
“Don’t bother,” Kiersten snapped. “By then it will be too late.”
She started walking out of the office, and I followed her, but she turned on me. “I can’t have you come to the meeting with Aubrey and her people if you haven’t even read the book.” She shook her head. “Go to human resources and fill out your paperwork, then find Betty and she’ll show you how to put prize packs together.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Kiersten, I thought – ”
“I don’t care what you thought. And I don’t want your apologies. Get your shit together before Callum comes in this afternoon, Adriana. I’m going to need you on that.”
And then she turned on her heel and stalked off down the hall.
