Charlie looked toward her husband. Her gaze held such warmth and adoration, even when he teased her. But then Charlie gave as good as she got. Always. He looked at her the same way, and I realized I wanted that. I blew out a long breath. With the way I’d been working, that might not happen until after I turned thirty.
“It’s incredible. Even people who don’t like Broadway like this project,” Charlie said. “It’s the buzz of the office.”
“I see,” he said, returning her affection. “I wonder how I missed it until today.”
She kissed him again and turned to me. I was dying for an explanation but didn’t ask for one.
“You don’t need anything from me, do you?” she asked.
Charlie was the best lawyer at Banks Realty. Probably one of the best in the city. Due to our past, we held a special spot for each other and worked so well together. Unbeknownst to Nolan, I’d even been nicknamed “Hot As Hell” prior to his reign in her heart. I picked up the folder with contracts and handed it to her. She took it, her lips pressed into a pout, her gigantic wedding ring pinging white stars all over the walls in the afternoon light.
“Just once, I would like that answer to be no, Callum,” Charlie teased with a smile. She had been a breath of fresh air in the Banks Realty offices, one we all had sorely needed.
“It’s just permits and the like. Things you’ve looked over, but I want one more pass over them.” She opened the folder, scanning the first page before closing it back up.
“As soon as possible?” Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow.
I gave her my best grin. “Ideally.”
“Alright, I’ll get back to you tomorrow.” Charlie tucked the folder underneath her arm and turned to her husband. “And I will see you later, Banks.”
Nolan gave her a wink. “Chase and Chastity should be here soon. I’ll just finish up here.”
Charlie nodded. “I’ll just drop these off at my office and meet you back here. Be right back.” With that, her fashionable platform pumps whisked her away.
Alone again, Nolan looked at me.
“Who was she?” The question came out of left field, shocking me.
Charlie? Why was Nolan asking me about his wife? Had Charlie said something?
“Who was who?”
Nolan raised an eyebrow. “Amelia.”
I’d been wrong. Dead wrong. Apparently, he would pry. I knew he was just curious, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to answer that question. I clamped my eyes shut against the rush of pain that squeezed my pounding heart, hoping Nolan wouldn’t notice my distress. The truth would come out eventually. I sucked a cleansing breath of air between my teeth to steel my resolve before I answered.
“She was my college girlfriend.” There wasn’t a day that passed that I didn’t think about her. She had been my everything. My whole world. “She was a poet, and she had demons. Ultimately, she felt like she couldn’t stay here and take her rightful place in a cruel world. She… killed herself.”
Nolan stared at me, eyes wide and filled with concern, clearly not expecting an answer like that. I stunned him into silence for a few moments, not an easy feat for Nolan Banks.
“That’s why you want poetry readings at the theater,” Nolan observed.
“She would love it,” I said. “I can’t think of a better way to honor her memory. Maybe we can do one as an opening night festivity.”
“Yes, it’s a great idea. I’m sure she would love it.”
I could so easily picture her on that stage, and I wished that she were here to see it. There was another knock on the door, and Chase Bradenton, Director of Sales and Nolan’s oldest and closest friend, strode in without an invitation.
“We’re going to be late,” he said without saying hello to me, dismissing me with his piercing eyes. He ran a frustrated hand through his thick head of hair.
“Where are the ladies?” Nolan asked.
Chase rolled his eyes. “Charlie’s office, I think. Taking their time, as usual.”
I offered a professional smile. “Hello, Chase.” He looked at me. Speared me with a knowing look was closer to the truth. I wondered why? Chase and I had never been close, but we sure as hell weren’t adversaries. Why the winter chill?
“Callum.”
His one word greeting dripped icicles. Chase already had his coat on, raring and ready to leave the offices for the night. Nolan looked to his friend and back to me.
“I’m serious about the champagne, Callum,” Nolan said as he rose to his feet. I did the same thing, and we shook hands.
“Is this the theater project?” Chase asked. “Thank you for my new hot date spot. Chastity loves the theater, especially musicals. I’ve never known a woman who doesn’t drop her panties at a bunch of gay guys singing songs written by Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
“You’re very welcome,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm from dripping into my tone. I didn’t appreciate his blatant disrespect, then internally chastised myself. Chase had no way of knowing he was being offensive, throwing shade on the ghosts of the past.
The ladies whisked through the doors in a whirlwind of giggling, perfume, and clicking heels.
“Callum,” Charlie said without pause, “this is Chastity Bradenton. Chastity, this is Callum Markham.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.” Chastity extended one hand, and I shook it. “Didn’t we meet once before, back when I interned here?”
“You’re Chase’s wife.”
She nodded, lifting her left hand so I could see her Tiffany rings. “A while now, yes,” Chastity said with a brilliant smile.
“Chas, he’s the one I was telling you about,” Charlie added.
Chastity lifted her eyebrows, and a smile curled the corners of her mouth. “The theater guy?”
I nodded. Word of the project had spread through the office like wildfire, and while I was proud, it was a little weird to have so much attention on me. My first major project had turned into an appreciated idea at Banks because the others would have had no qualms in letting me know if it sucked. Just the same, I enjoyed getting some positive recognition.
“Where are you guys headed?” I asked.
“Dinner,” Chase spoke up.
“Then whatever,” Charlie added. “Maybe a scotch bar. Maybe a club. Who knows with these two?”
Charlie pointed a tapered finger in the direction of the two executives. They were at that stage in their relationship where finishing each other’s sentences came as naturally as anything else. I looked between the two couples, feeling a flare of jealousy start at my toes before piercing my head with a sharp pain of regret.
You don’t have time for a relationship, Callum. Get over it.
“It’s still a nice night,” Chastity said, “We’re having such lovely weather for this time of the year. It’s almost October. We should go to Times Square or the park or something just because it’s so nice out.”
I smiled at the gorgeous blonde. There was just something about her, and I could see why she’d turned Chase’s head to the point that he’d finally settled down. A keen intelligence and humor flashed in her eyes. I was destined to have another long night in the office, finalizing plans. I didn’t mind it, not when I had so many permits to go over, but now spending long nights at the office then going home to my apartment with take–out no longer appealed to me. With this project just getting off the ground, work days turned into evenings and weekends too. I wanted something different. Needed something more.
“I hope you all have a nice night,” I told them and headed toward my desk to stow away all of the project folders.
“Do you have any plans, Callum?” Chastity asked.
“The same as always,” I said with a tight smile.
I wasn’t going to expand on my feelings. I didn’t want a pity invitation playing fifth wheel to two newly married couples. Besides, Nolan and Chase were both my superiors at work. I didn’t want to end up in an uncomfortable situation.
�
�Well, I hope you have fun tonight,” Chastity said.
She was sweet and kind, and reminded me, in a way, of Amelia. But then, a lot of people reminded me of Amelia. The woman’s face would forever be burned on the imprint of my mind. And heart. She had been causing haunting memories a lot lately, especially since I’d started development on the theater. As much as I knew my brother would love it, I knew she would too.
“You guys, too,” I said, “please don’t let me keep you. Have a wonderful evening.”
“We will,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Fun seems to follow these two no matter where we are.”
I scoffed. “More like trouble, according to what I’ve heard.”
“I’ll see you later, Callum,” Nolan said with a little salute.
Both couples left my office, once again leaving me alone with my files. I sat back down at my desk for a moment before collecting my jacket and briefcase.
I didn’t need to spend more time in my office.
I am determined that nothing but the very deepest love will induce me into matrimony.
– Elizabeth Bennet
Chapter 3
Lydia
The fires of hell must involve staring at a blank computer screen. I wrote a paragraph, deep in the third chapter, staring at my notes and trying to figure out exactly how to develop the story forward. Stillness enveloped me, so quiet I could hear my brain cells firing a string of useless ideas. While I loved my career, I also experienced a little bit of restlessness when I couldn’t easily slide into the writing flow.
A distraction. That’s what I needed.
Poppy had already lined up a couple of appearances for me, and the first one loomed later this afternoon, which meant that I needed to finish the chapter before leaving if I wanted to enjoy myself and give all my focus to my fans. I wanted to be able to tell them that the new book had been progressing nicely.
I rose from my desk, hit save on the blank document, and headed over to the kitchen. There was an apple pie in the oven I wanted to check anyway. Besides writing, I loved baking more than anything. Any visitor could find my fridge half–full with things I’d created from scratch. I couldn’t think of a better stress reliever. A nice side–effect was the spark of creativity I always seemed to get with my hands knuckles deep in dough.
I checked the time on the oven and then sat on the floor in front of it. Watching, Waiting. I wanted that crust a perfect, golden brown.
Writer’s block rarely plagued me but today… well, I had to admit my romantic fantasies had been overwhelming me, and not in a good way. I was invested in this story, and these characters but couldn’t figure out the best route to get them where I wanted them to go. The lack of movement forward irritated me to no end.
I jumped when the timer exploded into buzzing throughout the kitchen. I stood, grabbed an oven mitt, and opened the door to the scent of apple pie spices wafting through the air.
Maybe I needed another change in location, but just a temporary one this time.
After tucking away my pie baby on a wire cooling rack, I grabbed my large tote, stuffing in a wayward notebook stuffed full of writing prompts, and a couple of pens that had somehow gotten caught up in my move. The apartment looked as if a tumbleweed had whirled through, a mess of clothes and personal items on every available surface. I had been trying to separate the nicer things I wore for appearances from the comfortable clothes I wore while writing. I grabbed a jacket and slipped on a pair of Sketchers.
My favorite little coffee shop, Grounds Zero, was right around the corner from the apartment I’d chosen. It was a nice enough day, but no one made use of the outdoor patio. I went in, got a large vanilla latte, and set up my laptop outside. With a pen in hand, a little bit away from my office, I settled in to wait for the creative juices to flow.
Pushing the laptop to the side, I began to write. I loved the feeling of my pen gliding across the paper, writing down whatever thoughts came to me. Once I had a loose outline, I began to type the chapter into Microsoft Word. The cool breeze kissed my face and made my fingers tingle. The ringing and vibrating of my phone on the wrought iron table snapped me back to attention. I’d lost track of time. I paused for a moment, trying to decide if I should let it go to voice mail. I let it pass and continued typing.
It rang again, and I considered silencing it. I lifted the phone to my eyes. With the glare of the late afternoon sun, I had trouble making out the name on the caller ID.
Shit. My mother.
I clicked save, sighed, and picked it up, knowing she wouldn’t stop until she connected with me.
“Hello, Mom.” I tried not to sound particularly stressed or strained because she would ask and then start in on her meddling.
“Hi, honey.” My mother sounded tinny and far away when she answered. “How’s the new book coming along?”
I picked up the cardboard cup and raised it to my lips before I answered. Like my streak of inspiration, it had gone cold.
“It’s going well, Mom. I really like it here in the city.”
I heard a pause on her end of the line, and I could easily imagine her standing in the kitchen. She’d have a cordless phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear, cooking dinner for her and my dad, an apron tied around her waist. Her dark hair, so much like mine, would be tied in a long ponytail. I could picture it so well, I might as well have been standing beside her.
“I’m glad,” my mother continued, “but I have to admit, I don’t–”
“Oh, please don’t start,” I said, but she talked over me. I rolled my eyes, drew the phone away from my face, and let out a sigh so she couldn’t hear it.
“You have that house in Aurora, yet you still sublet an apartment in the city. You’re alone and have secluded yourself from the world.” There was a gentle bang in the background, but she pushed on. “I know you have Poppy, and you have a couple of other friends, but when are you going to settle down and get married? I’d feel so much better if you had a strong, capable man to look after you. That city, it’s a dangerous place.”
“Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. I realized that whenever I talked to my mom, I reverted back into the bratty teenager I wanted to release forever. She just triggered me in the worst possible way. “I have a successful career, isn’t that enough? Jeez, I’m not even thirty. There’s plenty of time for marriage and family.”
The microwave whirred in the background, and she almost had to yell to reply. “You’re a romance novelist. How have you, of all people, not fallen in love yet? What if your readers find out you’re a fraud?”
Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. The words repeated like a mantra in my head as I took a long sip from my cup.
“I was just saying to your father over coffee this morning…”
My mouth opened against my better judgment. “Mom! I–”
“Lydia,” my mother said, interrupting me as usual. “You know I only want to see you happy. And I don’t think you’re happy like this. Alone.”
So, I was kind of a work–a–holic recluse, but that wasn’t any of my mother’s business or anyone else’s. I didn’t want to get into it.
“Mom, I am happy,” I said after several long moments had passed. It felt like we were having the same conversation every week, at least. Some warped telephone version of Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day.
“You don’t sound it, Lydia,” Mom said. “There’s a quality to your voice that I haven’t heard before. Like I’m losing my daughter over to the dark side of spinsterhood.”
Another pause as I heard the dishwasher fire up. It needed to be replaced, but my mom refused, so the damn thing wheezed and coughed like it had electronic COPD. I let my thoughts drift off to a couple of years ago, to my last, messy relationship. I had fallen for someone so hard, and it had ended so badly. I had spent months crying and wallowing over someone who had cheated on me. Abused me. Left me.
Never. Happening. Again.
“Mom…” I blew out a long b
reath, “I really am happy, and I’m not leaving it up for discussion, okay? I have my books, and I have Poppy, and I have my fans. I don’t really need anything else.”
“Listen,” my mother continued. She had this annoying habit of only hearing about half of what I had to say in any given conversation before jumping to her own conclusions. “Cheryl’s son is about your age. I think you went to school with him. Anyway, he’s your age, and his fiancée just dumped him. If you came home, I’m sure–”
“Mom, I can manage my own love life,” I said in a rush, wanting to fill in the pause before she really got on a roll. I didn’t have time to sit on the phone for an hour as she extolled the virtues of her friend’s single sons. “And I don’t want to date some guy I went to school with. I... have a date this weekend.” The last part wasn’t a blatant lie, just a little embellishment. I planned on meeting Tristan in the near future. It just hadn’t happened yet.
“Oh, Lydia.” Her defeated, almost angry tone sliced through me, dripping with censure and disappointment. Wasn’t it enough that thousands of romance readers knew my name? As my mother continued to babble, a text from Poppy came in, stating she’d hailed a cab and was heading for the book signing.
“Mom, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you later in the week.” I wanted to get off the phone as soon as possible. My little white lie had already started eating away at my conscience.
***
When I returned to my apartment later that evening, Poppy decided to tag along with me for dessert. I wanted to type the words I’d jotted down while on the phone with my mother, and Poppy needed to borrow an ear. Or two. It would be good to decompress and debrief about the event that afternoon. Hundreds of fans had shown up to buy my latest release and get it signed by me. I’d had so much fun even though my feet ached and my cheeks hurt from smiling for selfies.
Poppy sat herself at my desk, shooing my calico, Bingley, from the leather chair. He yowled in protestation, and I stopped to refill his water dish and toss him some kibble.
Line: Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 3
