by S. M. Soto
With Faith cuddled in my arms, I nestle on the couch, settling back into the cushions, and stare down at her. She’s so peaceful when she sleeps, her little cherubic face soft, her long lashes fanned across her rosy cheeks. Warmth fills my chest as I watch her. This was the piece of happiness I was always missing, and even though I feel guilty about the way I got it, I don’t want to lose it for the world. If working for Callan Reed is what needs to be done, I’ll do it.
“We’re going to be okay, Faithy. I promise.”
I shift on the couch when I hear Rosalind’s voice trailing to the living room from her room—that’s just how loud she’s yelling. I can’t see this going well. There’s too much bad blood between Callan and me.
Trying not to dwell on it, I decide to make myself busy by applying for more jobs. I also need to find a suitable sitter for Faith. I lay her down in the bassinet and get to work on finding satisfactory options. As I do so, I think back on simpler times. Times when my relationship with Callan was a hell of a lot easier.
With my back resting against the bark of the huge willow tree that sits a few feet away from the levy, I pick at the dried grass beneath me absentmindedly. The tire hanging from the rope wound around the thick branch sways recklessly, and I watch it swing back and forth in a hypnotizing motion.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting here the whole month we’ve been gone.”
A grin spreads across my face at the sound of his voice. Tossing the last piece of grass, I glance up, startled by how handsome Callan is.
“And why ever would I do that?” I challenge.
Callan takes a seat next to me, resting his back against the willow tree. “Because you missed me, of course.”
I punch him on the shoulder, laughing in jest. “I think you mean I missed my best friend, not you.”
He mock gasps, fighting a smile. “You wound me, Casillas.”
A moment passes between us as we stare at each other. It’s been happening a lot lately. The silent moments. Not so much awkward, but filled with tension, nonetheless.
Heat suddenly rises to my cheeks at the intensity with which he’s regarding me, so I glance down at the small space between us, avoiding his gaze.
“Nothing wounds you, Cal. Plus, it feels like you guys have been gone so long, I’m surprised you remember me.”
Callan nudges me, drawing my attention back up to him. I expect to see him smiling in jest, but instead, all humor has evaporated from his face. In its place is a stark intensity, a look that is so unfamiliar, I can’t quite place it. But whatever it is, it has gooseflesh erupting across my skin.
“Forget you? That’s impossible, Daisy. I’d never be able to forget you.”
My breath catches.
My heart stalls.
And a smile breaks free.
Just before I head to bed, Rose knocks on the door, letting herself in. Faith is fast asleep in the bassinet. I just fed her a bottle, so I planned on catching up on sleep, but that’ll have to wait. Rosalind seems pensive as she perches on the corner of the bed.
“I had a long talk with Callan earlier.” Our gazes lock. I’ve known Rose my entire life, and even though we’ve spent the past eight or so years on different coasts, I know her like I know the back of my own hand. I can clearly see the smug look in her eyes. “He’s agreed to let you be his assistant. You should be receiving an email soon.”
Now I’m pensive. “What’s the catch?”
Her smile slides for only a few seconds. “It’s a trial run. If the first week goes well, he’ll keep you on. If it doesn’t…well, we’ll jump that hurdle when we get there. The good news is you have a job with amazing pay, and if you manage to make it through the week, you get healthcare as well. That’ll come in handy with Faith.”
“What am I going to do with Faith? I still haven’t found a nanny or a sitter.”
Rosalind kicks off her slippers and climbs into bed next to me. “Hear me out, okay? I may not be a mother or have any maternal instincts, but I do have an amazing mother, and she did raise two amazing—” At the quirk of my brow, she cuts herself off and laughs. “Okay, you’re right. One amazing child. They’ve always wanted grandkids. They’re not going to have a problem watching Faith while you’re at work.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Rose. I can’t do that to them. They have lives. And I know your parents, they’ll never take my money if I try to pay them for watching her.”
“Fine. How about this? They can help out on weekends, and we’ll find someone to watch her during the week. I’m sure my mom can help us find someone suitable for little Faithy.”
My brows furrow. “The weekends? Won’t I have the weekends off?”
Rosalind laughs, but it’s without humor. “Oh, sweetie. Callan isn’t known as the devil for no reason.”
“It’s like you don’t even love me,” I whisper, my face twisted in horror.
She laughs and pulls me into her arms. “How are you doing? And before you answer, I want the truth.”
“I…” I pause, really thinking about it. “Sometimes I think I’m okay, but then there are the days where I feel like I’m dying inside. I want to be angry with them both. I want to hate them, but how can I when they’re the reason I’ve been given Faith? Then I feel guilty for being happy that I have her.”
Her arms tighten around me. “Never feel guilty about your happiness. You deserve this. What they did was shitty. As horrible as it sounds, if I could kill Skylar and Dean all over again, I would because you did not deserve what they did. I think this is your happy ending, Daisy. You get to live the life you were always meant to.”
“Have I told you how much I love you, lately?” I ask, tilting my head up at her. The first tear leaks, and her chin wobbles at the sight of it.
Thickly lashed eyes that are identical to her brother’s regard me with a fondness that warms my heart. Rosalind has always been a knockout, but there’s something about the vulnerability in her gaze when she’s feeling sad or emotional. Her long, sandy blonde hair is tossed up into a haphazard bun. If this were a lighter moment, I’d crack a joke about her hairstyle looking eerily similar to Miss Trunchbull’s.
“Yes. But I never get tired of it. You deserve the world, best friend. I love you with my entire heart and soul. Don’t you ever forget it.”
“Thank you, Rose. For always being there. For being the sister I never truly had.”
“The sister you never had?” She mock gasps. “Bitch. We are sisters!”
We both break out into a fit of giggles, and just like old times, we sit for hours and talk. About life, about her job, her love life. When it’s my time, I change the subject. I’m tired of talking about myself. I’d like to hear about someone else’s problems for once. I’ve missed these shared moments with my best friend. We don’t need to be out drinking or doing anything extravagant, just sitting in a bed with a tearstained face, listening to each other vent.
Once Faith wakes up for another feeding, Rose heads off to bed, and I get our nightly routine started. As I’m feeding her, I rest back on the sheets and pull up my emails, and sure enough, Rose was right. I have a few new emails. One from Callan’s receptionist letting me know I got the job. The other emails are from human resources. There are some instructions, the basics of what I’ll need to know about the position, and of course, what time I’ll need to be at the office on Thursday for my first day.
The final email that’s waiting in my inbox is from Caroline, Rosalind’s mother, who, in turn, is like a second mother to me. The email reads:
Subject: Nannies and Things
My sweet daughter,
Rosalind tells me you’re looking for a suitable nanny for Faith. I’ve attached a list of the best here in the tri-state area. Though I’m a bit biased, the name at the top of the list is most qualified.
I can’t help but laugh when I scroll and see her name at the top of the list.
I hope this helps, sweetie. And always know, Nicholas and I are more
than happy to watch Faith whenever you need us. Since my children enjoy depriving my husband and me of grandchildren, we’re happy to love her as if she’s our own.
You’re doing a beautiful thing, and don’t you ever forget it.
We love you, sweetheart.
Caroline
My eyes grow misty as I read over the message. I type back a quick reply, forever thankful I have them in my life, even after all these years. I agree to allow them to watch Faith on the weekends if needed, but during the week, Monday through Thursday, I’ll find a nanny.
After feeding Faith, then burping her and putting her to sleep, I send an email to the second woman on the list of nannies. I even start looking at studios that are in my price range. When I slip under the covers and stare up at the ceiling, I release a pent-up breath. I feel like things might finally start to work out.
Maybe the worst is finally over.
If only life worked that way.
Thursday morning comes far too quickly. I’m hesitant as I drop Faith off with the nanny. I spent the past three days grilling her, questioning her ability to care for Faith, watching her feed her, change her diaper, and burp her. I mean, she’s good, but she’s a stranger. A part of me feels as though I should be the one with her, but I can’t do that and make money at the same time. I know this is just me being paranoid, and I need to get over it.
If Dean’s parents were in better shape, I’d consider asking them to watch Faith for me while I’m at work, but seeing as Gail and Harrison are no longer in their prime, that’s not going to happen. Not to mention, they still haven’t come to terms with the loss of their son’s death and his wrongdoings. Not that I blame them.
Adjusting my purse strap over my shoulder, I suck in a deep breath just as the elevator doors glide open, revealing the pristine lobby. I’m ten minutes early. This is a good start in terms of a first impression, or so I thought.
I head straight toward the receptionist, Claire’s, desk, and she glances up briefly with a soft smile on her face. “You can head back to his office. Knock three times before entering, and always wait for him to answer before going in. He has a few things to go over with you, and his schedule is booked, so please make sure you keep your questions to a minimum. He loathes when people waste his time. You read the email I sent last night?” She pauses for only a second, not even allowing me to answer. She’s jumping from topic to topic, and I can hardly keep up. “You should’ve also gotten some emails from the HR department. After you meet with Mr. Reed, head on over there, and they’ll set you up with pay and walk you through signing the company contract. Good luck in there today, Daisy. I’m rooting for you,” she says just as a call comes in, effectively ending our conversation. It leaves no room for me to ask questions or clarify anything that was in those emails.
I swallow thickly, swiping off the perspiration building on my forehead. I can do this. It’s just Callan.
I can do this.
Squaring my shoulders, I pass offices and stray workers in the hall as I head toward his office. Following Claire’s instructions, I knock three times, waiting for a response before attempting to enter. My body jolts at the sound of his deep voice. It takes me a few seconds to recover before I find the courage to push inside his office. He’s sitting behind his desk again, looking down at paperwork. I didn’t have a chance to admire the view behind him the last time I was here, but I am now. His desk is huge, seated in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows with an immaculate view of New York behind him. His broad form hovers between skyscrapers and the bright sunlight streaming through the glass. I fidget by the door, unsure if I should sit or wait for him to give me instructions of some sort.
“You’re late.”
Like I’ve tapped into a live wire, electricity sparks in my veins at the sound of his voice. I glance at the time on my phone, and my brows furrow in confusion. “I’m six minutes early.”
His lips thin, and slowly, he glances up from the paperwork before him and glares. His stare is a cold shot to the heart. The look is meant to hurt. “Six minutes? You think six minutes is early? An hour early is on time. Anything after that is unacceptable.”
I’m still standing there, gaping at him and this new information. That makes no sense whatsoever. Six minutes early is late, and an hour early is on time? What kind of fucked-up dimension did I just walk into? If that’s the case, why not just have my start time be a whole hour early?
“Sit down, Mrs. Fletcher,” he snaps, already irritated with me judging by the tone of his voice.
I cringe at the way he says my name. It’s as if saying Fletcher physically disgusts him. I lower myself into the seat across from him and clear my throat.
“You can just call me Daisy, Callan,” I murmur, trying to keep things light between us.
His pen drops to his paper, and his gaze shoots up to mine, full of barely restrained fury. I jolt back in my seat at the ire there. It sucks all the air out of the room, making it hard to breathe. “I’ll call you whatever the hell I want to call you, Mrs. Fletcher. And it’s sir or Mr. Reed.”
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come.
Who is this man?
“While I have you here, let’s get a few things straight. We are not friends. This is a job—one you aren’t even qualified for, I might add. The only reason you’re sitting across from me is because my sister begged me to give you this position. This is a one-week trial, and believe me when I say if you can’t keep up, then you’re out.”
My chest tightens with frustration. My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek, and I bite down until I taste the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. Anything to keep from lashing out at him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my aggravation. I blink back the tears burning behind my eyes. This happens quite often. When I get so enraged, it turns into tears of frustration.
He notices this. Of course, he does. Because as much as he’d like to pretend he doesn’t know me or remember me, Callan Reed has grown up with me by his side for years. He knows all my tics, knows exactly what buttons to push, and he clearly knows when I’m going to cry.
Callan scoffs, a menacing glint in his eyes. “Are you going to cry so soon, Mrs. Fletcher? Such a goddamn disappointment. You might as well leave now. There’s no way you’re going to last an entire week here.”
We stare at each other. My chest heaves as it works to accommodate the sudden bout of anger swarming through my veins. He thinks I’m weak. He thinks I’m still that little girl from all those years ago, but he’s wrong. I’ve been through hell this past year, and I’m not going to let Callan Reed be the one that brings me down. Not after I’ve endured so much.
Sniffing past the pressure in my nose, I slip my purse in front of me and grip it, using it as a shield of sorts.
“I am not going to cry, sir,” I grit. “And I can guarantee you, I’ll make it past the first week.” Callan rolls his eyes, and it only fuels my red haze of anger. I lean forward, so he can get my drift. “You know what? You’re right, Mr. Reed. We’re not friends. We’re nothing. You don’t know me anymore, and I don’t know you. You can’t beat me down any harder than life already has.”
Callan smirks. It’s not a friendly one; it’s one that has dread swirling through my gut and pain gripping my heart. “We’ll see about that.”
“Do your worst,” I challenge.
A stare off ensues, both of us drilling holes into each other with the intensity of our gaze. He’s the first to break, and I take some victory in that. It doesn’t last long. He slides an iPad across his desk toward me and jumps into bullet point form of everything expected of me.
“I need my coffee every morning by seven-thirty a.m. sharp. I take a latte with soy milk, no foam, two espresso shots with a spinach and quinoa egg wrap. My dry cleaning needs to be picked up no later than six-forty. Claire fields my calls, but unless a client has an appointment, all calls and messages will be sent to you. Your job is to wade through and decide what is of utmost imp
ortance. I need you to update my calendar every hour on the hour. You have access to the company email, which means forwarding important messages to me. Everything else is yours to handle. For lunch, I usually like a sandwich from the deli on 6th, but if that changes, you’ll be made aware the morning of. I require my assistant to be available all hours of the day, and that includes weekends. If necessary, my assistant will accompany me to events and any meetings that I deem a requirement. Are you still following?” He pauses to check. My fingers are flying over the iPad screen in the notes section as I try to keep up. My mind is running a million miles a second, and I have a major adrenaline rush just from the hoard of information. I can’t even imagine what this will be like, attempting to complete any of these demands. One thing I’m certain of, Callan Reed has turned into one big, pretentious dick.
He goes on for another ten minutes or so with more rules and things expected of me as his assistant. By the time he’s finished, the tendons in my hands ache from all the typing I’ve done. My head is spinning, just trying to keep up with this man. I have to remind myself of Faith. We need this job. I’m doing this for her.
Callan proceeds to show me where my desk is. It’s a small office right next to his. It’s not as great as his, but honestly, it’s better than I imagined it would be. Hell, I’m surprised his assistant gets an office at all. I was sort of expecting to be stuffed into a cubicle. As far as offices go, this is luxurious compared to what other people have, I’m sure.
I follow him down to the second floor of the firm where human resources is located as well as boardrooms. Apparently, they needed their very own floor.
“This is the HR department,” he says, gesturing in the general direction of the offices on one side of the hall, encased in glass, just like the offices upstairs. Which is surprising. Callan Reed living in a figurative glass house? Interesting.
