by S. M. Soto
The muscle in his jaw clenches. “Then leave.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. Humiliation sears the back of my throat. “I need this job. As much as it pains me to admit, I need this. I’ll put in the time, I’ll work hard to prove to you that I can do this, just please, Callan. Please, let me prove you wrong.”
Callan’s nostrils flare, and the muscles in his jaw are jumping recklessly as he grinds his teeth back and forth. He seems to be waging some internal battle, which could either work out in my favor or it could fail.
“One fuckup, Mrs. Fletcher, and you’re done here, got it?”
I release a pent-up breath. The smile that spreads across my face takes us both by surprise. Part of me wants to reach out to him and hug him, but I know he’ll have a heart attack if I do that, so I opt for a thank you instead.
“You won’t regret this, I promise. Just…thank you, Callan.”
His lips thin. “I already do. And for Christ’s sake, stop calling me Callan, or you really are done here.”
“Right. Of course. No more.” I fight my smile.
Callan rolls his eyes. “Quit wasting my time. Take your check and leave. I expect to see you back here on Monday, and I expect you to be available all weekend in case I need you.”
Need me? I never thought I’d hear those words come out of Callan’s mouth.
After finalizing my employment with HR, I went home to Faith with a smile on my face.
This situation may not be ideal, but this could be good for us. It would be good for me and Faith.
“So, I take it you made it past the week?” Rosalind asks as soon as she steps through the front door. She sets her briefcase down by the breakfast bar, and as I take in her outfit, I can’t help but smile. My best friend is a goddamn lawyer.
She’s a badass, and I love her.
When we were kids, she always did say she wanted to be a lawyer. Hell, she had an argument for everything. There’s this overwhelming sense of pride when I see her now. She followed her dreams. We always promised we’d do what we love—it’s funny how time changes things.
“What gave it away?” I ask, rocking Faith in my arms.
She shrugs, fighting a smile of her own. “The fact that you’re not sobbing into oblivion. That was a mild giveaway.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, I had to damn near beg him to let me keep the job. But at least I have a job and enough money to get my own place.”
Rose’s smile slowly tapers off her face. “You sure about this? You don’t have to go, Daisy.”
“I do. I can’t live like this forever. We’re just taking up space and disrupting your life.”
“Why would you say that? I love having you here.”
“Have you seen the bags under your eyes?” I quirk a brow.
She deflates. “Okay, so the crying keeps me up a little, but I can handle it. Plus, we’ve been using earplugs, and they’re a huge help.”
I groan. “This is your place. You should not have to use earplugs.”
“I might’ve considered it, anyway. That man snores like there’s no tomorrow. So please, just stay.” Something glinting in her gray eyes gives me pause.
My eyes narrow, a tingle of suspicion crawling down my spine. “Do you not think I can handle this on my own?”
“What? How can you even think that? It’s just…I’ve missed you, babe. Having you here…it reminds me of old times. I don’t want to lose you again.”
My throat constricts with emotion. “You never lost me, Rosie. But you and I both know this is what I have to do. I’ve relied on everyone my whole life. It’s time to rely on myself.”
She sniffles. “You’re right. I know. I just want to make sure you’ll be able to handle Callan day in and day out.”
I lift my shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “It’ll be hard but not impossible.”
Famous last words.
True to his word, Callan did need me to work on the weekend. Between feedings, I was responding to emails and doing what I could from home. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now—Callan Reed is one busy man. Every hour on the hour, my inbox is filled with emails from potential clients. Hell, I’ve even seen names in here that I’ve only seen on TV. Callan has made a name for himself in the business world.
I heave a deep sigh when I see another email pop up on the screen of the company phone I was given by Hailey, the head of HR. I keep my fingers crossed that it’s nothing too extensive.
Wishful thinking on my part, I guess.
Subject: What I Need by 6 P.M.
The McPherson contract.
The blueprints for the King’s Resorts and Spa expansion need to be sent to Mr. King’s secretary.
Claire’s meeting notes from the past two weeks need to be transferred into the shared folder for the end of the month meeting in the conference room. My watch is ready for pickup. You’ll need to stand in line at Patek Philippe on the corner of 5th and 50th. Fifteen suits need to be picked up from the dry cleaners.
Drop everything off at my place before six p.m. I have dinner with a client. Give the doorman your name, and he’ll let you up.
Leave everything in the foyer.
You can see yourself out after that.
240 Park Avenue South
PH
New York, New York 10003
Callan Reed
CEO, Reed Architecture, INC.
I deflate after reading the email. Throwing myself back onto the bed, I glare up at the ceiling. I’ve either been glued to my phone or trying to stay on top of Faith’s schedule. It feels like I haven’t had a single second for myself. I shift, glancing toward the bassinet. She’s still sound asleep. In order to make any of this work, I’ll need to wake her early for a feeding, then hurry up and try to put her back to sleep before I can even attempt to get any of this done.
Who am I kidding? I won’t be able to manage half of these requests with an infant strapped to my chest. I toy with the idea of messaging the nanny or even Rosalind, asking them to watch her while I get everything done, but then toss it out. As if sensing where my thoughts are headed, there’s a sudden light rapping on the door.
Caroline, Rose’s mom, pokes her head inside, wearing a soft smile on her face. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the sleeping baby in the bassinet before traveling back to me. I must be wearing a look of complete stress because her face softens. It’s the look of a concerned mother.
“Rosalind thought you could use some help.”
I huff. “Of course she did.”
“She just worries about you, that’s all. I wouldn’t read too much into it, sweetie.”
“I know.” I shake my head, glancing down at my hands that are clasped in my lap. “I don’t know why I thought I could do any of this without help.”
Caroline shuts the door with a quiet click, drawing my gaze up to her. She smiles as though she knows better. “Go, do your job. I promise I will take great care of Faith.”
A frown mars my face. “I feel bad about leaving her. It’s the weekend.”
“I know you do, baby. I want to say it will get easier, but you’ve always had a big heart. You feel things on a greater level compared to others. This will be a challenge, but Faith will understand. One day, she’ll look back and smile at how strong you were during all of this.”
I swipe at the sudden tear that rolls down my cheek. “I’ve only been there a week, and already I’m exhausted. Callan is…” I trail off, trying to find adequate words for her son while remaining nice. The last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings.
Caroline laughs. “I know my son, Daisy, and I know how trying he can be at times. You’ll get the hang of things soon enough.”
I smile my thanks and get ready to finish everything on Callan’s mile-long to-do list. Does the man really need all of this done? I’m not so sure. Before leaving, I press a kiss to Faith’s forehead, trying to ignore the twinge twisting in my chest.
After I run all over town, getting everything done for
Callan, I hop out of the cab at a quarter to five. I didn’t think I’d be able to get everything done on time, but I surprised myself. Maybe Caroline was right. Maybe I would begin to get the hang of things after a while.
Juggling the suits, the completed files, and his expensive-ass watch in my arms and hands, I pause in front of the looming building and gape when I settle on the top. He said the penthouse floor. I can only imagine what something like this must cost.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Dragging my gaze away from the tall building’s immaculately designed structure, I turn toward the source. An older gentleman who I presume is the doorman stands before me dressed in a suit, brows raised. I’m sure I don’t exactly fit in with most people who step into this building, so I can’t really be that upset.
“I’m here to drop off some stuff”—I shift everything in my arms to prove my point—“for my boss, Mr. Callan Reed. I’m Daisy.”
“Ah, yes, Mrs. Fletcher. We’ve been expecting you. Would you like any help bringing this up to Mr. Reed’s floor?”
I pause, considering it for only a few seconds before I shake my head. Knowing Callan, this is probably some test. If I get any help, he might decide to fire me.
One fuckup and you’re done.
A shiver trails down my spine as I replay his words. I can’t tell if it’s because of his voice or the meaning behind them.
The doorman, whose name is Philip, guides me inside the lobby. I stop just inside the heavy glass doors and stare. With my mouth hung open like an idiot, I scan the entry and all its opulence. The building itself is something you’d see advertised in a millionaire’s magazine. It’s so pristine and elegant. Hell, even the elevators are nice.
Soft, cream-colored furniture arranged in a semi-circle faces a gray stone fireplace that stretches all the way to the top of the high ceiling. The orange and red flames inside the hearth dance and sway to the faint sounds of classical music throughout the room.
“This way, Mrs. Fletcher.”
I clear my throat, meeting his gaze. “It’s actually Ms. Casillas. I’m no longer Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Of course.” He nods as if he understands. “Right this way.”
I follow the man through the room. My sneakers squeak against the marble floors, drawing way too much unwanted attention to myself. I twist my head up and around. Everything is gold and glass. Accented with hints of yellow and grays. From vases to hanging lights, sculptures and paintings, the place radiates a magnificence far fancier than what I was used to with Dean. Don’t get me wrong, we lived a great life. I wanted for none of the material things, but this…this is a whole new level. One I can’t even fathom.
We come to a stop in front of a massive elevator door. The solid, flat black color is a stark contrast to the other four elevator doors, mirrored glass tinted in gold. Philip slides a card through the little black box next to the door with a big “PH” over it. There’s a tell-tale ding, and the doors slide open. Philip gives me a reassuring smile. I don’t know how many assistants Callan has had come here to drop stuff off, but it must be enough that even the doormen here know what to expect. It’s good to know I’m not the only person he’s an asshole to.
After stepping off the elevator, I jerk to a halt in the foyer. This place is…incredible. With floor-to-ceiling windows, you can clearly see the darkening skyline and the buildings surrounding his floor. This place is the penthouse dreams are made of. Open floor plan. Marble floors. Spiraling staircase with glass rails. It’s straight out of Architectural Digest. Of their own accord, my feet take me across the foyer into what I presume is the great room. The view here is breathtaking. It’s obvious a man lives here. Everything is decorated in minimal dark colors. It’s so very bare yet oddly beautiful.
I spin in a slow circle, pausing when I see the framed photographs on the wall. Crossing the room, I stop a few inches before them, and my breath catches. From afar, they look like beautiful candid pictures of New York, but now that I’m standing here, I realize they’re drawings. Without needing to see the artist’s name, I know who drew them. He’s even more talented than I remember.
“What did you not understand about dropping my stuff off and seeing yourself out?”
A surprised scream rips from my chest, and I whirl around. Callan is standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, glaring at me. I don’t see him standing very often while we’re at work. He’s usually sitting at his desk or off somewhere working. But seeing him now, Jesus, I forgot how tall he is. He’s got to be at least six-foot-four. Maybe even five?
“Oh, right. S-sorry. I just…I wasn’t expecting this place to be so nice.”
“I’m not paying you to expect anything, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m paying you to do your job.”
Heat settles in my cheeks. Embarrassment and ire swirl through my chest. Carefully, I cross the great room, back into his foyer, and set everything down on the table near the staircase. I press the call button for the elevator and swallow the lump that has formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe. When I get in and turn back around, Callan is gone. I’m not surprised he doesn’t watch me leave.
Such an asshole.
For the next twenty minutes, I stand outside of his building, waiting for my lift. I tug at the sleeves of my jacket, warding off the chill. Every cab I’ve tried to stop drove right past me as if I didn’t exist. I pull up the GPS on my phone and consider walking back to Rose’s place, but after a full day of running around, I just want to shower and lie in bed as soon as humanly possible.
“Mrs. Fletcher, is there a reason you’re still standing outside of my building?”
I tense at the sound of Callan’s voice. Glancing at the screen of my phone, I heave a deep sigh when I realize what time it is. No wonder the man thinks I’m always late. He’s leaving for his dinner almost an hour early. Talk about being anal.
He stands there, looking handsome as sin, wearing a designer trenchcoat over an impeccable suit, with his impenetrable go-fuck-yourself scowl firmly in place.
“I’m waiting for my Uber.”
Callan’s brows pull in together, making his face appear even more severe than usual. “Just grab a cab.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “I tried. They all drove right past me.”
He nods as if this makes all the sense in the world. “You’re an easy person to overlook.”
My heart squeezes painfully at his words. I curl my hands into fists at my sides and work to accommodate my heavy breathing. When he realizes I’m not going to respond to his rude insult, he blows out a breath. “Why didn’t you just have one of the doormen call you a cab?”
I shift on my feet, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “I didn’t realize that was an option.”
“Is that how you’ve been getting around, using Uber? Why not borrow my sister’s car?”
I want to ask why he’s suddenly asking all these damn questions, but the last thing I need is to snap at him and have him fire me for doing so. Instead, I shoot him a scowl. “I’m already living with her. I’m not going to leech off her any more than I am. This is all just temporary. As is the living situation.”
A black car suddenly pulls up to the curb, and it’s a struggle not to roll my eyes. It’s a Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Can this man get any more cliché?
“I have a personal driver. From now on, you’ll use him to get to and from work, and if I need anything picked up, you’ll use him. Maybe then you’ll actually be on time for once.”
With that, he climbs into the back of the car just as he presses his phone to his ear.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
You’d think he’d offer to give me a ride on his way to his dinner meeting, but no, of course not.
As if on cue, my Uber shows up, and I climb in, ready to head home. I need this day to be over. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. Callan Reed is nothing like the boy from my childhood. This man is pure evil wrapped in a tailored suit.
/> “What do you think of this one?” I ask Rose, referring to the space around us. I wasn’t expecting to hear back from any of the realtors I’d reached out to so soon, but after I got home from running errands, I checked my personal email, and it was filled with responses. I set up an appointment as soon as possible, and they could squeeze me in today.
Rosalind’s face is pinched in distress. Hell, the disgust is written all over her as she glances around. She shakes her head. “Daisy…this place is a dump. You cannot be serious?”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s not that bad. It has two bedrooms and a decent bathroom. It’s perfect for us.” I may be stretching the truth a bit, but obviously, I’ll never be able to afford anything like she has, and especially nothing like her brother has. I need to be realistic with my purchase, especially with a newborn.
“Is that what we’re calling this? A two-bedroom? It’s more like a half-bedroom and a damn coat closet. Not to mention, do you feel how cold it is in here? Look at my breath, you can see the plumes of smoke!”
I roll my eyes, shifting Faith in my arms, discreetly warding off the chill in my bones. “That’s a bit dramatic. And it’s not called smoke.”
She raises a brow. “What is it, then?”
I scowl. “I don’t know, but I know it isn’t smoke.”
“Look, I’m not letting you do this. This place looks like you searched up the shittiest complexes for rent in the area. Not to mention, this neighborhood looks shady. I think there was a drug deal happening on the corner when we walked up the steps!”
I purse my lips. I could argue, but that would get us nowhere. The place may not be in the best area, but it’s the smart decision. Here, I can save up my money and work to get us something better. I need to save as much of Dean’s policy as I can. “Well, it’s too late. I’ve already made up my mind.”
“So, what do we think? We ready to finalize the paperwork?” the older man with the nasally voice asks. He owns the place and apparently is one of my new neighbors—if I decide to go forward with this.
