by S. M. Soto
I open my mouth to respond but snap it shut when I feel a sob building in my throat. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and I glance away, trying to find adequate words. Part of me is upset he thinks renting a hotel room for us is a gift, and the other part of me is oddly thankful he even cares enough to want to spend time with me after what happened.
“Oh, I don’t know. I have to go home at some point. I can’t stay out all night. My parents would kill me if they knew I was spending the night with you at a hotel.”
His face falls slightly, and he nods. “Right. That’s okay. Just know the option is open if you change your mind.”
I smile half-heartedly, knowing full well I won’t change my mind.
As we’re leaving prom, I hesitate outside of Dean’s car. All night, I’ve been battling my emotions, battling my own inner turmoil. And I’ve come to a conclusion—this is wrong. What I’m doing to Dean. He deserves to be with someone who will make him happy, someone who would kill to be at his side, and I’ve been denying it for far too long. That’s just not me. I can’t string him along and pretend to be happy with him, even when I’m not.
Dean shoots me a frown when he sees me hovering near the car, not getting in. He raises his brows, silently asking what I’m doing.
Forcing a thick swallow, I wipe my clammy palms along the material of my dress. “Listen, I like you, Dean, but I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”
His face clouds with frustration. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this…us.”
“I told you we were fine, Daisy!”
“And what if I’m not?” I shout back, on the verge of tears.
Silence passes between us.
Dean works his jaw back and forth, trying to restrain his frustration.
“I swear to God, if you go running back to him…” He trails off, his nostrils flaring. “You’re pathetic.”
His words are a shot to the heart. I stumble back, putting some distance between us.
“I have to go,” I whisper.
His eyes flash with panic as he realizes what he’s just done.
Dean calls after me, but I’ve made up my mind. He’s made this so much easier. With the bottom of my dress grasped in my hands, I run. My feet are killing me in these heels, but I don’t even care.
I head home, a tightness singeing through my chest and tears teetering on the edge of my lashes. With my jacket wrapped around my arms and my phone clutched to my chest, I make the trek. It’s not that far from the school, so I’ll probably only have a few blisters.
“What the hell, Daisy?” Rose exclaims. I glance at the car beside me that’s rolling to a stop at the curb. “Why are you walking out here alone?”
I blow out a sigh. “I just want to go home, Rose. This night… I just can’t do this.” Her face softens. She says something to Ryan, who’s in the driver’s seat, and gets out of the car.
“Come with us, babe. We’re heading to a party. I promise, the second you want to leave, we’ll go. I won’t let you sit in your bedroom and wallow. Not tonight.”
I tip my head back, staring up at the starry sky, and sigh. “Fine.”
Climbing into the back seat, I keep my gaze fixed out the window during the entire ride to the party. When we enter, I’m bombarded by the jostling of overcrowded bodies, taken back to the first night I met up with Dean. Throughout our relationship, we haven’t really frequented many parties.
“Want something to drink?” Mikey, one of the football players, asks. I shake my head. I feel his gaze lingering on me, so I raise a brow.
“What?”
“I’m just surprised you’re here, is all. I didn’t see Dean. I did see Callan, so I guess it makes sense.”
My heart jumps. “He’s here?”
“Yeah. Upstairs, I think.”
“If you see Rose, can you tell her I’m going to use the restroom?”
He shrugs his approval, eyeing me suspiciously.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I all but run down the hallway and push through the bodies, through the throngs of people having fun. I stop and ask around, trying to find out where he is, and when I find him, my whole heart shatters.
I throw open the bedroom door at the end of the hall, and my brows pull down in confusion. The smell hits me first. The scent of marijuana is so strong, I cough, my face grimacing.
“Callan?”
He’s on the bed, shirt off, with his head in his hands. He glances up at the sound of my voice, and I swear I see regret written there. I glance around the room, and when I realize it’s just him, I step inside and shut the door behind me. It’s now or never.
“We need to talk.”
His jaw clenches, eyes flashing to mine. “Get out, Daisy.”
Pain wraps cold and savage around my heart. “No. I’m not leaving until we talk. I won’t let you push me away. Not anymore.”
“I said get out!” he yells, completely unhinged. I jolt back at the angered tone. I’ve never seen him look so angry. So panicked. For whatever reason, he doesn’t want me here.
The bathroom door suddenly bursts open, and I almost lose the contents of my stomach right then and there when I see who steps out.
“Callan?” My voice shakes. Fear clogging my tone. “What is she doing in here?”
Skylar stands there, her nude body on full display. Her cheeks looking flushed, and her smile looking more evil than I’ve ever seen it.
“What does it look like, Daisy?” Skylar slurs. “We fucked. Now, if you could leave, we can get started on round two.”
I press my hand over my stomach, tamping down the churning, as bile rises to my throat. My gaze swings to Callan with betrayal written all over my face. I expect to see guilt, a flash of remorse, anything at all, but he’s a blank mask. Completely void of any emotion.
I bite the inside of my cheek until I draw blood, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Callan has done a lot of shitty things, but this… I know he’d never do this to me.
“Is she telling the truth?” A tear glides down my cheek.
His hands curl into fists. “I told you to leave.”
“Is she telling the truth?” I snap, losing any sense of composure I thought I had. The muscle along his jaw jumps.
“You storm in here, and that’s the conclusion you jump to?” There’s a calmness in his tone that doesn’t sit right with me. It puts me on edge, as though I’m the one being tested. But I wasn’t the one caught in a comprising position. He was.
“What else am I supposed to think?” I retort. “You’re high, and she’s naked. Stop stalling and tell me the truth for once, Callan.”
“You want the truth?” He slowly rises from the bed, crossing the distance toward me. He stops mere inches away from me, crowding my space, clouding all of my rational thought. “I fucked her. I fucked her so hard, she screamed my name and begged me not to stop.” He picks up a perfectly curled strand of my hair and rubs it through his fingers. “I plan on doing it again and again and again. Happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear, Daisy?”
My chest quakes, and my vision blurs. Hell, I feel like I’m going to faint. My stomach twists. A cold front spears through my chest, and my heart, the poor organ, is ripped to shreds on the ground at his feet.
“Fucking ecstatic.”
“You asked for this.” He has the audacity to throw back at me.
I shake my head, swiping angrily at the tears I’ve lost the battle with. “You’re disgusting. You’re a damn coward and…I don’t ever want to see you again. You’re dead to me, Callan Reed. Dead to me.”
“Good,” he replies, his tone cold as ice.
I run from the room. I run from the house. I run to the one place I can cry and scream in peace. I fall apart at the levy, my heart shattered to irreparable pieces. There’s this burning pain inside me. It’s all-consuming.
When a text pops up on my phone screen, I right myself, swiping away the tears soaking my
face.
Dean: Please talk to me.
I stare at the message for what feels like hours. I don’t know what makes me do it. I don’t know if it’s the unbearable pain in my heart, the loneliness eating me up inside, or something else, but I type out a response, my fingers trembling as I do so.
Daisy: What’s the hotel number? His reply is immediate, and so is my decision.
I’m giving Dean my virginity. Even if it feels like a mistake, it’s better than feeling this pain. It’s better than thinking about my cousin and the boy I’ve loved most of my life together.
Little did I know, this decision would change my life forever.
Present
Subject: Today’s Requirements
Hotel confirmation for this weekend. Travel itinerary for the California trip and the architect’s ball at the end of the month. RSVP with a plus one. Why hasn’t this been taken care of yet? Files for our meeting need to be on my desk no later than 3:00.
Callan Reed
CEO, Reed Architecture, INC.
After rereading the email, I slam the door to my office closed. I haven’t had a good morning. As a matter of fact, I haven’t had a good day in what feels like months. But today tops everything.
I don’t know what made me do it, but last night, I unlocked Dean’s voicemail, needing to hear his voice, needing to drown out any and all thoughts of Callan, even if they were from my cheating ex-husband. That was a mistake, though, because his voicemails were the nail in the coffin. The love I once held for this man has fled.
Almost all of his voicemails he saved were from women. Hordes of women. Some left voicemails just moaning, others telling him they couldn’t wait for his cock again. I spent all of last night dealing with a crying baby and crying my own eyes out because if I wasn’t sure before, I was now. My husband was a pig.
How stupid was I?
How could I possibly believe that man ever loved me?
He was a serial cheater and a damned liar.
All night, I kept thinking if there had ever been a moment he didn’t cheat while we were in a relationship?
The answer, I was beginning to realize, was no.
A solid no.
To make matters worse, the people on the top floor of us threw a party last night, which is why I was up with a crying baby all night. I’m tired, cranky, and to top it all off, I’m heartbroken. I went through all of that for nothing, because none of it even managed to take my mind off Callan. Especially when I had emails from him waiting for me this morning. Demands on top of demands on top of even more demands.
It might just be all in my head, but I swear, his emails seem ruder and more detached than usual. That hit harder than I expected, especially after the shitty dinner at his parents’ place and the awkward encounter in my office.
As per usual, I drop off his coffee, breakfast, and morning reports before heading back to my own office to slurp down my own carafe and hope it wakes me up enough to get my job done. Of course, not once did he think to bring any of this up to me while I was in my office. He purposely waited until I sat down at my desk to rest my legs to send me another long list of ridiculous demands. It was as though he knew I was having a bad day, and he wanted to get under my skin. I didn’t get a “good morning” or even a “thank you”, just that arrogant brow raise and that cold gleam in his eyes.
I pace the pristine floors in favor of screaming. Because that’s all I want to do right now. Fall to my knees, drop my head back, and let out a scream that will shake the very foundation of the building beneath us.
My desk phone rings, and I shut my eyes, inhaling a deep breath before I answer. My hackles rise, and I steel myself at the sound of his voice. It’s deep and warm, yet it has a cold undertone that clearly can’t be missed.
“Mr. Reed, did you need something?”
“Why else would I be calling?”
I grit my back teeth together and bite my tongue to refrain from spewing something smart at him.
“Don’t bring me lunch today. I have an early dinner meeting with a friend. Before that meeting, I need you to take the card and buy a gift down at Saks Fifth Avenue and put it on the tab there. Tell them I sent you.”
“Will do.”
After hanging up with him, I gather my purse and make a quick detour to the shop and tell the woman at the front desk that I’m here to pick up an item for Callan Reed. The woman beams at me as though I’m a celebrity. I guess when your boss has his very own tab somewhere, the pleasantries are just a part of the package. The woman is rail thin with a platinum bob and an uppity air to her.
“Please let Mr. Reed know that we hope he is happy with his purchases, and we can’t wait to see him next time,” she says, brimming with excitement as she swipes his card and hands the frilly gift bag to me.
I nod, giving her a thin smile as I put his credit card away.
Rich people. They never cease to amaze me.
In the back of the Town Car, unable to help myself, I peek inside the bag, past all the tissue paper, and my stomach churns when I see lace. Red lace.
He buys lingerie for all of his friends?
Interesting.
I have no right to judge him. No right to feel any resentment at all, but I do.
God, I do.
The thought of Callan with other women makes me feel ill. Physically ill. Over the past thirteen years, he’s only gotten better looking with age. It’s just his attitude and his personality that have turned ugly. Though, I imagine not many women care about that. I’m sure they see a handsome face and call it a day. They don’t care that he’s rotten inside.
The fact that he gifts these women lingerie disgusts me.
He disgusts me.
The entire ride back to the office is spent fuming. How dare he send me, of all people, out to pick up lingerie for his floozies? Who the hell does he think he is? Does he not think I have better things to be doing?
I drop the bag from Saks on his desk with a little too much attitude. “Here is your gift for your dinner meeting. The itineraries and travel plans have been emailed to you, and I have our meeting notes for tonight prepped as well.”
I wait for a thank you, anything that will show his gratitude. That’s obviously too much to ask.
“You can go.”
My lips press together in frustration.
I don’t know what makes me say it, but before I can stop myself, the words are out of my mouth. “You know, next time, you should specify what I’m picking up so I’m not standing there with lingerie, looking like a fool.”
Callan freezes. Slowly, he glances up from the paperwork on his desk, his gaze clashing with mine. I swear I even see flames there, deep in his irises. “I’m not paying you to know any more than you need to, am I? Looking in the bag wasn’t in any part of the instructions I gave. Next time, do your job, or I’ll find someone else to do it. Someone who doesn’t complain every five seconds.”
His words are a slap back to reality. They shut me right up.
He’s right. He’s paying me to do a job, and he’s paying me well. I’m nothing to him, at least not anymore. It shouldn’t matter that I have to pick up lingerie. If I want to keep this job, I need to suck it up and deal with whatever Callan throws my way. Even if he is an asshole about how he does it.
I stay holed up inside my office, prepping for our meeting, slightly embarrassed by my jealous outburst earlier—because as much as I hate to admit it, that’s exactly what it was, a jealous outburst. When the clock hits four-fifty that evening, I let out a deep sigh and head to the conference room. There’s really no surprise at all that Callan is already there waiting, a disapproving look on his face as he scrolls through something on his phone. Even though I’m not necessarily late, I’m not exactly early enough for his liking either.
The second I step inside, I feel his deep blue-gray eyes watching my every move. I purposely try not to make eye contact as I walk over to the empty chair farthest away from him and set the files in m
y arms down.
To help speed things along, I jump into bullet point form, getting straight to the point. “Here is every report you requested, your print out of the newly acquired clients. I also have the real estate information and neighborhood logistics you requested. Per your request, I’ve also added the mandate drawings. They’re not great, but I did what I could.” I slide everything across to him, and he sifts through the paperwork, no expression on his face until he gets to the drawings. His brows slowly pull in together, contempt wafting off him. It prompts me to sit upright, sweat trickling down my spine.
“What the hell is this?” he demands.
“It’s the drawing you requested.”
His eyes flash to mine. “This is shit. How is this useful to me, Mrs. Fletcher?”
I open and close my mouth like a gaping fish, not sure what to say.
“I did my best.” And now that I’ve said it, I know it’s not true. If I really took the time, I could’ve done something way better, but with Faith, it’s hard to get anything done, let alone get a good night’s rest. I was tired. Incredibly sleep-deprived.
“This is your best? This piece of shit with…is that baby formula?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I lick my dry lips and try to pull myself together. “I apologize. I was up late last night with Faith, and I didn’t have the proper—”
“I’d think getting your work done would be a whole lot more important than worrying about someone who isn’t even your child.”
The color drains from my face. His words strike me in the heart.
I jerk back as though he struck me across the face. He practically has. He presses his lips together. I can’t tell if he’s doing it to keep from saying anything else that’s harsh or if he feels bad. Knowing him, it’s neither.
“That was…cruel, Mr. Reed,” I whisper, trying to keep the tears from falling.
Does he really think I don’t know that? Of course, she’s not mine. But I love her like she is. I went years hating myself for not being able to get pregnant with my own child. Somehow, this just feels like another way for him to kick me while I am down.
