by S. M. Soto
He clears his throat. “That’s strike one. You need to pull it together if you plan on staying here.”
With that swift brush-off, he leaves for his dinner meeting, and I’m left standing here, bottom lip trapped between my teeth, fighting back my tears. As much as I’d like to go home and forget this asshole even exists, I still have a slew of emails and other work to get to.
Just great.
After having an entire night to stew on my anger, I coach myself on how to compartmentalize while I get ready for work. Today is a new day, and I refuse to let yesterday bring me down, clouding whatever positivity the day will bring.
Last night was the first night Faith slept through the entire night. I think she’s finally getting used to the noises of the building. At least I hope so. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go without sleep. While Faith slept through the night, it gave me enough time to finish my work and actually get to bed at a decent hour.
Right on schedule, Claire calls my desk phone, letting me know Callan’s appointment is here. Pushing up from my desk, I smooth out my dress and run my hand over my hair, flattening the strands out. I suck in a deep breath, composing myself. The last time I was in this conference room with Callan and his clients, it was a mess of epic proportions. He mentioned he needs this meeting to go well, and it’s obvious he thinks there will be another mishap like there was the last time. I plan to prove him wrong.
The client he’s meeting with is Baz King of King Resorts and Spas. The man is huge. A billionaire.
He’s a ruthless businessman and not to mention one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors. Wait, scratch that. He was, not so much anymore. I used to read about this guy frequently. He was on almost every magazine cover from The Wall Street Journal and The Enquirer to many other gossip rags, especially in California.
If Callan lands this deal, I’m sure that would make him much more popular in the business world than he already is. Not only do I want it to go well for him, I need it to go well for me, too. There is too much at stake. Maybe if all goes according to plan, Callan will finally leave me alone long enough to stop with the snide comments.
As I leave my office and round the corner into the reception area, I stumble. I don’t mean to, but it just happens. I know a hot man when I see one, and Baz King is certainly no exception. I force a swallow when I see the man in question. I’ve read many things about Baz King and the Savages, the group of friends who surround him. The gossip and rumor mills in Hollywood had a lot to say. I’ve just about read it all. I’ve seen all the tabloids, but nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to seeing this man in real life. He is of another species.
He stands there, hand in hand with his wife, in a three-piece bespoke suit. His face is cold and emotionless. A lot like Callan, actually. There’s an authoritative air surrounding him. He just screams testosterone and magnetism. My gaze focuses on his wife, Mackenzie, and I marvel at the two of them together. She’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful you can’t avert your eyes from. Together, they look perfect.
“Mr. and Mrs. King, I’m Daisy, Mr. Reed’s assistant. Can I get you both something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” Mackenzie smiles. It’s soft, yet I can tell the woman is anything but soft. I read about her sister. How she was murdered. Even read her book. The woman is incredibly strong, to say the least.
“Right. Well, if you’ll both follow me, I’ll take you to the conference room. Callan will be in shortly.”
Once they’re both settled in the conference room, I make sure I have all the paperwork ready to be passed out this time.
“I’ve sent all materials over to your assistant. Is there anything you need me to handle in the meantime, while you wait?” I realize I probably sound like a broken record, simply because I keep asking them question after question, but they have no idea how much of an asshole my boss can be.
This time, Mr. King’s lip twitches as though he’s hiding a smile, or he finds something amusing. He shares a look with his wife.
“No, thank you, Daisy. We’re perfectly fine.”
“Okay. Great.” With a jerky nod, I excuse myself. The second I step out of the conference room, I finally inhale a deep breath. I swear, the two of them together in there is tension personified. It was damn near impossible to breathe.
I don’t make it all that far down the hallway when I hear my name called out, and I freeze. Turning on my heels, I glance over my shoulder toward the source of the feminine voice. Mackenzie stops behind me, a soft smile on her face.
“Hey, I changed my mind. Is there any way we can get some waters, after all?”
“Of course. I’ll get right on that—”
I’m swiftly cut off.
“Mrs. Fletcher, is there a reason you haven’t been answering any of my calls?” I tense at the sound of Callan’s terse tone.
My gaze collides with Mackenzie’s. She searches my gaze, slowly glancing from me back to Callan, who is still standing behind me, waiting for me to answer him.
I heave a deep sigh and pivot. “I was helping the clients into the conference room. I didn’t have the phone on me.”
The muscle along his jaw jumps. “As my assistant, I’d think it would be common sense to carry the phone around on you while you’re not in your office, is it not?”
Heat climbs into my cheeks at his tone.
Is he really doing this right now?
Talking down to me like I’m a child?
“You’re right,” I grit, biting back my pride. “I shouldn’t have left without it. It won’t happen again.”
“Can we get started now, or are there any other issues we should address?”
My nostrils flare. “No. I’m sorry.”
With a sigh, Callan leads the way back into the conference room. Mackenzie’s silence is deafening, and my cheeks are still hot with embarrassment.
If I thought this meeting would be any better than the last, I was wrong. For the most part, Callan seems to be intensely focused on his discussion with Mr. King, but there’s no mistaking the glares he shoots my way every chance he gets. Even Mackenzie notices. She spends most of the meeting either staring at Callan or me. Her gaze pinballs back and forth between us.
After the meeting is over, we say our goodbyes, and even though I try not to, heat climbs up to my cheeks when Baz smirks down at me, shaking my hand before following Callan out into the hallway, discussing their plans further. I feel like there’s a permanent blush in my cheeks, especially when Mackenzie stops me.
She pulls me into a hug and whispers in my ear, “They always come to their senses eventually. Don’t give up hope.” With a knowing grin and a wink, she waltzes up to Callan and Baz. She takes her husband’s hand, and I watch them disappear.
Jesus.
That was Baz King and Mackenzie Wright King.
Can working here get any more bizarre?
Past
Ever since prom night, there’s been a heaviness in my chest that makes it hard to breathe, hard to think. My only saving grace has been Rosalind. After prom night, I told her what happened, and she took me in her arms and held me. She understood why I couldn’t go to her house from here on out. I couldn’t run the risk of facing Callan, especially after our last encounter. Knowing he’s been intimate with Skylar hurts. I haven’t even been able to face her at all.
For good reason.
We’re walking down the hallway, heading to lunch, when we hear loud voices and arguing bouncing off the walls. It’s utter chaos.
A sense of déjà vu slams into me.
My stomach twists uneasily.
We share a look, and I force a thick swallow, following the stragglers. I push my way through the crowd, and my stomach bottoms out when I see it. Callan and Dean are throwing punches at each other. A ragged gasp rips from my chest, and tears fill my eyes.
“Jesus Christ,” Rose whispers.
Luckily, the football players break up the fight before it can get any messier than it a
lready has. They grapple at Dean and Callan, pulling each of them to opposite sides. Without thinking it through, I push past throngs of bodies until I’m mere feet away from them both.
I stand between them, my gaze darting back and forth. Dean’s nose is bleeding badly, and Callan only has a small slit on his lip. Otherwise, he looks untouched. I suddenly feel stuck between the two of them. Part of me wants to go to Callan and make sure he’s okay, but the other part, the part of me that knows better, wants to make sure Dean is okay, too.
Through the crowd of spectators, I hear the shrill sound of my cousin’s voice calling out to Callan, and it’s like nails on a chalkboard. My heart shrivels, my nostrils flare, and when I lock eyes with Callan, I make my decision. I see it there in his gaze, the moment he realizes my decision is made because, for once, he shows emotion. Pain flits across his face.
I want to scream.
I want to rage.
I want to tell him this is all his fault.
I want him to take me back to prom night. I want to redo everything. I want him to stop pushing me away and stop being a coward for once in his goddamn life. As I stare at him, I realize that’s never going to happen, and as my cousin pats his face, checking on him to make sure he’s okay, I realize I can’t compete with someone like her.
I shouldn’t have to compete at all.
So, I turn, giving my back to Callan, and I check on Dean instead.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, running my fingers across the bruises already blooming on his cheekbone.
His face contorts with a grimace. “Callan wasn’t too happy when he heard about prom night.”
My brows pull down, and I drop my hand from his face. My stomach sours. “You told him?”
“He told everyone,” Callan pipes in.
Bile rises to my throat. I look at Dean, my chest quaking. “Why would you do that?”
He has the decency to look ashamed. “You’re beautiful. They’re my friends. I wanted to brag.”
“To the entire school?” I exclaim, heat rising to my cheeks.
“Daisy, listen.” He sighs. “I didn’t do it to hurt you. This is just what us guys do.”
“Speak for yourself, motherfucker,” Callan growls from someplace behind me.
“Would you mind your own business, Reed? Haven’t you done enough?” Dean snaps.
Feeling eyes on us, I jerk out of his hold and run away. I run from the whispers and the stares. I can’t do this—with either of them.
I shift on the bed at the sound of knocking on my door. I’m not all that surprised when my mom slips inside. I try not to let my irritation show. Today has been one of those days. One where I don’t want to talk. One where I just need to wallow in my own misery.
Things between Skylar and me haven’t been civil at all. Just yesterday, I refused to sit next to her at the dinner table, opting to eat in my room instead. My parents didn’t understand my attitude. Sky just sat there with a raised brow and that infuriating grin on her face, waiting for me to spill the beans, to voice my heartbreak. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Instead, I just let my parents think this was one of those teenage phases. Their daughter is upset for no reason.
My mom shuts the door softly behind her. I avert my gaze, staring out the window at the house next door. And just like it has since the night of prom, my heart clenches with pain.
The bed dips slightly. “You didn’t come out for dinner.”
I lift a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “Not hungry.”
“Baby…please talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Pain slices through my chest, and my eyes water. Why do moms have to use this voice? The one that digs deep into your chest, easing the tight grip around your heart.
“Everything,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Oh, honey.” My mom pulls me into her arms, and the dam breaks. Tears fall down my cheeks in torrents. She brushes my hair back, caressing my temple in soothing motions as if she’s coaxing the truth out of me. “This is about Callan, isn’t it?”
I’ve tried to avoid any mention of his name or thinking about him at all, so hearing it now, it’s a dagger to the heart. “And Skylar.”
I feel my mother tense next to me. Her caressing freezes. “Skylar? What about her?”
My chin quivers. I can’t even get the words past my lips. They’re like acid on my tongue. “She…she…she slept with Callan.”
My mother sucks in a sharp breath. “I see.”
“So yeah, excuse me if eating dinner with her isn’t exactly what I want to do at the moment.”
A long stretch of silence passes between us.
“What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. He made his choice. And I made mine.”
“Dean? That’s your choice?”
I press my lips together. “Yeah. He is.”
“Does he make you happy? Is he the one you can see yourself with, years from now?”
No.
“Yes.”
Ignoring my answer, my mom starts up her caressing again. “I’m sorry about Callan. I really thought you two would…” she trails off, and for that, I’m all too thankful. It’s too painful to hear what she thought would happen between us.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m officially done with Callan Reed.”
I’m lying.
And she must know this. My mom rests her hand on my chest where my heart continues to thud painfully, and she rubs in gentle circles as though she has the power to heal my broken heart.
“Sana, sana tu corazon, si no sanas hoy sanaras mañana.”
Heal, heal your heart, if you don’t heal today you will heal tomorrow.
A tear trickles down my cheek.
Not this time, Mom.
Present
It’s been almost a month since the dinner at Callan’s parents’ place, and I’ve purposely kept my distance from the Reeds’ family night. Sure, I could’ve made things awkward and shown up to the next family dinner anyway, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to do that.
I’ve dutifully stayed in my lane and been a kick-ass executive assistant. There hasn’t been much of a complaint on his end because I’ve finally managed to find the balance. Compartmentalization. Getting Callan Reed out of my head and keeping him there.
Our trip is coming up in just a few days, and I’m having trouble splitting my thoughts between guilt for leaving Faith behind, dread for the next weekend to come, and hating myself for any lingering excitement I might feel.
I tell myself it’s traveling jitters. There’s no way I should be this excited at the prospect of being around Callan Reed at all.
Impossible.
I’m busy finalizing some documents for this weekend when the door to my office suddenly flies open. A gasp rips from my chest, and my eyes widen when I spot Callan there, fuming. It immediately puts me on edge. He never comes into my office. It’s always the other way around, me coming to him.
“Is there a problem—”
“Mind telling me why you changed your last name without telling me?” he barks, barging into my space. I flinch at his sharp tone. Squaring my shoulders, I swallow my fear, facing him directly.
“I-what?”
“Daisy Fletcher to Daisy Casillas? We have to rebook you an entire flight because you were too dense to even tell me about the change.”
My stomach drops. Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that. I’d been meaning to change my last name back for a while now, and it finally went through last week. I should’ve mentioned it sooner, but it hadn’t even occurred to me, until now.
“I’m so sorry, Callan. It slipped my mind.”
“It’s Mr. Reed!” he barks. “How dense are you?”
The color drains from my face.
I jerk back in the chair at his tone.
That all too familiar needle pricks my chest. His jabs are becoming far more hurtful—each worse than the last.
“Fix this. I won’t have you
r mistakes messing with my meeting next week.”
A tense silence passes between us until he turns, leaving just as abruptly as he barged in. With a trembling hand, I smooth the hair from my face and turn to the computer, ignoring the way my eyes are burning with unshed tears.
What the hell is his problem? He acts like I did this on purpose. It was a simple mistake. One I never meant to happen.
“Mrs. Fletcher?” I hear Claire’s tentative voice as she raps her knuckles on my open office door. I quickly swipe under my eyes, catching any moisture that might’ve leaked without my permission, plastering a fake smile on my face. The same smile I’ve been wearing for my entire life. The one that’s there to appease everyone else around me. Sympathy is etched on her face as she steps inside, and I hate it.
Loathe it.
“I, um,” she pauses, glancing over her shoulder, probably to make sure no one hears her. “I just wanted to say sorry on his behalf. You don’t deserve to be spoken to that way.”
My chest rattles, and I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, trying not to cry. I nod, averting my gaze. “Thank you, Claire. I appreciate that.”
She begins to leave, but my next words have her pausing just over the threshold. “And it’s Ms. Casillas now.”
Claire turns, smiling at me, and I swear I see a hint of pride in her eyes. “It suits you much better than Fletcher ever did.”
As she leaves, I fall back against my chair.
I can’t help but agree.
I was never meant to be a Fletcher. For my whole life, I’ve been trying to be someone I’m not. That ends today.
Before the workday is over, I suck up any lingering frustrations I have with Callan and knock on his office door.
“Come in,” he calls.
Without sparing him a glance, I set the pile of files down on his desk. “Everything is finished. I’ve taken the liberty of fixing the flight manifest info and the itinerary for the trip. My name change should no longer be an issue. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to leave for the day.”
