by S. M. Soto
She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gaze flits around the table, almost as though she’s searching for a topic of discussion. Her eyes linger on my nearly empty tumbler, her brows drawing in together.
“That’s a far cry from Jones Blue Soda.”
Without permission, my lips twitch with amusement. “It is. Doesn’t mean I’ve stopped drinking it altogether.”
She rolls her eyes, fighting a grin. “What, are you going to tell me you have a secret stash of them at home?” She must sense my surprise because her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open. “You’re kidding me? I was just joking! I can’t believe you have a secret stash.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t call it a secret, but I do have a whole shelf in the refrigerator dedicated to them. I guess some tastes never change.”
Our gazes hold. Goosebumps erupts on my flesh, and heat rushes through my veins.
“Maybe,” she whispers.
When the check is brought over, it effectively pulls us both out of the moment. I pay for both of our meals and wait for her to finish, pretending I’m busy answering emails on my phone when, in reality, I’m avoiding having another conversation with her.
“I could’ve paid, you know,” she finally says as we leave the table. I rest my hand on her lower back, ignoring the way her body trembles beneath my touch.
I shoot a dry look down at her. “No, you couldn’t have.”
“How would you know?” she asks, mildly offended as we wait at the bank of elevators.
Another laugh bursts from my chest. I don’t mean for it to happen. It just comes naturally. “I’ve seen where you live, Daisy. That’s answer enough.”
When we settle into our respective corners of the elevator, she keeps on. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
I roll my eyes. “Dinner was $800, and I’m sure you could afford it, but I’d never make you pay.”
Silence descends.
“Why?”
The ding of the elevator is my only saving grace. As soon as the metal doors glide open, I walk out, heading toward my room. I hear her heels clacking behind me as she tries to keep up.
She’s a huffing mess when we finally reach our rooms, and it was wishful thinking to believe she’d let it go.
“You didn’t answer me.”
“Didn’t think I had to,” I reply dryly, swiping the card over the sensor, waiting for my door to open. When it does, I walk in but pause over the threshold, tossing her a glance over my shoulder. “I did it simply because I can.”
I shut the door behind me and wait there until I hear her own door click shut.
“Wow,” Daisy breathes as we stand side by side, outside of the open lot. This was the whole reason we flew out for this trip. I needed to assess the lot and the open space to envision what my potential creation could look like here. “It’s amazing how you can look at a space like this and build an entire structure in your head.” I follow the trajectory of her gaze back toward the open lot.
I don’t think much about my job. I just see an open space, and my mind takes over. As an artist, building and creating have always been things I’ve loved to do. In my mind, open spaces are easy to fill in with lines and beams. I crave the structure, whereas she craves the chaos of artistry.
After only looking at the photographs of the open lot, I could map out its potential, but now that I’m standing here, I can envision the building. I take in the surrounding lots and the area, making a note of the rest of the sky zone, taking it all into consideration. That’s the thing about these projects. People come to me because they want a building that fits in but stands out with its own character at the same time.
I remember when we were kids, I was certain I had found a kindred spirit in her. She was artful and fun. She had the knack for drawing like I did, but she preferred painting. She didn’t appreciate the clean lines or the structure that came with drawing. But her paintings? They were breathtaking even then. She was always so quick to put her dreams on the back burner, talk down to herself, so much so, I think she truly believes her painting is just a hobby. It’s anything but. I’ve seen people in the business world pay millions for shitty paintings. Hell, she created stuff from our childhood that was a whole hell of a lot better than those.
Ever since the dinner at my parents’ place, I’ve been unable to get her out of my head. The fact that she apparently quit painting altogether. I wonder if that was her decision or Dean’s. Something tells me it was his. It was one of the reasons I hated him. His uncanny ability to manipulate any situation. It’s why our feud started. It all began with her.
“What’re you so happy about, Reed?”
It’s a wonder I can even keep the grin off my face. I’m still thinking about last night. The kiss.
“Oh, I know what it is. He’s hot for his neighbor.”
“Fuck off.” I chuckle, knowing they’re not far off.
“Who’s this hot neighbor?” Dean, our wide receiver, asks, clearly interested. There’s been tension between us since our freshman year. He tried out for the quarterback position on the team, and I got it. Over the years, he’s tried to one-up me any chance he got, and I’ve never let him.
He strives to be something he’s not.
He hears about a girl everyone is suddenly showing interest in? He wants in.
He’s a hype beast, through and through.
It’s why I keep my relationship with Daisy under wraps. I’m a selfish bastard, and I’m not going to share her with any of these fuckers, least of all Dean Fletcher.
“No one,” I butt in, shooting him a glare.
“His sister’s best friend. Hot little Mexican chick. She’s already got the body of a Coke bottle on her—”
“Enough!” I bark, growing angrier with each passing second. She’s my best friend, not some piece of ass or a cheerleader from school.
Dean’s eyes glimmer at my outburst. “You care about her.”
There’s a challenge there, written in his eyes. It has my hackles rising. “Stay away from her.”
He laughs. “Afraid of a little competition, Reed?”
“She’d never stoop so low. Not with you.”
The muscle in his jaw jumps, ticking with ire. “Guess we’ll see about that, won’t we? She’ll be in high school soon enough. You won’t be able to hide her forever.”
I take a threatening step toward him, ready to rip his head off at his subtle implications. A firm hand presses against my chest, holding me back.
“He’s not worth it, man, c’mon.”
My only piece of mind was knowing Daisy would never be interested in him.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The second I found out Dean proposed to the girl who was always supposed to be mine, I drank myself stupid and slept with any woman who was ready and willing. Anything to forget her. To forget the pain that was a living, breathing entity inside my chest. See, it didn’t matter how much time had passed or how much distance was between us, I still thought about Daisy every single day. I pictured him with her, and it fucking drove me crazy; it still does. There were times I nearly threw it all away and flew home just to be with her. Just to beg her to see me.
“So, what now?” she asks, snapping me back to the present.
“Now, we draft up a contract, and I get started.”
She turns to me, her head cocked to the side, regarding me curiously. “Seriously, that’s it? That’s got to get expensive, just flying to potential sites.”
“It’s on their dime, not mine.”
Daisy rolls her eyes. “Of course, it is. We still have one more day here, don’t we? Why book extra days?”
“I do it in case I need a little more time to view the area, get a feel for the design.”
“Why am I not surprised it’s all work and no play with you?”
“Some of us are actually good at our jobs.”
She pretends to be offended, crossing her arms over her chest, but it’s impossible to m
iss the glimmer in her eyes. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually quite good at my job.”
She’s not wrong. Daisy is probably the best assistant I’ve had so far. She has her faults, sure, but there’s no denying she works hard. I’d never tell her that, though. That would give her the upper hand, and I can’t have that.
After leaving the site together, we ride back to The Drake in the Town Car that she managed to get us. Much like she did the night before, her gaze is glued on the city whizzing past the tinted window.
I don’t know why I do it. I couldn’t care less, but some part of me, that part from my past, wants to know.
“I take it you’ve never been to Chicago before?”
“Oh, no, I haven’t. Just California and New York. I’m guessing by that face you’re making that you travel a lot?” she asks.
I nod. “You get used to it after a while.”
“Traveling, famous clients, that’s…amazing.” I shift on the leather seat beneath me, uncomfortable with her praise. “How many other famous clients do you have?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Baz King? I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that I’ve shaken the man’s hand.”
I roll my eyes, not enthused. “He’s married.”
She laughs as though I’m funny. “I know that. Doesn’t mean I’m not affected by his looks.”
I brush off my aggravation. That little voice in the back of my mind tells me it’s jealousy, but I refuse to believe that.
Once we get back to the hotel, I hang back, stopping at the concierge desk. “Bring up any and all traveling brochures for the city up to the suite next to mine. Be sure she has a guide that can safely show her around.”
Since I can’t show her Chicago myself, I’ll make sure she gets to see it one way or another. With or without me.
Most of our trip has been spent in a fairly amicable way. Until we get to our flight home. There’s no telling if it’s the three days we spent in close proximity to each other or if it’s the mounting tension between us. Whatever it is, it’s caused the bickering between us to return with a vengeance.
First, it was over the little things. Me snapping at her for being herself and her doing everything in her damn power to piss me off. The entire flight was spent shooting glares at each other.
As we’re deplaning, I check my emails, already forwarding things to Daisy that need to be handled as soon as possible.
“Once you’re home, I’m going to need you to get the contract started. The sooner, the better.”
She heaves a deep, tired sigh. “Callan, we just got off a nearly three-hour-long flight. I just want to go home and rest a little bit and catch up with Faith.”
The entire weekend has gone by without a single mention of the child, and now that I’ve heard her name, a spark of anger ignites in my chest.
“I’m not paying you to rest. I’m paying you to work.”
She jerks to a halt, her shoulders rigid with tension. “Are you kidding me right now? I just went on a three-day work trip with you. Everyone needs a break, Callan.”
Why can’t she just do what I say and call it a fucking day? Does she have to argue with me at every turn?
“I don’t remember you being this passive-aggressive back in California.”
She scoffs. “And I don’t remember you being this much of a dick then either,” she shoots back.
I quirk a brow, waiting for her to come to heel. She doesn’t stand down like I expect her to.
I like that.
A whole hell of a lot more than I should.
“I was always a dick.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Are you really going to argue with me about this like a petulant child?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and my eyes follow the movement. “You’ve been picking fights with me since I started working for you, Callan. You purposely make my life hell. Admit it.”
I grind my teeth together.
“If you did your job right, I wouldn’t have to get on you.”
“You and I both know that’s not true. Every comment you make is to belittle me. You think you’re better because you have some amazing job with an incredible view? You’re the same bully from when I was a kid. You’re the same person too busy being a rich asshole to everyone, hiding in his own skin.”
Anger crawls up my spine. My eyes narrow into thin slits. “You don’t know anything.” No way am I letting her, of all people, call me out on my shit.
“I know you don’t commit to anything but work. And this might come as a surprise to you, but some of us actually have lives outside of our jobs.”
“I don’t commit to anything but work, but you do? You think because you’ve taken in your cheating husband’s child that it makes you a fucking saint?”
I watch it happen, the color drain from her face. Pain lances across her soft features. “No. It makes me human, Callan.”
“Wrong. It makes you weak.”
“Loving someone else’s child makes me weak?”
“I’d never be able to love anyone’s child but my own.”
Disappointment flashes in her eyes. It’s teetering so very close to disgust.
Her bottom lip trembles, and she nods mindlessly. She hikes her purse, squaring her shoulders, putting up a good front, as though I didn’t just break her heart. Her grip tightens around her suitcase handle.
“You say you can never love another man’s child, but you know what, Callan? I don’t even think you love yourself. I really do feel sorry for you. Caring about people doesn’t make you weak.”
My lips thin. “It does make you weak. You’re proof.”
“Good thing no one asked you,” she retorts coldly, leaving me to my own devices.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I call out after her.
“Home to my daughter. Ride home in your precious Town Car. I’ll take a cab,” she tosses over her shoulder before she disappears into the throngs of people at JFK.
Something has changed since the Chicago trip. I just can’t quite put my finger on what it is. We shared moments together, stills in time that felt like maybe, just maybe, the old Callan was there. My best friend was still somewhere in there, but it’s like whenever he’d slip, he’d make up for it by being a jackass.
I’m almost certain he’s hurting me on purpose now. I refuse to believe anyone is just that mean and miserable with their own life. I think back on the night we touched down from Chicago and his hurtful words. It took everything in me not to break down right then and there because it felt like Callan made it abundantly clear he wasn’t the same guy anymore.
He was just the devil wrapped in a good suit.
The sound of my phone ringing on my desk snaps me out of my thoughts. I breathe a sigh of relief when I notice it’s Claire and not Callan.
“I have a woman in reception, demanding to speak with Mr. Reed without an appointment.”
Even through the phone, I can hear just how annoyed she is. I do a quick scan of Callan’s daily schedule and confirm he has no appointments today.
“I’ll be right out, Claire. Give me a sec.”
“Thank you.”
Grabbing my work phone in case I miss a stupid call from Callan, I head into the reception area. I don’t make it all that far. I’m just opening my office door when I see a woman storming down the halls, hellfire brimming in her gaze.
She zeroes in on me, her eyes narrowing.
“You.” She points directly at me. “Get Callan out here right now.”
I try to keep from rolling my eyes when this woman barges her way into my office, demanding to speak with Callan.
There’s no way this is a professional visit. I doubt she’s even a client. That means this is a personal visit. She’s likely one of his many “friends” who receives lingerie gifts.
She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that, and sadly, because I’m not a bigger person, it on
ly makes me dislike her more than I already do. Especially with the way she’s staring down at me as if I’m nothing more than gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. A nuisance.
I hate the way her eyes travel up and down my body, taking in my plain clothes and judging my curves. Yeah, okay, so what? My clothes aren’t designer, and I’m not a size zero. I refuse to let this woman walk all over me and belittle me with a single glance.
I’m stronger than that.
“Did you hear me? I need you to page or call Callan for me. I really need to speak with him.”
I force a smile and a semblance of politeness into my tone, trying to take the reins from Claire. She’s looking more than a little frazzled.
“Mr. Reed is in a meeting. I’m his executive assistant. I can take a message for you and give it to him later, or you can come back another time.”
Her nostrils flare. That clearly doesn’t work for her. I’d bet someone who looks like her doesn’t get told ‘no’ very often. She looks like a model straight out of a Victoria’s Secret ad. All luscious blonde hair, golden tan skin, and a body most women would kill for.
“I want to speak to him now.”
“As I stated before, he is in a meeting. He cannot meet with you at the moment, seeing as you were not on his schedule for today. I cannot squeeze you in.”
“You’re an assistant, right? Do you know who I am? Do you know what I do for a living?”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
No, I don’t, and I don’t really give a shit.
“Unfortunately, I don’t, but even if I did, that wouldn’t change anything.”
“Look,” she growls, taking a threatening step closer to me. “I don’t appreciate being talked down to like I’m nothing. Have you looked in the mirror?”
I press my lips together, trying to let the harsh truth of her words roll off my back.
“Ma’am, I’m his assistant, and I’m being paid to do a job, and I’m trying to do it well, so if you’d please just leave a message for Mr. Reed or come back another time, that is all I can do for you.”
“You’re fucking useless. Here’s a thought—maybe go back to your own country, you stupid wetbac—”
