by S. M. Soto
“Get out.”
We both whirl around at the sharp tone. Callan is standing there, just a few feet away from us. He’s dressed in another one of his immaculate suits, a thunderous expression painted across his face. I swallow past the lump in my throat, darting my gaze back to the woman in which all his ire seems to be directed at. For all the bravado she just showed Claire and me for the past ten minutes, she’s suddenly very quiet and meek.
“Excuse me?”
“I said get out. You don’t get to come in here and speak to her or my receptionist that way.”
Her face falls as if realizing her screwup. “Callan, babe, please.”
The fury radiating off Callan is stifling, and it’s all directed at her. Why do I suddenly feel bad for her after every horrible thing she’s said?
“We agreed on one night. Show up here again, and I’ll throw you out on your ass, got me?”
“Wait, Callan. Just, please, let me explain.”
“I said, do you understand me?” he grits, steam damn near billowing from his ears.
With a crestfallen expression on her face, she sees herself out of my office. Claire follows behind her, likely making sure she leaves the building.
I turn to Callan, a grimace pulling taut across my face. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Reed. I was trying to get her to leave, but she wouldn’t listen. I know I should have—”
Callan cuts me off with a flick of his hand. “I don’t care about that. Are you all right?”
My brows raise, instantly taken aback by his concern. “Yes?” It comes out as more of a question than anything else. He searches my gaze, and for a moment, everything feels like it used to.
“Good,” he murmurs, snapping out of it. “Now, get back to work.”
Ah, yes. There it is.
I linger back in his office. He called me in here because he wanted to run over his schedule for tomorrow and make sure I was still okay after what happened earlier.
He dismissed me a few minutes ago, but I’m still standing here, staring at him, trying to make sense of the larger-than-life man behind the desk.
“What do you need, Ms. Casillas?”
“Was she one of your girlfriends?” I find myself asking, even though I shouldn’t. Even though I have no right to know.
“Excuse me?” He raises a stern brow.
I clear my throat, playing it off. “You know, it would save you a lot of trouble if you would just stop going around, dating so many women, trying to keep track of them all. Might I suggest trying to keep it down to one girlfriend?”
Callan tosses down the pen in his hand and glares up at me. “I don’t do girlfriends. I don’t care to.”
“So, you do what, you serial date? How is that any fun?”
He looks up at me pointedly, inserting a dry tone to his voice. “Plenty, actually.”
I roll my eyes. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”
“The top is always lonely, but that’s the way I prefer it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather discuss the stuff I’m paying you for and not my sex life.”
I leave his office with a huff.
Such a dick.
Later that evening, after the whole debacle with his lady friend has been put behind us, I’m making copies for tomorrow’s meeting so I won’t have to do it all in the morning. As I’m heading back into my office, I freeze just over the threshold when I spot Callan inside. He never comes to my office unless he’s here to yell at me for being incompetent.
“Callan?”
The muscles in his broad back flex, and something heavy thuds on my desk, causing the frown I’m wearing to deepen. With methodical movements, he slips his hands into his pockets and turns to face me.
“Didn’t realize you were still here.”
Something in his eyes gives me pause. I cock my head to the side as I regard him. “You thought I was gone for the day, so you decided to snoop through my office?”
Clearing his throat, he says, “I had a question, but it doesn’t matter now.”
He makes his way toward the door, and I give him a wide berth, still utterly confused. I’m just setting the copies on my desk when I see it all. The sight of it has my heart racing in my chest. My breath catches, and my gaze shoots to Callan.
“Wait!”
He freezes, his body tense.
“What is all this?” I ask. With a sharp exhale, he turns to face me, his expression void of any emotion.
“It’s nothing. A company sent me extra supplies when I ordered stuff for the blueprints. The paints and watercolors aren’t used when I draw. I thought if you wanted them, you could use them. Otherwise, they’d go to waste.”
My heart does something strange at that moment. It beats faster and slower all at once. When the realization hits, those pesky butterflies come to life for the first time in years.
Callan Reed just bought me a gift.
My throat works a thick swallow. “I don’t even know what I would do with these. I haven’t painted in years.”
Those bright eyes meet mine, and my breath catches.
“That’s a shame.”
“Why?”
He pauses as if weighing his words. “Because if memory serves me correctly, you were damn good at it.”
Three light knocks sound on my office door, and I know without asking who it will be. I demanded she get in here no more than three minutes ago, after all.
“Come in.”
Of their own accord, my eyes hone in on the black pumps Daisy is wearing. Her tan legs look like they go on for miles, disappearing into that damned tight pencil skirt that makes her ass look fucking incredible. Her white blouse is tucked into her skirt, and Jesus Christ, there’s not even a hint of cleavage, but I still feel myself getting a semi.
I grind my back teeth together so hard, I swear I hear a tooth crack.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Reed?”
Dropping the pen, I lean back in the leather chair, adopting as much disinterest on my face as I can muster. The last thing I need is Daisy seeing how much her presence affects me. The soft lines of her face tighten as soon as our eyes meet, her glare boring into mine with a ferocious intensity I don’t even think she realizes is there.
“I have an early dinner I need you to accompany me to.”
Her brows pull into a frown. Her face genuinely confused. “Okay. Did you need me to schedule something for tomorrow?”
I heave a deep sigh. “I mean now, Ms. Casillas.”
“Right now, right now?”
My eyes narrow, and my lips thin with displeasure. “Is there any other right now? For fuck’s sake, are you daft?”
Her face sours, just as it always does in my presence. “No.”
I push away from the desk, slipping on my jacket in one fluid motion. “Then stop acting like you are.” Brushing past her, I pause just over the threshold of my office. I run my gaze up and down, and I don’t miss the shiver that courses through her body. I’m chalking it up to disgust.
“And for the love of God, would you put on a fucking sweater? You look ridiculous.”
I hear her ragged gasp as I’m walking away.
Harsh, I know. But I’ve never claimed to be a nice guy. In fact, Daisy Casillas should continue to think I’m still the asshole from her childhood. No good can come from her thinking anything else. As much as I hate to admit it, we’re like two opposing forces that can’t be denied. Two forces that also have the annoying as fuck ability to attract. We always have.
I’ve never wanted to want Daisy. In fact, I’ve always despised my attraction to her. She was only ever supposed to be a friend. She was like family to us. She was my little sister’s best friend. It was a betrayal. She was the one good thing in my life, the only constant, and I knew getting involved with her would fuck that up. I didn’t want to lose her, so I tried to forget. I tried to make her hate me. I tried to do anything at all to forget she even existed. But even as kids, she was impossible not to notice. She was like gasoline on
a fire—so fucking dangerous. She had the ability to draw my attention no matter who I was around. Millions of beautiful women could surround me, and regretfully, I’d still only see her. With her dark hair and tan skin. With her curvy body and beautiful smile. My body and mind have always been so acutely aware of her presence. It was like I was born this way, wired to lust after one woman from the moment I met her to the moment I died.
A sweltering wave of anger consumes me as I head toward the elevators, not bothering to wait for her. I hear the rushed click of her heels trailing me the entire way down to the Town Car. Inside, I feel her gaze burning at the side of my temple. Enclosed spaces with this woman make me want to do stupid shit like grab her by the neck and taste her bee-stung lips.
I curl my hands around the bottom edge of the leather seat. It creaks beneath my grip. By some miracle, she must sense I’m in no mood to talk because she remains silent the entire way to the restaurant. Other than the fact that she’s my assistant, I technically don’t need her here. I’m perfectly capable of handling a business dinner on my own, but did that stop me from inviting her? No.
No, it fucking didn’t.
As soon as the Town Car rolls to a stop, I get out, offering my hand to her. My nostrils flare when her skin collides with mine. It’s fire and ice.
“So, what’s this meeting for?” Daisy pants out, trying to keep up with my long strides. Not at all like a gentleman, I hold the restaurant door open for her on the way inside.
“For work, obviously.”
I don’t have to look at her face to know she’s rolling her eyes at me and grinding her teeth.
“Is it really so hard for you to be decent, for what, just a few minutes out of the day?”
“To you? Absolutely.”
My lips twitch when I hear her little growl under her breath.
“It’s negotiations for a contract. The corporation is big and well known, so I’m letting them sweat it out. My assumption is they’re using this dinner to loosen me up and to strike a deal.”
“And I take it you already have your mind made up for this proposed deal?”
I glance down at her, my mouth quirking with amusement. “Smart girl.”
Her eyes flash at the comment, and the muscle in my jaw pulses at my slipup. This woman makes me soft, even years later. And Callan Reed doesn’t do soft.
After giving my name to the maître d’, we’re led to a table occupied by three men in suits.
“What do you need me here for again?” she whisper-hisses under her breath.
“You’re my assistant, aren’t you?”
She huffs. If I wasn’t sure before, there’s no doubt about it in my mind now—this woman hates me. And I much prefer it that way.
“I just need you to take notes and keep your mouth shut. It’s simple, really.”
“Mr. Reed! You made it.”
Barron St. Claire is a rich son of a bitch who owns more real estate in New York than anyone I’ve ever met. He comes from old money and would’ve been successful with or without having to ride on his family’s coattails. Men like him think they’re better than everyone else because of their last name. They think the rules don’t apply to them. And that’s exactly why we’re here. He doesn’t like my terms. Sure, he’s rich, but he wants me to lower my price to accommodate him because of his name. But that isn’t how I work, no matter how big you are. I’ve worked from the bottom up to create Reed Architecture, and I didn’t get here by letting men like St. Claire walk all over me.
“Nice to see you again, Barron.”
He stands, thrusting his hand out for me to shake. “These are a few of my associates, Warren Mellon and Thompson Clemonte. And who might this beautiful young woman be?” he asks, gaze glued to Daisy behind me. Something sparks in my chest. It feels awfully dangerous.
Keeping my face impassive, I introduce her to Barron and his associates. “This is my assistant, Daisy Casillas. She’ll be joining us for the meeting this evening.”
Barron’s eyes glitter. “Wonderful! The more, the merrier.”
Daisy takes the seat next to me, and for the next thirty minutes, she sits beside me, taking notes, remaining quiet, like the dutiful assistant she is. It doesn’t escape my notice how Warren and Thompson eye her and try to engage her in conversation. Thankfully, Barron has a one-track mind tonight. He’s all business.
“Callan, what do you say we head over to the bar. I have a proposition for you,” Barron announces, already pushing to his feet. I refrain from rolling my eyes. It took him long enough to get to this point.
I glance down at Daisy, and our eyes meet. Warmth erupts at the base of my spine with the single look. She forces a smile and a gentle nod, letting me know she’ll be fine.
I knew she would.
At the bar, Barron already has two tumblers filled with his drink of choice, vintage single malt Macallan whisky.
“Callan, my boy, your reputation precedes you. You’ve built yourself a fine business, an exemplary eye for architecture, and a fine taste in the women you have working for you.” I set my jaw in a hard line and grasp the tumbler in my hand. If I squeeze it any harder, the glass will all but shatter in my palm. “I’d like to strike a deal. I’ve been in the business world for a long time, and I think we can help each other. Your work is phenomenal but pricey. I could go to any other firm, and they’d strike a deal with me just to have my name attached with theirs. Why should I do business with you?”
I take a slow, drawn-out sip of the whisky, letting the flavor roll over my tongue, waking up my tastebuds. I adopt that bored expression I’ve mastered over the years and wear it proudly.
“Barron, you came to me because I’m the best. You know it. I know it. Half of New York knows it. The other half? They’re fools. I don’t lower my price or strike deals for anyone. If you’re so sure you can have any other firm handle this project, by all means. But as I said, the contract set forth is the final offer. You’ll have to take it or leave it.”
I knock back the rest of the whisky, waiting for him to let my words sink in. When they do, he grins—his bushy silver brows raising in surprise.
“I knew you’d be a tough one to crack.” He laughs to himself, finishing off his own whisky. “I respect that about you, Callan. You don’t take anyone’s shit. That’s exactly what the corporation needs. An innovator like you.” Barron puts his hand out between us and gives mine a rough shake. “Let’s get the contracts signed, shall we?”
I nod. “I’ll have my assistant gather everything for you back at the table.”
“She’s a looker. I can see why you hired her.”
The muscle above my eye pulses with aggravation. “I hired her because she’s good at her job.”
Barron thumps me on the back as though he knows better. “Smart, too. Beautiful, and a minority, I’m sure that’s good for business. Men like us, when we’re at the top, we have to be careful who we surround ourselves with.”
I tuck my hands in the pockets of my slacks. If I don’t, I’ll end up strangling the bastard. Because, apparently, women who look like Daisy aren’t meant for this world. To him, they’re only pawns used to make themselves look good or to be ogled and lusted after by rich white men.
After excusing ourselves from the bar, we head back to the table, my steps faltering when our dinner companions come into view. When I left her, Daisy was seated on the opposite side of the table, only now, I notice she’s sandwiched between Warren and Thompson. Tension climbs into my shoulders as I assess the situation to see if she needs help. When Daisy throws her head back, laughing at Warren, it’s pretty fucking clear she doesn’t need saving. She’s fucking flirting with that asshole. I shouldn’t be angry. I have no right to be. But fucking Christ, I am.
A tense silence falls over the table when I get there as all gazes slowly drift up to Barron and me. Warren has the decency to look ashamed, but my assistant hasn’t quite gotten the hint yet.
“Callan, Thompson and I were just discussin
g how well your assistant—”
I raise my hand, silencing him. “It’s Mr. Reed.” He swallows visibly. Thompson’s eyes ping between the three of us. “Now, I have a meeting at the office that requires my attention. I’d like to get these contracts signed before then.”
“Of course, we’ve monopolized enough of your time as it is, Cal,” Barron chimes in, taking his seat. He either doesn’t notice the sudden tension, or he’s decided to ignore it.
Daisy peers up at me, questions floating in her caramel eyes at my tone and my sudden coldness to everyone at the table. It’s unprofessional, my reaction to this. She makes me unprofessional, and it only serves to piss me the fuck off. My lips curl in disgust. In anger. She flinches slightly, noticing the look is directed at her. Tucking stray hairs behind her ears, she clears her throat, heat climbing into her cheeks.
“Right, of course.” Sliding out of the seat, she makes her way back to her side of the table, then rifles through her belongings. “Let me have you sign here for me, Mr. St. Claire,” Daisy mumbles, swiping her delicate fingers over the screen of the iPad. She pulls up the contract and passes the device over to Barron.
“We look forward to doing business with you, Callan, and it was lovely meeting you, Daisy.”
She darts her gaze to me before looking back at Barron, a forced smile on her face. “You as well. Have a great night, everyone.”
I wait for her to gather her purse before we leave. With my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides, I work to tamp down my impatience with her, but the very minute we step outside and I glance up at the dismal sky, there’s no use. The air reeks of petrichor, the sidewalks already slicked with rain, and the gloomy clouds hovering so low, grazing the skyscrapers, resemble just how stormy I’m feeling inside.
So much for spring weather.
“You’re an embarrassment,” I snap out coldly on the way to the Town Car.
Daisy’s stride falters. “Excuse me?”
I don’t respond. I can’t.
I open the door for her, and we file into the confined space. My anger permeates the very air surrounding us, making it stifling and damn near impossible to pull in a single breath.
