by S. M. Soto
This is going to be the week from hell. I can feel it.
A few nights later, as I’m making dinner for myself, I hear a knock on my apartment door. My brows pull in, and I pop my head into the bedroom for a second, making sure Faith is still asleep before I check to see who it is.
My eyes damn near bug out of my head when I see who is on the other side. My heart jumps into my throat, and I run a trembling hand over my hair, trying to tame the flyaways. I immediately stop, chastising myself.
Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath, giving myself a mental pep talk before I unlock the door and open it, facing Callan. Dressed in the same suit as earlier in the day, minus the jacket, he looks out of place in my dingy apartment. His gaze flits over my head, taking in my space, and I swear, I see his upper lip curl in disgust. A spark of anger ignites in my chest.
Planting my hands on my hips, I raise a curious brow. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.” Without asking for permission to enter, he walks past me into my space.
“Hey! I didn’t say you could come in.”
He rolls his eyes. “Like I’m going to have a conversation with you out in the hallway.”
“What is so important that you felt the need to barge into my space, Callan? I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past three days about the night in my office. Why now?”
He presses his lips together, glancing away from me toward my shoebox kitchen. “I have a proposition for you.”
Curiosity niggles at the back of my mind. “Fine. What is it?”
He makes a show of walking around the space, picking apart the appliances that are outdated or broken. As if this place wasn’t already bad, it seems the neighbors on all sides of us are rowdier than usual.
“You’ve been late to work every day this week.”
I throw my hands up in exasperation, letting them slap down at my sides. “Are you kidding me right now, Callan? This is what you came here for, to discuss the fact that I’ve literally been two minutes late to work every day?”
His gaze shoots to mine, clearly telling me to shut up. “If you’d let me finish, I can get to the point.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest like a petulant child.
“My penthouse has two levels. I don’t see any reason why you can’t stay on the lower level with the child. It’ll give you your space and me my own space. Maybe then you’ll actually be on time and be a competent employee.”
My eyes grow round. “What?”
His lips thin as impatience plays across his sharp features. “Are you hard of hearing now, too?”
“No,” I snap. “Are you crazy?”
“It’s been said a few times.”
“I can’t move in with you, Callan. What the hell makes you think that would even be an option?”
“I’m not asking you to move in with me. I’m asking you to stay on the lower level of my penthouse so you can actually get your work done.”
“That is quite literally the definition of moving in with you!” I hiss.
“You know what? This is required. Count this as me adding it into your contract.”
I scoff. “You can’t just add in stipulations now, asshole. That’s illegal.”
“Actually, you’ll find that I can do whatever I damn well please.”
Heaving a deep sigh, I look around my crappy apartment. There’s no denying it’s a shithole. The sketchy neighborhood isn’t the greatest place to go in and out with Faith. I guess I do understand Callan’s train of thought, as odd as it may be. I shift back toward him, my brows tugging together in a frown.
“I don’t know. I need to think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?”
“A lot, actually.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I volley right back.
Without a word, he heads to the door and pauses, shooting a look at me over his shoulder that has gooseflesh peppering my skin.
“Don’t fight me on this, Daisy. I get what I want. Always.”
He’s gone after that, leaving me wishing it were me he wanted.
As soon as I collapse on the couch, I dial Rose, needing to fill her in on what’s going on. She answers after the first ring.
“You know, the last time you called me this late, you told me you slept with my brother.”
My eyes slam shut, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. Christ, when did things in my life get so complicated?
“Callan asked me to move in with him.”
“What?”
I flinch at her tone, pulling the phone away from my ear.
“I said—”
“I heard what you said, dammit. Why the hell would he do that? This is Callan we’re talking about.”
“He basically said my apartment was shitty, and I’m an incompetent employee. Somewhere in his mind, he figures living together will help solve all of that.”
“Well, he’s not wrong.”
“Hey!”
“About the apartment, not the job. We all know Cal is an asshole who thinks anything less than one hundred and ten percent is inadequate.”
“He’s spent the past three days pretending he didn’t fuck me senseless, and now he springs this on me? I can’t keep up with him.”
Rose is quiet for a long stretch of time. “Are you considering it? Moving in?”
“God, no! I have Faith to think about. I can’t just move in with Callan. Our relationship is complicated. That’s not fair to Dean.”
I don’t know why I’m still factoring in my dead husband’s feelings, but there’s a part of me that feels guilty.
Rosalind sighs. “Yeah, well, Dean lost any sympathy I would’ve had for him when he cheated. He’s gone, Daisy. You don’t need to feel sorry for him or feel like you’re shitting on his memory. He’s done that just fine himself.”
“Rose,” I scold. “Can you be serious?”
“I am being serious. And look, just hear me out. My brother is an asshole, a major douchebag, but have you seen his place? You’d get to live there for free. Think about all the money you’d save, and just how safe it would be for you and Faith.”
“I can’t believe you’re trying to talk me into moving in with your brother, who has been nothing but an asshole to me since we were kids! I thought you’d be the one to talk some sense into me.”
“I’m just thinking of your safety and baby Faith’s safety. You’re not happy there, Daisy. And after all the shit my brother has put you through, don’t you at least want to get back at him, just a little bit? Think about all the incessant crying that will keep him up at night. He’ll be miserable.”
I can’t deny that getting him back does sound awfully good right now.
“I don’t want to rely on anyone for help anymore. That was the whole reason I got this place.”
“I get that, I really do. But at what cost are you willing to prove you can survive on your own? Dean’s gone, Daisy. You don’t have to prove anything to him—or anyone else.”
“This is a horrible idea, and I’m starting to think you’re a shit friend.”
Rosalind laughs. “You love me. And just…just think about it.”
“Where’s Damon? I need someone who will talk actual sense into me.”
“Don’t you hear him? He’s already snoring away.”
“Very sexy.”
She snorts. “If you only knew. Now, remember what I said and think about it.”
I sigh. “I will, I promise. Talk soon?”
“Of course, and Daisy?”
“Yeah?”
“I know my brother has done a lot of shitty things, but I think for once, his heart is in the right place.”
Somehow, I doubt that.
The next morning, I wake up to my usual slew of emails from Callan, only this time, a new one sits there unread. The subject title has my stomach churning and heart melting in equal measure. Am I excited or anxious? My body clearly doesn’t know, and neither do I.<
br />
Subject: Penthouse Approval
Ms. Casillas, I trust you’ve decided. Please respond accordingly and grab me a smoked salmon bagel for breakfast.
Callan Reed
CEO, Reed Architecture INC.
His emails the rest of the day are much of the same, his usual tasks with the same question. He wants my answer. I thought I would have more time to think it over and weigh the pros and cons.
Guess not.
I’m finalizing a last-minute report when I hear knocking on my office door. Glancing up from my computer, I feel a grin spread across my face when I see Caroline pop her blonde head inside.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
“Came to visit Callan for a bit, wanted to make sure he was treating you well.”
I cock my head to the side, a knowing grin on my face when she takes the empty chair opposite my desk. My guess is that’s not entirely true. She’s been popping in a lot lately. My gut tells me she’s doing it to check on us both.
“I’m guessing Rosalind told you.”
She laughs. “You know Rose. She means well.”
I heave a deep sigh, collapsing back against the chair. “I know she does. I guess I’m still trying to process it all.”
“Listen, I have a confession to make. Callan actually mentioned before the Chicago trip that he’d need our help getting you to stay at his penthouse.”
My eyes widen. “What? That was almost two months ago. Why now?”
She has the decency to look guilty. “He wasn’t too happy with all of us for allowing you to live in a place like that, especially with Faith.”
I scoff, glancing away. “He couldn’t care less.”
“You’re wrong, you know. My son cares about you in his own strange way.”
“So, let me guess, you think this is a good idea, too?”
“I think anywhere but that apartment complex is the safest bet.”
“It’ll be weird. It feels wrong living with him.”
She smiles sadly. “Because of Dean or Faith?”
Pressure builds behind my eyelids. “Both? After everything Dean did, I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do.”
“That’s understandable. You three have a complicated past, but I want to make sure you know it’s okay to move on. It’s okay to be happy. You’ve spent years avoiding each other, you and Callan. Now that you’re working together, maybe this is finally your chance to rectify that.”
“Maybe,” I whisper.
“Just know, whatever decision you make, I’m behind you one hundred percent. Just make sure the decision you make is yours.”
I walk around the desk and give Caroline a hug. Slamming my eyes shut, I want to come clean about everything that has happened between her son and me. After my mom died, Caroline has always been a mother figure for me, but I’m certain I can’t discuss this one thing with her. It feels like I have no one to turn to.
After I shut my computer down for the night, I grab my purse and coat, hovering outside of Callan’s office. I wring my hands together, giving myself a mental pep talk. The bigger part of me still thinks this is a horrible idea, but the other part, the part that still misses her best friend, wants to believe this could be good for us.
“Ms. Casillas, do you plan on standing outside of my office all day, or would you like to come in?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I square my shoulders and strut inside. Callan stands behind his desk, slipping his suit jacket on. When his gaze collides with mine, warmth snakes through my veins, making me forget what I came here for.
“I have one question and a few terms before I agree to this ludicrous idea.”
He leans against his desk, giving me his full attention. “What is it?”
“That night in my office…did it…did it mean anything to you?”
My heart is pounding.
It’s thundering so hard, I’m certain he can hear it.
He searches my gaze, and no matter how hard I try to sift through his bright, intriguing eyes, I can’t for the life of me figure out what he’s thinking.
“No.”
His answer shouldn’t be as soul-crushing as it is, but hell, it feels like he’s ripped my heart from my chest and stomped on it. Trapping my bottom lip between my teeth, I nod, letting his answer sink in.
Okay.
So that’s that.
My first instinct is to demand more from him. I know something’s there beneath all those layers he hides behind. There has to be. But do I really want to risk peeling those back? This is a good thing. This means there is no chance of us getting hurt anymore.
I can do this.
“Okay. Good.” My voice trembles. “My first condition is you have to let me pay you or contribute in some way.”
“Not happening.”
“Why not?”
“Why can’t you just take the offer?” He raises an annoyed brow.
“Because I’m not a freeloader. If I’m staying there, I plan on earning my keep.”
His jaw clenches with frustration. “Fine. You pay me what you pay for that shitty apartment and call it a deal.”
I swallow thickly.
“Deal.”
God, I hope I don’t regret this.
Things have been awkward since moving into Callan’s penthouse. He wasn’t lying when he said I’d have the bottom level all to myself. I didn’t even have to worry about Faith’s cries bothering him too much since we weren’t on the same floor.
The space itself is just as beautiful as his. With another immaculate view of the city and an open floor plan, this place is a luxury. With three bedrooms, it’s more than enough space for Faith and me, and then some. I thought for sure it would take Faith some getting used to being here, but it seems she’s siding with everyone else on this. She officially likes this place better than the apartment complex, and I can’t really say I blame her.
It’s been three official days since we’ve moved in, and I haven’t seen much of Callan at all, except for at the office. He isn’t the one making things awkward. I am. My feelings are hurt. There’s no denying that.
When he said our romp meant nothing to him, it hurt. But it was ultimately the reason I agreed. If he said it meant something, I would’ve said no because that’s just a disaster waiting to happen, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my heart from Callan.
To make matters worse, this weekend we’re supposed to hop on a flight together for the Architects Awards ceremony. I didn’t know if I’d be able to handle being around him, especially after what happened between us. Chicago was already a test that told us we couldn’t stand to be around each other for too long without going at each other’s throats. What would this time be like? Especially now that sex has been thrown into the mix.
With a heavy sigh, I glance at Faith, still fast asleep in her bassinet. For the past two nights, I’ve been waking up right about this time from nightmares. All the same. All featuring Dean. And Skylar. I wonder if wherever he is, maybe he’s punishing me for moving in with Callan. Maybe that’s what this is.
Callan mentioned that I could use the entertainment center on his floor anytime I wanted, so tonight, I grab the baby monitor and I head up the small flight of stairs. My breath catches as I look at the view. There’s no denying the beauty of New York, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still miss California.
With my gaze fixed out the windows staring at the bright lights of New York, I try to push memories of the past behind me, but my dream still clings to me. The vivid memory of Dean and his betrayal still plagues me.
“What are you doing up?”
I jolt at the sound of his voice. Pushing away from the windows and the immaculate view, I make my way back to my room, back to Faith. A warm, tight grip encloses around my bicep, holding me in place and keeping me from leaving. We both freeze, and my breath catches in my throat. Slowly, I turn, craning my neck back to look at him.
“You don’t need to
leave.” His hair is an unruly mess as though he’s been running his hands through it all day. This is also the first time I’ve ever seen him dressed in anything other than a suit. He’s wearing black pajama bottoms and a white shirt that does nothing to hide the bulk of his muscles underneath.
Swallowing, I force a jerky nod, suddenly incapable of words.
Callan lets go, and we both get comfortable on the couch, training our gazes out at the view.
“It’s an incredible view.”
He nods in agreement. The muscle in his jaw jumps with irritation, just like it usually does.
“What are you doing up so late?” he eventually asks. Nothing in his tone suggests he actually cares. I shrug my shoulders, not really wanting to get into it. The last thing he wants to hear about is my nightmares featuring my dead ex-husband.
“What about you?” I ask instead, trying to change the subject. “Why are you still up?”
His lips quirk ever so slightly. I’m sure he knows exactly what I’m doing. “I have a hard time sleeping when I get done working.”
“You’re just now finishing?” I ask incredulously.
“I’m a night owl.”
My brows pull down into a frown. “You may be a night owl, but you still wake up at the ass crack of dawn. How do you even function?”
He swipes a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a smile. “I manage.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, you do.”
“Now tell me why you were really awake.”
“Just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
A tense silence passes between us. Knowing him, he can probably sense my bullshit. “Does it happen often?”
I blow out a defeated sigh. “Not anymore. Or at least, it hasn’t happened in a while.”
“What was it about?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. He’s probably not the best person to be discussing my issues with, but I have no other candidates beating down my door, so screw it.
“My ex-husband.”
He releases a sharp exhale. I risk a glance at him, and his face is a blank mask. No outward emotion. I wonder how long it’s taken him to perfect that mask he always wears. He started when we were kids, and even then, he was already good at it. And now? I imagine he’s a master at not letting any emotions slip through the cracks.
