The Seasons of Callan Reed: An Enemies-to-Lovers Office Romance

by S. M. Soto

  “Sorry.” I clear my throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t know why I told you that. Just forget it.”

  Finally, he looks at me with those bright eyes. They pierce straight into me, making my breath catch. I feel as though he’s seeing through every part of me, every thought. It feels like I’ve willingly bared my soul to him.

  “You miss him,” he observes as if he knows anything about me at all. I glance away, shaking my head. Maybe if I was a better wife, I’d miss Dean, but sadly, I find that I don’t. Now, when I think about him, I think about the hurt. I think about everything I was lacking in my life and marriage. I feel an angry scoff building in my chest.

  “Sometimes, I think I miss him, and then most times like tonight, I remember what our marriage was like. I remember all the trials and tribulations, the heartache. It’s funny because I never used to see myself as weak when I was with Dean, and now when I look back on our relationship, I realize I was weak. I let him dictate everything I did in my life. I let him take everything away from me, all in the name of ‘love.’ A love that wasn’t even reciprocated.”

  For the first time in the months that Callan has been back in my life, he’s looking at me like he sees me. Like he’s actually listening to me for once. I find that I like the attention from him a little too much. He’s not supposed to make me feel this way. We’re supposed to hate each other, be enemies.

  As it turns out, you can’t secretly still be in love with your enemy. It doesn’t work out for anyone.

  “It’s almost like even in death, he still manages to find ways to hurt me. Do you know that every time I unlock his phone or his voicemail, I find something new? Something that shatters me. I spent years heartbroken because of my inability to conceive, and I stupidly thought we shared that heartbreak.” Callan’s eyes soften as he stares down at me. “But I was wrong, Cal. He wasn’t heartbroken like I was. He was sleeping with anything that spread their legs for him.” I swipe angrily at the tear that’s rolling down my cheek. I suddenly feel stupid for baring myself to Callan like this. I’m sure this is the exact thing he wanted to avoid, me throwing my problems at him.

  God, I hate myself sometimes.

  “How many times?”

  A crease forms between my brows. “How many times what?”

  “How many times did you try?”

  “Oh.” I glance away from him, back out toward the view. Sadness claws at my heart, just thinking about it. “Too often to count. It’s why I gave up. It hurt too much.”

  “Sometimes, the things we want most come to us when we least expect it.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat, blinking past the tears teetering on my lashes. “And that being?”

  “Faith. She came to you when you gave up all hope. Just when you finally realized it was time to move on with your life.”

  A smile graces my lips as I think about Faith and what a bright light she is in my life. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you, but you’re right. Faith is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I thought I’d spend forever hating Skylar and Dean for what they did, but when I look at her, how can I?”

  “You know, I don’t think you hate either of them. Hate and love are two sides of the same coin and—”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve heard it all before. My mom used to tell me this all the time.”

  He smiles then. I realize it’s the first time I’ve seen his smile directed at me in years, and hell, the effect is still astounding. “I can only imagine why.”

  A laugh bursts past my lips. “I think I’ve hated you enough for both of us at one time or another.”

  He sobers. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

  I want to ask him what that cryptic comment could mean. Does he mean he’s hated me, too, for whatever reason? Or is he saying I didn’t hate him enough?

  Rubbing my hands up and down my thighs, I ruffle my silk sleep shorts in the process. I feel the heat of his gaze as he follows the movement. There’s that ever-present tension between us, only right now, it’s stifling, more so than usual. My body is hyperaware of his presence, and my heart, the stupid organ, is pounding recklessly in my chest, just at his proximity.

  “I’m sorry.”

  My hands freeze.

  My heart screeches to an abrupt halt.

  I stop breathing for all of ten seconds before I twist to face him. “For what?” I croak past the sudden thickness clogging my throat.

  Callan smiles sadly, more to himself than me. He rubs at the back of his neck, and it’s such a boyish mannerism that it has my heart tripping over itself. “Guess I have a lot I need to apologize for, don’t I?”

  A smirk twists my lips. “I’ll say.”

  He chuckles. The sound is warm as it rolls through me. “For what I said at the airport about you and Faith. I’m sorry.”

  I look down at my hands nestled in my lap, my brows pulling together. Ever since he uttered those words to me, I haven’t been able to purge them from my mind. I appreciate his apology—hell, even some part of me might have needed it—but it makes me wonder if what he said has any truth to it at all.

  My chest rattles with emotion. “Do you really feel that way? About loving another person’s child?”

  He’s silent. Too silent as he searches my gaze. “Yes.”

  The sudden crushing weight on my sternum becomes unbearable. I glance away from him, not wanting him to see just how much his answer hurts. How disappointed I am in him. I have no right to feel this way. He’s entitled to his own feelings and opinions, just like I am.

  I push up from the couch, Faith’s baby monitor gripped tightly in my hand. “I should probably head to bed now.”

  He nods, his gaze glued to me. I feel it on my skin. I want to look. I want to meet it, but what’s the point? We don’t want the same things out of life, and we’re certainly not the same kids we were thirteen years ago. I need to leave the past in the past and move on.

  “Good night, Callan.”

  “Good night, Daisy.”

  Today is the day of the Architects Awards, and even though I shouldn’t be, I’m a nervous wreck. Before this trip, Callan never made any mention that the event would be an ostentatious black tie affair.

  Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to banging on my hotel suite door, thinking there was a goddamn fire when, instead, it was Callan telling me to head to the salon downstairs because they were waiting for me.

  I spent a solid thirty seconds staring up at him blankly until realization hit. This was a man who designed very expensive buildings for some very important people. Why wouldn’t this award ceremony be as fancy as everything else in his world?

  So that’s where I am now, standing in front of the mirror in the en suite bathroom, taking in my reflection. I’m trying not to freak out. Not only is a company lending out jewelry for Callan and me to wear, but I’m wearing a gown that costs an obscene amount of money.

  The golden mustard satin dress has an hourglass silhouette, meant to illuminate my curves without being too tight and over-the-top. With a high-cut neckline, cut-in shoulders, and a bias-cut skirt, the gown looks beautiful on me. The color compliments my skin tone, and with my hair straightened and pinned back into a high ponytail, I look the part of a wealthy woman.

  Thankfully, the makeup artist went light on my makeup, as if knowing I prefer not to have it caked on my face. With a smoky brown eye and nude lips, this might even be a look I’d be tempted to try on my own.

  I glance down at my phone again, my heart twinging in my chest as I stare at the photograph of Faith that Caroline just sent me. She’s been assuring me she’s okay, and even though I should be happy and relieved, I’m not. A selfish part of me worries that if she’s okay and not missing me, then I can easily be replaced in her life. The mere thought alone makes me sick.

  When there are three sharp knocks on my suite door, my heart thunders, solely unprepared for whatever I’m getting mys
elf into with Callan. Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes, giving myself a mental pep talk before opening it.

  Be professional.

  It’s just dinner.

  My breath catches when I open the door.

  I’ve seen Callan at a lot of phases in his life, but never—and I mean never—have I seen him dressed in a tux. He looks…incredible. His hair is a tousled mess at the top of his head, but somehow, it works for him. Makes him look less stuffy and more like the boy I remember from my childhood. His eyes are what do me in. They seem brighter today.

  “You look nice.”

  The corner of his mouth inches up. His eyes sweep up and down my body, leaving a trail of fire across my flesh in its wake. “You do, too.” The gruffness of his tone is like a caress over my skin. I didn’t even know his voice was capable of such things.

  “Are you sure you need me there?”

  With his hands tucked into the pockets of his tux, he watches me, the heat in his gaze threatening to swallow me whole. “Yes.”

  “Fine. Can I at least take the diamonds off? I’m brown, Callan. The last thing I need is someone thinking I stole these. They’ll probably think I’m the help.”

  He rolls his eyes. “No one looking at you is going to think you’re the help or that you stole anything.”

  “Easy for you to say, you’re white.”

  His eyes glimmer, and it’s obvious he’s biting back a smile. “Didn’t realize you turned into such a chickenshit.”

  My eyes narrow. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

  Grabbing the small clutch off the table, I tuck my phone away and walk side by side with him.

  It’s as though he can sense how nervous I am because in the car, on the way to the venue, he tries to put me at ease in his own asshole-ish way.

  “Stop fidgeting.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m nervous, okay?”

  “You have nothing to be nervous about.”

  “Oh, right.” I roll my eyes. “You’re probably used to nights like this. I, on the other hand, am not. Want to know when I last dressed up for anything like this? Rose’s engagement party.”

  “Your role is simple. You’re my assistant. I’ll make necessary introductions, you’ll smile when you need to, and leave the rest up to me.”

  “Are you going to win anything?”

  He lifts a shoulder noncommittally, glancing out of the window. “Not sure.”

  “Have you ever won anything before?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so surprised.”

  “I’m not. Well, I am. You’re great. I guess it’s just strange, seeing you like this.”

  “Seeing me like what?”

  “All grown up. When I thought about you, I always pictured you as that kid from my childhood. Not this,” I say, waving my hand around in his general direction.

  A beat passes between us. He’s watching me closely with far too much interest.

  “You ready?”

  I glance out the window, and my eyes widen as I take in the scenery. The area is dense and wooden, filled with so much greenery, it’s breathtaking. That’s not all. It’s the castle that’s seated on the hill ahead that has my eyes bugging out. Callan has been relatively hushed about where we were headed, and I can clearly see why. It’s best to marvel at the beauty unprepared.

  Stephan opens our door, and surprisingly, Callan helps me out, being conscious of my dress. Just before he guides my arm through his, he looks down at me, and my stomach dips. “I’m certain you see me quite differently after I’ve fucked you, now don’t you?”

  I gasp.

  My mouth drops open in shock, and he looks away with a smirk on his face, leading the way inside.

  Arrogant bastard.

  It doesn’t take long for his words to roll right off me. All I really have to do is look around and get lost in the beauty and the splendor surrounding me. The awards ceremony is being held at the Hearst Castle in central California. Callan explained to me that every year, the ceremony is held at a new architecturally significant site somewhere around the world. He explained that Hearst Castle was chosen because of its grandeur and ostentatious nature.

  There’s no denying that.

  The castle, because that’s very much what it is, is a Gothic Roman-style slice of property that goes on for miles beyond the untrained eye.

  “What is this place?”

  “An architecturally eclectic property.”

  “Eclectic, indeed. This front section here reminds me of an old California mission,” I say, pointing up ahead where everyone else seems to be heading. “But over there…” I mention, pointing to the side of the estate, where somewhat hidden behind the trees and foliage are what look to be pillars and fountains. “It sort of looks like a replica of the Roman era. It’s almost as if the person couldn’t decide what style he liked more.”

  Callan laughs, not disagreeing. “Apparently, a man named George Hearst bought 40,000 acres of ranchland in 1865. With time, that acreage eventually encompassed about 250,000 acres. With an architect at his disposal, Hearst created a retreat he called La Cuesta Encantada.”

  “Enchanted Hill. That’s incredibly beautiful but also haunting in a way, so I guess it lives up to its name.”

  “Indeed. It has a private airfield, two giant swimming pools, a movie theater, tennis courts, over one hundred acres of gardens, a few greenhouses, and at one time, it was the world’s largest private zoo.”

  My mouth drops open. “Holy hell. The things people do with their riches is astounding.”

  Callan rolls his eyes but continues his spiel on the castle. “Believe it or not, a lot of the planned work for the property was never actually completed. Hearst’s health declined, and he had to leave. Some portions of the estate have even been left unfinished and undecorated. There were plans for a larger ballroom, separate than the one we’re heading to, and there were plans to create more guest rooms, but that was never completed either.”

  “How many rooms are in this place?” I ask, my gaze riveted to the black and gold gates at the front entrance.

  “Comprised of 165 rooms.”

  I snort. “What are you, a robot? Who the hell says comprised in a sentence like that?”

  Before he can answer, an attendant standing by the wrought-iron black and gold gates leads us inside. I don’t know how many people are employed on the estate, but I imagine there are quite a few. An attendant has been waiting to lead every guest inside.

  When we finally step inside, I let out an awe-filled gasp. It’s absolutely breathtaking. With high-vaulted ceilings that make me feel like I’ve stepped into a Catholic church and displays of art painted on the walls, it’s like the Sistine Chapel threw up inside, and I never want to leave.

  “Nice, isn’t it?”

  I shoot him a dry look. “This is more than nice. Rose’s apartment is nice. Your penthouse is beautiful, but this…this is incredible.”

  He laughs under his breath, gently tugging me to keep me moving, following along with the crowd ahead of us and our attendant leading the way. “Let’s find our seats.”

  I smile in agreement.

  He smiles back.

  I melt.

  There are plenty of oohs and aahs along the way, not just from me but others who’ve never been here before. As we walk into a ballroom that looks like it belongs in the Roman Empire era, heat rises to my cheeks. Every eye in the room turns to us. Or maybe they’re looking at him? There’s really no telling.

  People stop talking and turn toward us. Men straighten. Women all but foam at the mouth. Everyone seems to be waiting for the perfect opportunity to say hello to the man beside me.

  It’s surreal.

  It feels like the man standing next to me is a rock star, and I guess, in this world, he sort of is.

  I glance up at Callan. His face is a steel mask. The humor that was just there, glittering playfully, is now gone. He exudes
confidence. Radiates power. Emits authority. There’s precision in his every step. Every breath is controlled.

  I don’t miss the heated stares the women send his way. Or the look of hatred they shoot my way either, just for merely being on his arm. If Callan notices, he’s unaffected. I try not to let that bother me. I have to remember I’m not here with him as his date. I’m here because I’m his assistant.

  This is a work function. Nothing more.

  Sure, he was my best friend for years and my first love, but that doesn’t mean anything to a man like Callan. I need to remember that.

  He’s the amiable prince.

  The charming artist.

  The biggest asshole in here. I had to learn that the hard way.

  For the next half hour, it’s the same thing. Walk three steps. Stop. Introductions. Curious looks. Small talk. Repeat.

  I’m bored, slightly hungry, too, and all I want to do is leave Callan’s side to explore the castle. Seems if I’m going to enjoy myself at this party, I’m going to have to venture out and do it on my own.

  I try to break Callan’s hold while he’s mid-sentence. He pauses and turns to me. I smile up at him and then to the couple he’s talking to. With his eyes, he tells me to stop moving and stay put, but I manage to wrangle free and excuse myself.

  “Great meeting you both. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  I find the restrooms, and once I’ve had enough time to catch my breath, I follow the group of immaculately dressed guests through the castle. There’s a tour guide here with us, explaining each room and the history behind the castle. Even though I’ve already been given the crash course from Callan.

  I have the urge to bust out my phone and snap photographs to send to Rosalind and Damon, but seeing as no one else is doing that, I decide against it. The last thing I need is one of these assholes telling Callan that his date is being an uncultured swine.

  I don’t know how long I’m gone, but it’s long enough that my feet hurt from these heels and my calves burn. If this tour is any indication, I really need to start working out on a regular basis. A walk through this monstrosity of a castle shouldn’t be this tiring.