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

by S. M. Soto

  I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, wondering how much of a shithead it would make me if I bailed on the date. It’s obvious Callan doesn’t want me to go. I just need to know why—the real reason, not some bogus “because she’s my assistant” mess.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you making that face?” she asks.

  The truth is on the tip of my tongue, but as I open my mouth, I can’t get the words out.

  “No reason. I just…”

  Her brows pull in, suspicion written all over her face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing! I just… I don’t want things to be awkward for us. We have to see each other every day.”

  “I know that. And I promise you, this is going to be great. Trust me.”

  I sip from the wineglass, smiling reservedly at the man sitting across from me. He’s handsome in a conventional way and seems to have a good sense of humor, but for whatever reason, I feel a disconnect as I sit here with him. I can’t stop thinking about Callan. And Faith. Wondering what they’re both doing.

  I have the urge to text Rose and ask her if Faith’s fussy at all, but I know she wouldn’t approve of that, especially seeing as she set up this date.

  I do my best to listen to Jeremy drone on about working with Damon and Rose, which is fine and all, but I don’t exactly want to be out on a date talking about my best friend and her fiancé. I’d much rather talk about anything else. Sometimes, attorneys remind me of when I was married to Dean. All the long nights he spent holed up at the office. I can’t help but wonder now if he was really busy working or doing something else entirely.

  Normally, Jeremy would tick all my boxes. He’s tall with an athletic build and killer smile, but for some reason, there’s no spark.

  Disappointment weighs heavily on my chest.

  As I’m glancing around the restaurant, taking in the rest of the patrons, my breath catches, and my eyes grow round.

  “Daisy, is everything okay?” Jeremy asks mid-sentence.

  “What?” I whip my gaze back to him.

  His brows pull down. “I asked if you’re okay. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “He’s not a ghost,” I mumble under my breath, my gaze darting to the table where Callan is sitting.

  His table is right next to ours, Jeremy’s back to him. He isn’t sitting close enough to eavesdrop on our conversation, but it is close enough that I’m able to make out the turbulence in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw.

  How long has he been here?

  What is he doing here?

  And why didn’t I notice him sooner?

  My eyes lock with Callan’s, and a shiver runs down my spine, settling at the base. I shift in my seat, and my heart jumps into my throat when the corner of his mouth upturns into a crooked smirk.

  The bastard.

  Jeremy must sense something because he shifts in his seat, glancing behind him at Callan. The smirk gets wiped off Callan’s face, and I swear, his eyes narrow in a threatening manner.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  Callan must hear that because the muscle in his jaw jumps. When Jeremy turns back around, he raises a questioning brow.

  “That guy is staring at our table as though we pissed him off. If you feel uncomfortable, just let me know. I’ll see if we can get a new table.”

  Yeah, well, I don’t see that going over well.

  I wave him off. “It’s fine. He could just be having a bad day?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, let’s talk about you. Rosalind tells me you’re from California?”

  I smile, my heart panging as I think about my home. My mom. My dad. All that feels like a lifetime ago. “Born and raised. Are you from New York?”

  “Brooklyn, actually. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. What made you move all the way here?”

  I blow out a shaky sigh. “Do you want the long answer or the short answer? I can guarantee you, the long answer isn’t a pretty one.”

  Jeremy smiles softly, and if this were any other time in my life, if this was before I’d ever met Callan Reed, I might’ve fallen for the soft look there, but I find I can’t. Not when my heart already belongs to someone else.

  “Why don’t we go for the truth? You don’t ever have to give me anything but the truth, Daisy.”

  Goddammit. Why does he have to be so nice?

  “Well, my mom passed away about five years ago, and my father’s relationship with me is nonexistent. My husband passed away almost a year ago, and now I’m here, with Rose, taking care of his child.”

  It takes Jeremy a few beats to process what I’ve said, and when he does, his eyes widen. “I’m sorry, you said ‘his child’?”

  I smile sadly. “I did. He had a baby with my cousin.”

  To his credit, he tries to wipe the pity off his face with a napkin, but I still see it shining in his eyes.

  “That must’ve been a tough decision.”

  “Believe it or not, it wasn’t all that hard. Some days, I think I have it all together, and others, I feel just as helpless as I did when I found out the truth. But I love her. She’s the greatest thing in my life.”

  “Wow. I didn’t believe Rose when she said you were the most incredible woman, but now…now I do. Do you realize how many other people would run from a responsibility like that? How many would take their frustrations out on that child?”

  Tears spring to my eyes as I think about it. I can’t imagine not loving Faith the way I do. She’s a blessing.

  I sniff back the pressure in my nose and force a laugh, trying to bring some levity back into our dinner.

  “That got dark very fast. I’m so sorry.”

  Jeremy reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. The warmth of it feels good, but there are no butterflies, no flare of unbearable attraction when he touches me. “Don’t apologize. I asked, and I meant what I said. I wanted the truth. I appreciate you telling me.”

  I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, mulling over how to tell him that maybe I’m not in the right headspace to be dating, after all, and we should just remain friends.

  “Look, Jeremy—”

  A dark shadow engulfs our table, and a frown passes over my face. I glance up at the source, my eyes widening.

  Callan stands there, gaze glued to Jeremy’s hand resting on top of mine. The muscles in his jaw are clenching and unclenching as though he’s barely restraining himself.

  “Can I help you?”

  Callan’s eyes flash. “You can. Let’s start by taking your hand off her and leaving before I break your face. This dinner is over.”

  Jeremy’s brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

  “Stop it!” I hiss.

  His eyes shoot to mine with so many warnings written there. I meet his glare head-on.

  “Wait, I thought you said you didn’t know him?” Jeremy asks.

  I blow out a sigh, and Callan quirks a brow. “So, you don’t know me now? That’s interesting, considering you sat on my face last night, then proceeded to ride my cock like you owned the damn thing.”

  “Callan!” I admonish.

  Jeremy’s mouth drops.

  The table next to us lets out a collective round of gasps.

  “Now get your shit and go, pretty boy. I’ll handle the check.”

  Jeremy slides a glance my way. His expression is a mixture of surprise and a whole lot of disappointment.

  “So much for the truth, huh?” He pushes away from the table.

  “I’m so sorry, Jeremy. I had no idea he’d be here.”

  “Why didn’t you just say you were seeing someone?”

  “I’m not!”

  “Daisy,” Callan grits in warning, his eyes flaring possessively.

  “Well, not really. I don’t know what we’re doing. And I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or Rose’s by declining this date.”

  “I told her to cancel.” Callan shrugs, still waiting for him to leave.


  “How do you know Rosalind?” Jeremy demands, like he, too, believes Rose is out sleeping around with Callan. I gag just thinking about it.

  “She’s my sister. Now, goodbye, Jeremy. Speak to my girl again, and our next meeting won’t be as civil.”

  “Goodbye, Daisy.” The finality in his tone has me deflating in my seat.

  Callan takes his open chair, glaring at me.

  “Was that necessary?”

  “Very.”

  “It’s a stupid blind date, Cal. You didn’t have to be such a dick about it.”

  He leans across the table, lowering his voice into that sexy, gruff tone that drives me wild. “Oh, but I did. You see, he touched what was mine. And I don’t share, Daisy. Ever.”

  I swallow. “But I’m not yours.”

  “You are.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “You coming on my cock and my tongue every night should be answer enough for you. Let’s get one thing straight. You are mine. Your pussy is mine, that mouth is mine, those fucking tits are mine, and so is your tight little asshole. You’re mine.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I dart my gaze around, making sure no one at the surrounding tables heard him. “Would you keep your voice down?”

  “If you wanted to go on a date, why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Because you don’t strike me as someone who takes women on very many dates.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “So why me?”

  “Why not you?” he counters.

  “You’re confusing me,” I whisper. “I can’t think straight when I’m around you, Callan. Hell, I don’t even know what we’re doing.”

  He swipes a frustrated hand through his hair. “Do you really need to slap a label on everything in your life? Why can’t two people fuck exclusively and leave it at that?”

  “Maybe because I don’t just want to be the girl you fuck!”

  His lips press together in a grim line. “You’re more than that.”

  “Then tell me that, asshole.”

  “Fine, you want more? Let’s start here. Tonight. On a real date.”

  “Crashing someone else’s dinner does not constitute a real date, Callan.”

  “Who said that’s all I have up my sleeve?”

  Curiosity piques my interest. “What do you have planned?”

  His mouth pulls into a crooked grin. “I’ll show you.”

  “You realize I already ate, don’t you?” I teeter on my heels, trying to keep up with Callan and his long strides. His hand shoots out, gripping my arm to steady me. Electricity burns through my veins at his touch. Our eyes meet, and his hand slides from my arm down, down, traveling around to the small of my back. I let out an audible gasp at the warmth of his touch. His eyes flare, sensing it.

  “You had a salad,” he answers in a gruff voice. “That doesn’t count. This place has the best scoglio.”

  “How do you know I like scoglio?”

  He rolls his eyes, opening the door to the restaurant. I’ve only ever seen this place in magazines, but I’ve never stepped foot inside. Le Bernardin is beautiful with its tall floor-to-ceiling windows. The entire top level is dedicated exclusively to guests willing to pay a hefty amount of change for the view.

  “I’m not an idiot,” he murmurs, guiding me into the elevator. “Just like I know you’re lactose intolerant, you hate eating pork and most other poultry items, and you’re allergic to strawberries.”

  I’m taken aback by the detail and the certainty in his voice. I stare at the side of his profile, at the sharp slope of his jaw dusted with scruff. I’m sure he senses my gaze. There’s no way he can’t.

  “How do you know all of that?”

  I would chalk it up to our childhood, but some stuff he mentioned are recent changes to my tastes.

  He looks down at me, and it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable with the knowledge. Uncomfortable with how much he knows about me, but beneath all that, I see the warmth there in his eyes.

  The elevator dings with its arrival, and like a gentleman, Callan surprises me by taking my hand and guiding me through the restaurant. He walks through the space as though he owns it. I’ve always admired his confidence, but in a setting like this, it’s easy to see why he’s so accomplished and so incredibly successful. He walks around like he owns the world and the rest of us are just his dutiful followers.

  As we pass tables, my brows draw together when I take in the entirety of the space. There are a few stragglers at the tables, but for the most part, the place is empty, which can’t be possible. People book their table here at least six months to a year in advance.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “I paid the owner for some privacy.”

  My eyes widen. “Are you joking? What about the people who are still eating?”

  “They’ll be gone soon enough.”

  I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “You did all this for what?”

  He pauses in front of a table with flickering white candles and a centerpiece of roses, and glances down at me. “Isn’t it obvious by now? For you.”

  “Oh,” I breathe out.

  Callan laughs and pulls out my chair, helping me sit. “Oh, indeed.”

  After we take our seats, I sit there, watching him, trying to make sense of the man sitting before me. He’s a dichotomy. Sometimes I think I have him all figured out, and then he throws me for a loop, just like tonight.

  “When was the last time you went on a date? Like this. Like tonight.”

  Part of me is afraid of his answer because I worry I won’t like it. I’ve never been much of a jealous person, but when it comes to Callan Reed, I’ve always been irrational with my jealousy. Anyone that so much as looked at him felt like a threat, and I hated that. I hated feeling powerless or like I wasn’t enough.

  Why wasn’t I confident enough around him to ever feel secure?

  “Never.”

  His words strike a chord.

  My eyes narrow. “What do you mean ‘never’?”

  “I don’t date, Daisy.”

  “But…what about those women? You’ve never taken them out to dinner?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t have to.”

  “That’s a little messed up, don’t you think?”

  “Let me rephrase, I’ve never wanted to.”

  “And what, you do now?”

  His lips twitch. “I might.”

  Heat crawls up my chest, and I suck in deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. I’ve been here before. Read into things that were never there. I want him to tell me the truth. I want him to say it and not skirt around it anymore.

  “You can have anyone in New York, why me? Why now?”

  He glances away, looking out at the view. “Because there’s no one like you.”

  My heart warms, and despite the fact that those weren’t the exact words I was hoping for, a smile spreads across my face. And I fall even harder when he smiles back.

  We spend the rest of dinner talking about the past, his work, what I plan to do with my future. I like that he understands I don’t plan to be his assistant forever. For the next two hours, while sitting across from him, it doesn’t feel like there was ever any bad blood or years of distance between us. It feels like it always did—before everything between us got ugly.

  He feels like my best friend again.

  He feels like the boy I fell in love with all those years ago.

  “I heard you on the phone with your dad the other day. How did that go?”

  I set my fork down, heaving a deep sigh. “The usual. He keeps me at arm’s length and makes me feel like we’re strangers.”

  “How often do you two talk?”

  “Not very often. Maybe twice a month? I think I’m just tired of being let down by him, you know? I’m tired of being hurt. I want my dad back. Sometimes it feels like I have no reliable men in my life—no offense.”

  His mouth quirks. “None taken.” The topic mus
t be too heavy for him because he glances away, eyes narrowing at some point in the distance. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize on his behalf. It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not yours either.”

  Plastering on a fake smile, I put the subject of my father behind us, pretending it’s not an issue in my life at all. Though, I’m sure Callan can read me like an open book.

  I was almost positive that after dinner, we would head back to the penthouse, but I am pleasantly surprised when Callan’s driver, Stephan, drives us through the city toward the Hudson. When we park, and Callan walks around to my side, helping me out, I stare up at him questioningly.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Ever been on the water?”

  “We’re from California, Callan. Of course, I have.”

  He laughs. “But have you ever done it in a yacht?”

  When Callan asked if I’d ever been on a yacht, I thought he meant in general. I didn’t think he meant he owned his own yacht, especially not one this size. It’s massive, and hell, he even has his own staff on board. The vessel itself is all dark wood inside and gleaming surfaces. Everything is so white and perfect. I worry staring too long will somehow stain the leather. With seven staterooms, an elegantly decorated main deck salon, a full-service bar, a formal dining room, and a fully equipped galley, this yacht is fit for a king. There’s also an aft deck observation area and seating, an upper deck outdoor area with lounge seating, and another bar. As if the other wasn’t enough.

  “Wow,” I breathe, staring out at the dark sea of water. I clench the blanket around my body. As soon as we boarded, one of his staff handed me a blanket to ward off the river chill. The stars glimmer brightly, and the moon leaves a silver cast against the dark water. In the distance, I can see the Statue of Liberty.

  It’s beautiful.

  The most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me.

  I feel Callan step up beside me on the bow of the ship. I’m leaning against the railing, staring out at the wide expanse of water beyond.

  “Do you like it?”

  I glance up at him. “I love it, Cal.”

  Surprising us both, he reaches out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His warm fingertips trail down my cheek, then cup my jaw. He pulls me into his arms, and then we’re kissing. His warm lips breathe life back into me. His tongue seeks entrance into my mouth, and I’m more than willing to oblige. When Callan’s tongue strokes mine, my core clenches with anticipation, and I moan into his mouth.