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

by S. M. Soto

  “Anything good?”

  Mom shrugs, still being modest, even after twenty-something years of her craft. “We’ll see. It’s in the early stages right now, it’s hard to say.”

  “It’s beautiful and she knows it,” I hear my dad comment from the background. It pulls a laugh out of me.

  “Enough about me, how are you, my sweet boy? School okay?”

  I shake my head ever so slightly, fighting off a grin. No matter how old I am, I’m positive my mother will always see me as her “baby boy” or her “sweet boy.” Not one day has gone by in my life where I didn’t feel an overwhelming amount of love from my parents. It stemmed from the loss of my grandmother and my mom’s rocky relationship with my grandfather in the early years. It’s something that as a family, they’ve tried to keep from happening again.

  I’m sure being the only boy has a lot to do with it, too. My older sister Faith is treated as the rock of our family, and even though I’m the middle child, I’m still the only boy, therefore, treated as the baby. Our adopted sister, Isabella, was the last to come along, a few years after I was born, and she’s the light of all our lives.

  “Everything’s good here. Finals are coming fast, but I know the material so I’m not worried.”

  “That’s good to hear, baby. We’ve missed you so much. It’ll be nice to have you, Isabella and Faith over for your dad’s birthday at the end of the month.” In the frame, the bed dips, and my dad slides his arm around Mom’s waist, tugging her into him. For parents in their mid-to-late fifties, they don’t look a day over forty.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I promise, before shifting the spotlight to my dad. “What’s up, Dad?”

  “Hey, son. How’re you and the boys? Staying out of trouble, I hope.”

  I suppress a grin. “We’re good. We decided to have a small get-together tonight, so I’m getting some fresh air before I head back.”

  My dad rolls his eyes. “By small get-together you really mean a party.”

  “Something like that.”

  My mom’s brows tug down into a frown, and before she can jump into her full-on smothering-mom-mode, I cut her off.

  “I’ll give you guys a call tomorrow, I gotta head back soon.”

  “Night, East. We love you.”

  “Love you guys, too.”

  As soon as the FaceTime call ends, I’m just about to pocket my phone when I spot a text message from my sister.

  Faith: Mom and Dad were asking about you at dinner. I figured I’d give you a heads-up before they call, just to make sure you’re not sucking the life out of some poor unfortunate soul over there.

  I grin.

  Easton: Not at the moment, but, as they say, the night is still young.

  Faith: Is your family keeping you from your partying, Easton? *rolling my eyes so hard they’ve gotten stuck in the back of my head*

  Easton: Is that all you guys think I do here, party?”

  Faith: Don’t play coy with me, East. I know you alllll too well. I just wanted to check on you and remind you not to miss Dad’s party. They miss you.

  My guilt is swift and heavy. The last few months have been crazier than usual, and I’ll admit, I haven’t spoken to my parents as often as any of us would like to.

  Easton: I know. I promise I’ll be there. Things have been crazy.

  Faith: That’s what they figured, but you know how Mom gets. If she doesn’t have all her kids under the same roof, she starts talking about grandbabies and I’m not ready for that yet.

  A laugh bursts from my chest. That sounds exactly like my mother.

  Easton: Do your part as the oldest sibling and give her babies then.

  Faith: I work with children all day long. I’m going to pass. Why don’t YOU?

  Easton: Not happening.

  Faith: *gasps* The hot shit elitist over in Cambridge doesn’t want children?!

  I fight back a grin.

  Easton: Keeping tabs on me?

  Faith: Don’t have to. Not when all of Cambridge is afraid of you and your two other musketeers.

  Such a fucking smartass.

  I’m just about to type out a reply when I hear something. A scream suddenly rips through the still air, intermingling with the distant notes of hip-hop music coming from the house. It’s the kind of scream that leaves all the hair at the nape of your neck standing at attention. I glance toward the darkened cluster of trees ahead, my eyes narrowing.

  Pocketing the phone, my eyes scour the darkness, searching for where the scream could’ve come from. That’s when I hear it again.

  It’s not as loud, but it’s enough.

  I break out into a run, kicking up dirt in my quest. No one is allowed back here. Sometimes, drunk assholes from the party will venture this way for a quick fuck in the woods, but the guys and I prefer for everyone to keep that shit inside. The last thing we need is something happening in this dense wooded area and we have to deal with the fallout.

  Sprinting past the cluster of trees, I hear a scuffle ahead, and spot two forms struggling. The closer I get, the clearer they become, and anger fires through my veins when I realize it’s a guy who has someone pinned to a tree. A small, fearful squeak sounds, and it’s all too obvious that it’s a female this person has pinned. His hands grapple at her body, trying to pry her legs open.

  Too caught up in their scuffle, they don’t hear me coming until it’s too late. With a growl and a red haze seeping into my vision, I grip the back of his neck and squeeze, flinging the hulking figure away from the girl. His body slams onto the dirt beneath our feet and he lets out a pained grunt. A sob rips through the air and I freeze when strangely familiar green eyes clash with mine. Fat tears and splotches of red mar her face. She looks like a wild animal. Cornered and afraid.

  It isn’t until her bottom lip trembles, and she looks down at her skirt that has been haphazardly pushed up her hips. Virginal white underwear remains securely in place. Thank fuck for that.

  I bite out a curse and spin on my heels, reaching for the fucker on the ground who tried to touch her. Curling my fist into his collar, I jerk him upright, yanking him to his feet. My fist sails down, connecting with his cheek. I do it over and over again until his body collapses back to the ground, until blood stains my knuckles and he’s a crumpled mess in the dirt.

  Dropping to my haunches next to him, I whisper my next words in his ear so only he can hear them.

  “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life, Quentin. I do not care who your family is. You’re dead.”

  I allow him to scramble away, trying to put distance between us. His fear, the only thing reflected back at me from his swollen eyes. Not remorse. Not forgiveness. Fear.

  Quentin hastily rushes to his feet and takes off at a sprint, leaving the two of us.

  With my heart pounding violently in my chest, I turn, taking in the fragile girl before me. She’s still in the same place. Her pink cable-knit sweater is ripped at the collar, hanging haphazardly around her shoulder. She’s pinned up against the tree trunk like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling. Those green eyes watch me with a tepid curiosity.

  Her eyes are a unique color. Not a dark green, but a pale green, so pale, they’re almost opaque. They’re like the eyes of a ghost. Haunting. Distracting. Frightening with the way they penetrate. It’s almost like she’s not even seeing me; instead, she’s seeing through me, as though she’s gone into some kind of shock.

  Heaving a deep sigh, I close the distance between us, keeping my movements slow, so as to not spook her.

  “You all right?”

  She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t make any indication that she heard me.

  My nostrils flare, frustration coursing through my veins. I pause in front of her.

  “He hurt you?”

  She blinks, but no words.

  My hands ball into fists at my sides and I work to tamp down my building anger. Not with her, but Quentin. I should’ve killed the bastard, then buried his ass right here
in the cool earth.

  I take a tentative step toward her, and when she doesn’t flinch or scream, I take another, slowly closing the distance between us. “Listen, I need you to give me a sign that you’re okay. Can you do that?”

  She blinks. Then blinks again, but this time, it’s a slow blink. Deliberate almost. I take that as answer enough.

  Raising my palms between us, where she can clearly see them, I explain what I’m going to do next.

  “I’m going to help you pull your skirt down.”

  Those pale eyes search mine, looking for ill-intent. Finally, after what feels like several drawn-out minutes of silence, she nods jerkily. Keeping my eyes fixed on hers, I tug her skirt back down over her hips, so she’s decent.

  I take a step back, giving her a modicum of space. When she still doesn’t blink or say a word, I begin to grow frustrated. I have a possible assault victim on my hands, and she hasn’t said a goddamn thing. I don’t know if she needs medical assistance or if she’s still in shock.

  “Are you going to continue staring up at me without saying a word?”

  Nothing.

  Not even a blink this time.

  “Fucking hell.”

  I turn my back on her and begin pacing. Raking my hand through my hair, trying to figure out how to help her. Why I even want to help her in the first place is beyond me. I suddenly have this inherent need to stay by her until I know she’s safe. To make Quentin pay for touching her.

  Fuck it.

  Turning back around to face her, I give her one option. “Either you start using your words or I’m hauling your ass over my—”

  Those pale eyes suddenly roll back, and in slow motion, I watch as she falls to the floor in a heap of gangly limbs.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grit, stomping toward her.

  Scooping her thin body into my arms, I make my way back to the house. No one even bats an eye at the fact that I’m carrying a comatose student in through the back entrance. I make a beeline for the staircase and head straight to my bedroom.

  After depositing her on the bed, I take a few steps back, staring down at the strange girl. Other than a few bruises on her legs and some scrapes on her knees, she doesn’t seem to have any wounds, or anything that would be cause for immediate concern.

  I don’t know how much time passes as I try to figure out what the hell to do with the comatose female, but when there are two sharp knocks at the door, I don’t even bat an eye. I know who it is before the door is even thrust open. Sebastian whistles upon entering, obviously spotting the figure sprawled across the sheets.

  “Put her to sleep, then decided to stare at your handiwork?” He ribs.

  Under normal circumstances, I’d find it funny. Tonight, I don’t.

  “Actually, Quentin James attacked her. Couldn’t get a goddamn word out of her before she fainted.”

  Seb releases a sigh. “Fucking Quentin James. Never trust a fucker with two first names.”

  “I have two first names.”

  “I know.” He shoots me a mirth-filled grin. That grin slips when he gets a better look at the girl on my sheets. “Since when are you in the business of saving damsels in distress?”

  My mouth turns down. “I’m not.” And that’s exactly the problem. “Don’t even know who she is. Just heard a scream and reacted.”

  “Calliope Love.”

  Strange name for a strange girl.

  “You know her,” I surmise. My gut tightens with irritation. I shouldn’t care that Sebastian knows who she is, but I find that I do. Way more than I should.

  “It’s our job to know her.” He pauses, and I feel his scrutinizing eyes on the side of my head as I continue watching her. “I take it you don’t have a clue who she is.”

  “None.”

  “Nothing to tell really. She’s a freshman, typically keeps to herself. A bit weird, if you ask me. Heard she doesn’t like to be touched and has this weird thing about being looked in the eye. Though, I am curious how she ended up in the woods with Quentin, of all people.”

  “As am I.”

  I trace my thumb back and forth across my chin in contemplation. First things first, is making sure she’s okay once she wakes up, then, she’ll need to cut the silent act and tell me who she is. I don’t like being kept in the dark.

  The door opens behind us and I don’t even need to turn to know it’s Nico. The fucker never knocks.

  “What’s her deal?” he asks, coming to a stop beside us.

  “Got attacked on our property. If she decides to do something about it, that’ll be a joy to handle.” Sarcasm drips from Sebastian’s tone.

  “That won’t happen,” I pipe in. “Technically, I saved her. Once she wakes, she can give her side of the story and press charges against Quentin if necessary. And as for us? It’s just an unfortunate circumstance. One she should be thankful that I was around to prevent.”

  Seb scoffs. “Yeah, good luck with that. You won’t be able to get anything out of her.”

  I turn toward him, my brows draw in. “Why is that?”

  Sebastian shrugs. “She’s mute. Doesn’t speak. I’m told it has something to do with the way her parents died. Psychological trauma or some shit. She’s kind of strange, if you ask me.”

  “Interesting.” I keep my gaze fixed on the girl in question.

  She suddenly stirs on my sheets, and before those eyes open, she tenses, as if sensing she’s not alone. After what she’s been through tonight, I can’t imagine waking up to a room full of men is reassuring.

  She’s not my type. Too quiet. Too sweet. Too plain for my tastes. But when she looks up at me, and those green eyes clash with mine, I feel something brewing in my chest. It’s hot and restricting. Fucking uncomfortable.

  I don’t like it.

  In fact, I hate it.

  “You can both leave now. I’ll take it from here.”

  Once the door to my bedroom clicks shut, I tuck my hands in my pockets and study the girl in my bed.

  Calliope Love.

  She does the same, watching me like I’m a puzzle she can’t quite put together. My lips thin ever so slightly, and I take a step toward the bed. Calliope’s eyes widen with panic, almost like she can read my innermost thoughts.

  I pause right next to her, eyes glinting with promise.

  “You owe me a favor, Calliope Love. And believe me, when the time is right, I will come to collect.”

  Want more of Easton and Calliope? Find out what happens in MUTED LOVE, their standalone romance, coming soon.

  Add Muted Love on Goodreads

  Fresh out of a failed engagement, Olivia Hales is in dire need of a fresh start. Tired of being the charming and accommodating girl that always gets stomped on, she’s determined to change her outlook on life.

  When she finds her dream job in a small town in California, she thinks she’s finally found her place in life. That is, until she meets her new neighbor.

  Roman Banks.

  Moody. Foul-mouthed. Jerk.

  And the hottest man on the planet.

  At a sprawling six foot five, he was coldly distant and physically intimidating. Not only was her new neighbor a God that was good with his hands, he was also a grade-A jerk. Trapped on the same street, sharing the same space together, they’ve become entrenched in an addictive, ridiculous, never-ending game of insults and pranks that result in the destruction of two perfectly good homes.

  The tension between them is as thick as the walls of their houses are thin. Roman’s touch burned like fire even when his words were ice, and both of them will stop at nothing to make the others life hell.

  In the midst of the pranks and the hate they harbor for each other, Olivia slowly pulls back the layers of the man next door and finds herself consumed with wanting to fix him and his past. When both enemies start to catch feelings for each other, Olivia finds herself hiding her own secrets, not wanting to lose another man in her life.

  Lines are drawn. Strict rules put into place. B
ut that doesn’t stop Olivia from wanting to save the quiet, broody man next door.

  They say you’re supposed to love thy neighbor, but that was the furthest emotion she felt when thinking about Roman. Hate was all there was to their relationship. At the very least, that’s what she tried to tell herself.

  “Here Comes the Sun”—The Beatles

  “You sure you have everything, sweetie?” My mom’s silvery voice echoes from the speaker. With the phone secured against my ear, I hop out from the back of the moving truck I rented and that I’ll be using for the next few days.

  “Yes, Mom.” My eyes roll of their own accord. “I have everything. Stop worrying. I’ve been on my own for how many years now?”

  The snark that rises in her tone can’t be missed nor mistaken. “This is your first house, Liv. Sue me for wanting everything to go smoothly.”

  I slam my eyes shut, feeling awful for keeping her at arm’s length during this whole process. It’s not all my fault. I’ve always been independent. Well, scratch that, I’ve always wanted to be independent. My parents still do many things for me that I often take for granted, even at twenty-five.

  “I realize that, and I love you for it.” I sigh. “But don’t worry. I have everything taken care of. Tomorrow, you and Dad are still coming to help unload the heavier stuff before you head back home, right?” I ask, trying to make her feel somewhat better about her role in all of this.

  “Your father hasn’t shut up about it, Sweetie. I couldn’t even deter him with sex. That usually always does the trick.”

  “Mom,” I groan.

  “My God, Liv. I’ve told you, you need to embrace your sensuality, not run from it.”

  My mother, Dr. Lisa Hales, is a sex therapist, and the scars from having a parent like her run deep. Nothing is ever off-limits to her. Same goes for my father. He’s a retired psychologist, and I haven’t shared one conversation with the man in all my twenty-five years when he hasn’t tried to psychoanalyze me. The two of them together? It’s about as horrible as you’re thinking. If not worse.