by Hannah Ford
“I’m fine,” I called, rolling my eyes at the saleswoman’s zealousness. “I don’t need anything yet.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you it was impolite to ignore a text message?” a deep voice growled.
I froze, halfway into a pair of grey hounds tooth dress pants.
Callum.
Callum was outside the dressing room.
What the fuck? How the hell did he know I was here?
He knocked again. “Open the door, Lemon.”
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m naked.”
“Even better.” He reached out and jiggled the doorknob.
“Are you insane?” I hissed as I struggled to get back into my clothes. “This is a women’s changing room.”
“So?”
“So you’re a man, and you shouldn’t be in here!”
“That’s sexist.”
“It’s not sexist, it’s the law.”
“It’s against the law for a man to be in a women’s changing room?”
“Yes,” I said, but my voice sounded doubtful. I wasn’t sure.
“That’s discrimination,” he said, and the doorknob rattled again.
I straightened my clothes and took a deep breath, studying myself in the mirror. I was blushing, my cheeks high with rosy heat, my hair a mess, my eyes wide.
I fixed myself as best I could and then opened the changing room door.
It was like a shockwave hit me. Callum stood there, dressed completely in black – black suit, black dress shirt, black tie. His hair was brushed back from his face, which was clean-shaven, his tan skin smooth.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted.
“I came to get you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“I followed you.” He said it casually, no trace of shame in his voice, like it was perfectly normal for him to be following me.
“Followed me? From where?”
“From your interview.” He glanced past me into the dressing room, his eyes roaming around the piles of clothes. “For your new job?”
I nodded.
He cocked his head to the side, and I could feel my blush deepening under his steady gaze. “Come on.”
“Come on what?”
“Come on, we’re going to lunch.”
I stared at him, my mouth dropping open. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I shook my head, the shock of him being here in front of me finally starting to wear off. “Why did you do that, Callum?”
“Why did I do what?” He sounded slightly surprised, the tone of a man who was used to getting his way without being questioned.
“Why did you set up that interview for me? Why did you think that was okay?” I felt the emotion creeping into my voice, and I hated that he was able to do that to me, hated that he was able to make me care.
“I thought it would be nice.”
“It wasn’t nice,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “It was confusing.”
His face changed, the line of his jaw softening, the cocky and demanding look losing just a bit of its edge.
“Come to lunch with me,” he said. That was it. He didn’t offer any explanations, didn’t make any promises. Nothing had changed. I still had no idea what he wanted from me, or what he expected from me.
All I knew was that I wanted to go with him.
More than anything, I wanted to go with him.
I hesitated. “Callum…”
“Say yes, Adriana.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Okay,” I said. “Yes.”
***
“Where are we going?” I asked as we left the store a few minutes later. The poor saleswoman had almost had a conniption when she found out we were leaving. She gave me a suspicious look, like she’d thought Callum and I had been having sex in the dressing room. But I got the feeling she would have turned the other cheek if she’d thought we were going to buy something.
“Lunch,” Callum said.
“I know lunch,” I said. “But where?”
“The park.”
“You want to eat in Central Park?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t been to the park yet,” I said, delighted.
“You haven’t been to Central Park?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
The side of his mouth twitched into a grin, like he was happy he was going to get to experience the park with me for the first time, and I told myself not to read too much into it. “Walk or cab?” he asked.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “You take cabs?”
He sighed, pretending to be exasperated with me. “Yes, Adriana, I take cabs. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a complete snob.”
“When was the last time you took a cab?”
“Are you trying to catch me in a lie, Adriana?”
“When, Callum?” I pushed.
He shrugged. “Two years ago?”
I giggled. “Wow, you really are a snob.”
He pulled his phone out. “I’m calling my car.”
“No, no,” I said. “Please, I want to walk.” Now that he was here, in front of me, after I’d thought I’d never see him again, I was nervous that he would disappear before I was ready. I wanted to prolong my time with him for as long as possible.
“Tell me about your interview,” he said as we fell into step next to each other. “Was there discussion about the death of traditional publishing?”
“No,” I said. “And it wasn’t really an interview. It was more of a formality.”
“You sound angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I’m just confused.”
“About?”
“About why you did that.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, his gait confident, his shoulders back, his legs forced to shorten their stride in order for me to keep up with him. He was just so good-looking. It wasn’t fair. How was I supposed to not lose my head around him when he was so damn sexy?
“You wanted a job,” he said simply. “I knew how to get you one.”
It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, and I struggled to think of a response as we crossed Madison Avenue, hurrying to beat the Don’t Walk sign.
And then there it was, Central Park, rising out of the concrete jungle that was New York City. It looked just as it did in the movies, the lush trees, the green lawn, the stone bridges and walls. Joggers dotted the winding jogging path, tourists strolled by licking ice cream cones, people chatted on cell phones and stopped to take pictures.
The air smelled woodsy and clean, and the sounds of a breeze ruffling through the trees and the stroke of rollerblades against the path began to replace the traffic sounds coming from Fifth Avenue, which flanked the park on its east side.
“It’s exactly how I pictured it,” I said, looking around in wonder.
Callum laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Lemon,” he said, amused.
We continued walking through the park, past the statues and caricature artists, the plaques and the Central Park Zoo.
Finally, Callum headed for a food cart.
“A hot dog stand?” I asked in surprise as we joined the line.
“Best food in New York City,” Callum said as the line inched forward.
“Really?” I asked skeptically.
He looked over at me, raising his eyebrows. “Are you going to call me a snob again, Lemon? Because I don’t know if my fragile ego can take it.”
I shrugged. “With all the fancy places in New York, I would have thought your favorite food in New York would be something more…upscale. You know, like that place you took me the other day.”
“That was business.”
“And this isn’t?”
He didn’t answer me, and we lapsed into silence as the line inched forward.
When it was our turn, he ordered for both of us –
hot dogs with spicy brown mustard, crispy crinkle cut fries, an order of onion rings to share, and two icy cold bottles of water.
Callum had our food packed into a to-go bag and we walked further into the park.
I still couldn’t get over all the activity– street artists and performers, people on their lunch breaks eating from brown paper lunch sacks, birds chirping and scavenging for crumbs, children on school field trips. It was alive and exciting and I couldn’t believe I was a part of it.
All of the benches were full, so Callum bought a blanket from a street vendor, and spread it out over the grass. I sat down and he arranged my food in front of me, even going as far as to uncap my bottle of water.
He sat there, just staring at me.
“What?”
“Try the food, Adriana.”
I took a bite of my hot dog. “You’re right,” I said, nodding. “Best hot dog I’ve ever had.”
He nodded in satisfaction and took a long pull from his water.
“So your book,” I said, figuring it was safe subject to start with. “What’s it about?”
He shrugged, then took his suit coat off and loosened his tie. His black button-down hugged his broad chest, and I remembered seeing him shirtless, every muscle of his bare chest and stomach seemingly chiseled from stone. I shivered, even though the sun was high in the sky, and it must have been at least seventy-five degrees out. I felt like every woman in the park was staring at him, even though I knew that had to be my imagination.
“Business,” he said.
“Yes, but what else?”
“My life.”
“Like your childhood and stuff?”
“No.” He shook his head. “My philosophies.”
“Oh.” My skin prickled with heat, and I took a sip of my water. Being around Callum wasn’t helping my body temperature, not even a little. “And what are your philosophies?”
“The usual bullshit.” He shrugged, like his business ideas were no more important than any Joe Schmo off the street.
I raised my eyebrows. “There has to be more to it than that. The catalog copy is promising all kinds of business secrets from one of America’s most successful and youngest billionaires.”
“You should know more than anyone that ad copy is designed to sell books and has very little to do with the actual content of said book.”
“Why should I know that more than anyone?” I asked.
“Because you’re going to be working in publicity. It will be your job to write that ad copy, at least for the catalog and the promotional materials.”
“And what I write can’t have anything to do with what the book is about?”
“Not if you want to sell books.”
“So you’re saying I have to lie.”
“No, I’m saying people like to be promised things, even if there’s no way you can deliver on those promises.”
A warm breeze blew through the park, ruffling the trees overhead and casting long shadows across the green grass. Callum’s tone had softened slightly, and I had a feeling he was talking about more than ad copy.
I set my hot dog down in its paper container. “Callum, why are we here?”
“Because I thought you would enjoy –”
“No.” I shook my head. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, you made me sign something promising I wouldn’t contact you. And now here you are, getting me a job interview, following me to Bloomingdale’s, taking me to lunch.”
He looked away, and the sun dipped behind a cloud, casting his features in shadow. But I wasn’t going to let him off that easily.
“Callum.”
“Adriana,” he shot back cockily.
I waited a beat longer than necessary, giving him a chance to explain further, to take back his one night rule, to tell me it was a mistake, to tell me he wanted to see me again.
But he didn’t say any of those things.
Instead, he inched closer to me on the blanket. His leg pressed against mine, and it was the first time I’d been close enough to touch him all day. My breath hitched, the moment stopping in time, everything else in the park, every sound, every person, every movement ceasing to exist.
He reached over and brushed the back of his hand over my cheek, his knuckles skimming down to my jaw. His touch was familiar, the feel of his hands on my skin both exciting and comforting. His thumb grazed my bottom lip.
Heat rose on my cheeks, and I knew I was blushing, knew my fair skin was betraying me once again. I kept my eyes averted from his, because I knew that was what he wanted, what he needed, hoping that my submission would stir something inside of him, would cause him to decide he wanted to continue seeing me.
I knew it was wrong, knew I should stay away from him. But he was like a drug, taunting me, begging me to try it. And I had, even though he’d warned me not to. And now I was hooked, the need for him on my mind constantly. He’d turned me into a junkie.
“Adriana,” he said gruffly.
But still, I kept my gaze averted.
I heard his breathing quicken, and I kept my eyes on the grass, even though I wanted to see his face, wanted to see if I could find any clue as to what he was thinking.
“Fuck, Adriana,” he said, and then his hand was on my knee, inching the bottom of my skirt up, the material tickling my skin as his fingers moved over my knee to my thigh. He pushed the fabric higher, right here in the park, in front of everyone.
I felt like he was daring me to stop him, testing me, attempting to force me to be the one to finally put an end to this. But I wouldn’t tell him to stop. I didn’t want him to.
What I wanted, as crazy and insane as it was, was to submit to him.
My desire for him overrode any of my reasonable thoughts as his other hand moved over the hollow of my throat, skimming my pulse point.
“Adriana,” he breathed. “I cannot give you what you want, what you deserve.”
“How do you know what I want?” I asked, and then I couldn’t take it anymore. I raised my eyes to meet his.
As soon as I did, he took his hands from my body, as if he’d been burned. “You deserve more than this, more than me,” he said.
“What does that even mean, Callum?”
“It means exactly what I just said. That you deserve more than what I can give you.”
“You mean more than being…your submissive?” My mouth fumbled with the words, not sure of the correct term but going off of what had been in the contract he’d made me sign and the things I’d read about in books.
“I mean more than what I can give you.” He sounded agitated now, his good mood evaporating seemingly out of nowhere.
I swallowed, desperation filling me. I reached for his hand. “But you were… the other night, when we…” I trailed off, trying to find the words to convince him that he was enough for me. “The way you held me, Callum, that was – ”
“Stop,” he said, his tone unforgiving. “No more.”
The expression on his face was hard as stone.
“Why did you do this, Callum?” I asked, feeling the tears start to prick at the back of my eyes. Do not cry in front of him. DO. NOT. “Why did you really bring me here?”
“I wanted to say I was sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“For only giving you that one night. It was obvious you wanted more, and I should have known you wouldn’t have been able to handle an arrangement like that. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity of what he was saying. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
“You came to find me,” I said. “You got me a job interview, you followed me out of that job interview, you insisted I come to lunch with you.” My voice was becoming raised, and a group of women sitting on a bench, their babies in front of them in brightly colored strollers, looked at me with concern, and I could tell they were about one second away from coming over here and asking if everything was
okay. “And you did all of that to say you were sorry?” Either he was lying, or he was seriously fucked up. Who went out of their way to see someone again just to tell them they were sorry they couldn’t see them again?
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“You wanted to make sure I was okay?”
“Yes. You seemed fragile when you left me, Adriana, you were obviously emotional and upset. You’re young, you’re new to the city, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“And that’s why you followed me all over the city, that’s why you insisted on setting me up with a job I never even applied for, a job where you knew you’d be coming into contact with me?” I couldn’t believe the bullshit I was hearing.
He nodded, his blue eyes serious. “Yes.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fine, Callum. In fact, the only thing I need to be protected from is you.”
I gathered up the rest of my uneaten food and dumped it into a trash bin as I began hurrying out of the park.
I heard him calling after me.
But I was done playing by his rules, was done letting him be in charge of everything, letting him decide exactly what he wanted and just expecting me to go along for the ride.
He was a control freak, used to being in charge and getting his own way, but he wasn’t going to get it with me, not at the expense of my own feelings. I was done being one of his puppets.
I hurried out of the park and ran across the street against the Do Not Walk sign, dodging the vehicles that zoomed along Columbus Avenue. The sun, just a moment ago hidden behind the clouds, came out of nowhere, its bright light bouncing off the pavement, temporarily blinding me as I reached the curb.
The high heels I was wearing weren’t the most practical shoes for walking away from a man who was trying to fuck with my head, and as I hit the curb, my heel slipped and I fell forward toward the pavement.
I stuck my hands out to break my fall, anticipating the scrape and stinging pain that was about to come to my palms.
But a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist, breaking my fall.
“I’m fine,” I protested, but Callum kept his grip on me, pushing me across the street and under the awning of a building until my back was pressed up against the window.
“Let go of me,” I said, but he didn’t. He put his hands on the glass behind me, jailing me under him. “Why are you doing this?” I asked again, my voice breaking. “Why, Callum?”