by Hannah Ford
“Callum!” I screamed, reaching for him. But he didn’t stop.
Dean was up now, and he rushed Callum, grabbing him around the waist as the two of them fell to the ground in whirl of limbs, punches flying. After a couple of minutes which felt like forever, Callum ended up on top of Dean, punching him again.
“Callum,” I screamed grabbing him and pulling him off of Dean. “Callum, please, stop!”
I was dimly aware of a crowd of people forming around us.
“Callum,” I said again. “Callum, stop.”
Finally, he did, stumbling backwards before regaining his footing and looking dazed.
“What the hell are you doing?” I cried.
He shook his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
I turned around to make sure Dean was okay. He was sitting on the floor, his nose bleeding, Kiersten kneeling down beside him. “His nose is broken,” she said, looking up at me. “This is your fault. This is because of you.”
“Kiersten –”
“No.” She sneered at me, then looked at me with disgust. “I can’t believe I was going to give you a second chance. You’re fired, Adriana. Do not bother coming back to work.”
I heard a laugh from the corner and turned to see Aubrey Zane standing in there, a huge smile on her face. Her eyes flicked down to my dress. “Someone was planning on getting lucky tonight.”
I followed her gaze to where my dress was ripped right down the front. It must have happened at some point during the fight. You could see my lacey black bra.
I pulled the ruined material of my dress tighter around me and covered myself, suddenly aware that pretty much everyone who was anyone in publishing was in this room, standing around in a circle, staring at me.
Tears filled my eyes as I turned and ran from the room.
Callum was waiting for me in the lobby, his own shirt torn, a cut on his upper lip, a bruise starting to form across his cheekbone.
“Adriana – ”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I seethed. “Don’t you dare try to talk to me.”
I pushed by him and out the doors of the public library, hurrying down the steps.
“Adriana,” he called as he came after me, but I kept going. “Adriana, wait.”
When I got to the sidewalk, I tripped again and fell to my knees. I didn’t have the energy to get up, and I began to sob, right there in the middle of the street, big, racking sobs that shook my body.
“Adriana,” he said, and he was next to me, and I pushed him away and stood up, whirling on him.
He took a step back, the regret and longing flaming in his eyes.
“You’re drunk,” I said.
He nodded.
“You told me you weren’t going to drink.”
He stayed silent and closed his eyes.
I shook my head. “Why, Callum?” I cried, and I was really crying now. “Why? Why did you tell me you wouldn’t?”
He took a step toward me and he wrapped his arms around me and I tried to push him away, I did, but he was too strong, and I struggled against him until finally my energy was exhausted and I felt myself go limp.
I grabbed his shirt and closed my eyes and I was sobbing and he was telling me it would be okay, but I didn’t believe him.
When I opened my eyes, a police car was pulling up in front of the library, and two uniformed cops were stepping out.
One of the dinner guests, a man in a navy blue suit, was standing outside on the sidewalk and he pointed at Callum.
The cops came over to us immediately.
“Callum Wilder, you’re under arrest for assault,” one of them said as the other one handcuffed Callum.
And then they loaded him into the police car and took him away.
* * *
There was a huddle of people standing on the sidewalk in front of the library as the police car pulled away, and I could see some of them talking to another officer who’d pulled up in a second police cruiser. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came over to ask if I was okay, or even worse, to ask me for a statement.
So I hurried around the corner and hailed a cab.
“Where to?” the taxi driver asked gruffly.
I realized I had no idea where to go.
Home?
Where was home?
Certainly not the apartment Callum had bought for me. Back to Nessa’s? Yes, that was probably the best idea.
But first, there was something I had to do.
“Do you know where they would take someone who’s just been arrested?” I asked the cabbie.
* * *
An hour later, they brought me in to see him.
I’d been waiting in the lobby of central booking until they called my name. The officer who led me into the back looked at me with pity in her eyes, like I was just another lost girl involved with a man who would never change.
A glass partition separated me from Callum as I sat down in a metal folding chair.
No one had cleaned him up.
He was disheveled, the tails of his button down shirt hanging out of his pants, the bruise on his cheekbone shiny and ugly.
“Adriana,” he said when he saw me.
We had to talk to each other through a phone that was mounted on the wall of the partition, and I picked it up, pressing the receiver to my ear.
I tipped my chin into the air, telling myself to stay strong, that if he was struggling, if he was in jail, it was his own fault.
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I took a moment to steady my nerves.
“They won’t let me out. I called my lawyer, and he’s working on it, but this is a fucking two-bit jail.”
“It’s not a two-bit jail, Callum,” I said. “They won’t let you out because they want to make sure you’re sober first.”
“That’s bullshit.”
I stared at him through the glass, fury burning in my veins. Fury that he still thought he was the exception to the rule, fury that he thought he could get away with whatever he wanted.
“Listen, go back to the apartment,” he said. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
I stared at him through the glass. “I’m not going back to the apartment, Callum.”
“Adriana, come on.”
“No, you come on. You came into a work function of mine, you punched a man for no reason.”
“He was touching you.”
“That’s not a reason to punch someone!”
“To me it is.”
“You were drunk, Callum.”
“Adriana –”
“Stop saying my name.” My voice came out harsher than I intended, and I reeled myself in. He wasn’t going to get any more of my anger, wasn’t going to engage me in some kind of back and forth that left me questioning what I knew was right. “Do not call me again, Callum,” I said, my voice steady. “Don’t email me. Don’t text me. Don’t try to contact me in any way.”
His eyes burned into mine, and I saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped the phone harder in his hand.
“Forget my name. Forget my number. Forget you ever knew me.” I swallowed and steeled myself. “I never want to see you again.”
I went to hang up the phone, and it hit against the receiver, bouncing off the hook, and for a moment, hope swelled inside of me as I waited for him stop me, to tell me to stop, to wait, to tell me he loved me, to convince me to stay.
But it wasn’t until I was halfway to the door that he called my name.
But it was too late.
Once I was outside, I texted Nessa.
I know things are weird with us, but I’m coming home. Something bad happened. Okay?
Her reply came immediately.
Okay. I’m here.
My eyes scanned the street for a cab, tears clouding my vision. I walked toward the corner, needing to keep moving, to keep going, to keep myself from stopping. Otherwise I was going to lose it, was going to crumble to the sidewalk and maybe lose my mind.
There wer
e still no cabs when I got to the corner. The sign was flashing WALK, so I crossed the street, figuring I would catch one at the next intersection. But the same thing happened there.
It was fifty-five blocks until my apartment.
Keep moving, keep going.
I started to run.
END OF BOOK EIGHT
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Landon Hill is a filthy liar.
He was my brother's best friend, my first crush, my first love...my first everything.
And then he betrayed me.
How many times have I thought about it? How many times have I relived the moment when I found out he left town without ever saying a word?
And how long has the memory of him consumed my every waking thought?
Three years.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen or heard from him, the only man I ever loved.
The man I now despise.
But suddenly, without warning, Landon Hill is back. And to make matters worse, he’s somehow become rich beyond imagination, and he’s opening some mega business in town and walking around like he owns everything in sight.
Including me.
But I’ll never be able to forgive him, even if the fire still rages between us. In the end, I know that he’s never to be trusted. He’s a filthy liar.
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Chapter One
“I hate my boobs,” I said, turning sideways as I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. “And these lights are really unforgiving.”
Annie, my best friend, swatted my arm. “Shut up, Taryn. I’d kill for your boobs. I couldn’t even get that dress over my chest.”
I grinned, giving up at adjusting my new sleeveless dress. The plunging neckline didn’t allow for a bra, and I felt a little weird about it. “I can’t believe you talked me into buying this thing. I regret it already.”
“It’s hot and you’ll never find another Karen Millen for forty bucks again,” Annie said, flopping down on her bed amidst a pile of shopping bags and new clothing. “One of us had to buy it, and it wasn’t my size.”
It was hardly my size. The dress barely covered my backside, and my boobs were trying to make a quick escape. “I’m putting my jeans back on,” I said, crossing the tiny studio apartment she called home.
“No way.“ She barreled across the room, blocking the bathroom door. “We’re going out, Taryn.”
She was only 5’2, but staring me down, her arms crossed, she looked like she could lead an army to war. She was actually a rec leader for the city, and I could easily picture a field full of soccer kids jumping exactly as high as she commanded.
I pursed my lips, trying to meet her steely gaze with the same fierce determination, but I failed and laughed instead. “Come on, Annie. I can go out in jeans.”
“Uh-Uh. No way. I know you,” she said, poking my shoulder. “You’re going to hang up that dress and it’s never going to be seen again. Thirty years from now I’ll be cleaning out your closet because you died of boredom, and there it will be, the tags still attached.”
I snorted. “Maybe you could still return it. At the rate my career’s going, it might be the crowning jewel of my estate.”
I reached around her for the bathroom door, but she slid over. “I’m serious. Let’s go out. I want a drink, and you look too hot to stay home.”
I waffled. Maybe a drink wouldn’t hurt. And then I could bury this dress in the back of my closet, guilt-free because I wore it in public one whole time.
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, grinning like she knew she’d won. “First one is on me.”
I sighed. There was no arguing with Annie once she had her mind set on something. “Fine, but it’s going to take at least two to get comfortable in this thing, and I’m borrowing your silver heels.”
* * *
“Is it always this dark in here?” I asked, squinting across the room. We were in a horseshoe shaped leather booth, nursing mojitos that glowed faintly under the dim light of the chandelier.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been in here.” She glanced around, her hand sliding across the buttery leather of the seat. “A girl at work was raving about it. She’s from New York so I figured she knew a good lounge when she found it.”
“I didn’t even know Orting had a place this nice,” I said. “Or people who would frequent a place this nice, for that matter.”
Annie grinned wickedly. “Don’t be such a snob. Two years at UW, and now you’re a city girl, too good for Orting? What will the fighting Cardinals do without your support?”
I faked a laugh at her joke, as if it didn’t needle beneath my skin.
Two years away at UW. Not four. I should’ve been graduating the next spring, but instead I was in a clearance dress in the only fine dining establishment in all of Orting, Washington. A tiny little farming valley, our only claim to fame was that if Mt. Rainier ever blew up we’d all be dead. The town was built over an ancient mudflow. Perfect for farming. The town had basically one road in, and one road out, on either end of the valley.
I was pretty sure it was made to trap people. But not in a volcano sort of way, in a more figurative one. We were just isolated enough that people forgot to dream of taking on the world, of traveling, of accomplishing something outside of this place.
“Ugh, you’re getting that look again,” Annie said, frowning.
I blinked. “What look?”
“The whole ‘woe is me, I should be a nuclear physicist by now,’” she said, twirling the straw in her drink.
I gave her an entirely different sort of look. “Chemist,” I said.
“The only chemistry you need to be worried about is the kind you have with that bartender,” she said, nodding to the guy behind the counter. “He’s been staring directly at your rack. You might as well have a homing beacon in that dress.”
I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the tall blond behind the bar. His white dress shirt and maroon vest did fit nicely across his shoulders. “He’s been staring at you,” I said. “He totally brushed your hand when he brought us our drinks.”
He was a little too lanky and a lot too smiley for my taste. He was like a shiny Disney prince or something. “You should definitely go for it,” I told her. “He’s cute.”
“Nah, I think we should sample the options before committing.”
I raised a brow and gestured around the room. “In case you didn’t notice, this place is dead.”
“Only out here.” She nodded over my head, where a curtain was drawn halfway across a wide entry. Voices hummed, laughter trickling out over our booth. I twisted around to get a better view, but the curtain blocked most of it. Judging by the sliver I could see, at least fifty people were back there.
I turned back to Annie. “You wanna crash?”
“Let’s just check it out,” she said, lighting up. “You’re all dressed up, might as well find somewhere to go. It’ll be like old times. Please?”
“Old times” being our high school habit of crashing parties we were never invited to, because we were too far down the social ladder.
Half the time, they were my brother’s parties. Not that it mattered; I still wasn’t invited.
Annie and I had quickly learned the two-fold key points to successful party crashing: 1) There has to be enough people that you can get lost in a crowd. And 2) You always, always act like you belong.
Maybe it was the drink talking, or the dress, or the delicious aroma of whatever food they had laid out in back, but I was suddenly feeling bold. I sucked down the rest of my drink, warmth unfurling inside. “Fine. Yeah. Let’s do it. But I’m going to need another drink.”
Annie squealed and slid out of the booth, following me up to the bar. It was red, lit from below so it glowed. The place reminded me of a movie theater.
The bartender, having predicted what we’d want, slid two new drinks toward us. He winked at Annie and she giggled. I resisted the urge to tell her once again how he was totally into her.
“Thanks,” I said, picking up mine and sucking down half of it before following Annie toward the back. She met my eyes and clinked her glance to mine, as if to say here goes nothing, before stepping past the privacy curtain.
The back room was larger than I expected, with at least a dozen tables, plus the buffet set up against one wall. Groups of well-dressed people circled around tall tables, meant for standing and small talk.
Good. Rule number one covered—there were enough people that we could blend in.
“They have bacon-wrapped water chestnuts,” Annie murmured, dragging me over to the spread of food. “Have you ever had these before? They’re SO good!”
I elbowed her. “Shh,” I said.
“Right, right.” She glanced over her shoulder, way too conspicuous. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done this. Sorry.”
We grabbed a small plate each, moving down the line and piling them high with snacks. I discreetly checked to see if anyone noticed—or cared—that two girls just showed up to pillage their food.
“I wonder what this is for,” I whispered under my breath. “Everyone’s so dressed up.”
It was a good thing Annie talked me into wearing the dress, because my jeans would’ve gotten us kicked out of here in thirty seconds.
“Let’s snag that table,” Annie said, dragging me over to a booth in the corner. I slid around the curved leather seat, taking in the room in full as I bit into a stuffed mushroom.
“Oh my god this is so good,” Annie said. “It tastes like heaven.”
“It tastes like money,” I said, growing curious. The cheese was sharp and smoky, the mushroom drizzled in truffle oil.
“Well that’s not tacky,” she said, giggling.