by Anna Collins
Those hypnotic jade green eyes of hers were pulling me in, and her mouth was partly open as she looked up at me, her nostrils flaring as she no doubt felt the same magnetic pull between us.
She had tilted her head up slightly, the perfect position for me to kiss her, and it took every ounce of my willpower to divert my actions, to raise my hand to place my finger on her soft cheek and take the eyelash that had fallen there. I played it off so well I was surprised she believed me.
Which is why it was the wrong move, my conscience flared, and I didn’t know what it meant anymore. Was it a wrong move for me to want to kiss her? Or was it wrong that I didn’t do it?
I knew I shouldn’t be getting involved with a committed woman, but damn it, I could feel my moral compass slipping away bit by bit each time we met, or even whenever I thought about her. She was starting to invade my every thought, and I didn’t think I’d get her off of my mind until I had her in my arms and I got off inside her.
The thought that getting involved with my employees was a bad idea had crossed my mind, but if I wanted to get technical about it, she wasn’t really working for me. She was just pretending to be my assistant while she ghost-edited my biography, and then it was over.
There was a little snag left, and that was her boyfriend. She was with that Nick character, and even though I could tell he was wrong for her, they were still together. I was not about to—
But then again, they weren’t married yet. I could tell this was the devil side of my brain talking now. He had a point, though. Calista and that boy weren’t married yet, and there’s no rule, not technically, that would prevent me from stealing her away.
Besides, I could tell from the way she looked at me, that flirtatious banter we had going on back at the restaurant, the way her breath caught as she waited for me to advance, and the way her chests rose up and down deeply as I neared her…she wanted me, too. That much I was sure of. She wanted me, too, or else she’d push me away.
It was this last thought that cemented my decision. I was through holding myself back, and I didn’t want to drown in my thoughts anymore, wondering what Calista felt like, or what she sounded like when she was on the brink of ecstasy. I could figure those out on my own.
Tomorrow, I would begin my plan. All it would need was for Calista to go along with it.
And I was very good at convincing people to do what I wanted.
Chapter Twelve
Callie
I had to talk to someone. Not Nick. Definitely not Nick. Not yet.
I thumbed through my contacts in my phone. There were my mom and my sister, of course, but they still lived in Phoenix. I didn’t want to gab over Skype, I wanted coffee and chit-chat, stat. But between moving to San Fran for Nick’s job and staying cooped inside all day for work, I hadn’t had time to make many local friends.
So I called my only local contact.
“You know I want to get you back on assignment, dollface, but—”
“I’m not calling for that,” I said. “Do you have an hour? I’ve got some serious billionaire-related trubs right now.”
“Callie, baby, I can’t—did you say ‘billionaire’?”
“An iron-clad billionaire. Two of them, actually.”
“Meet me at Bean’s List,” said Thea. “Girl, this had better be as juicy as it sounds.”
“You won’t be disappointed. See you soon.”
Ten minutes later I stepped into the Bean’s List café. It wasn’t far from the BayCray office, which was probably why Thea chose it. It was also brand new and had sentimental value to me since it was the first review article I wrote.
A charming little joint with long wooden benches low to the ground, an impressive line of shiny coffee machines behind the coffee bar, and a big kitschy chalkboard wall. The chalkboard had a school-themed menu and school-notebook-style doodles in the “margins.” Apparently, the guy who ran it used to be a dean at City College next to Westwood Park. It was a lovely café—with fantastic coffee—but it was rarely packed with people. Good for the customer, not so good for the owner. I visited whenever I got the chance.
Thea was already sitting with her coffee—two coffees, apparently?—tapping away at her MacBook. She had her wild hair in twin Minnie Mouse buns and wore a denim shirt, a white mesh top, and jeans. Her rimless glasses looked conservative when compared to her septum piercing and black-painted lips. I missed her stylishness.
“Hi, Jordan,” I said to the owner, who was behind the coffee bar, reading a Sylvia Plath novel. He had a ‘20’s-style curtain cut hairdo and a big old handlebar mustache, with assorted tattoos running down his arms. The thought of him being a dean of anything amused me.
Before he could reply, Thea snapped her fingers twice. “Already got your coffee, babe,” she said.
“One cream, two sugars,” said Jordan with a wink.
“You’re the best, J.”
“Tell that to your boss. She paid.”
“Small price when billionaires are involved,” Thea said as I sat down across from her. She slapped her laptop lid closed and slid me my coffee. “Now dish.”
“Can I take a sip of coffee first?”
She rolled her wrist in a “get on with it” gesture. We had gotten comfortably sassy with each other very quickly at BayCray. I already missed the job. Even if it paid me pennies compared to my new job.
I took my time on the first sip, smelling the heavenly scent, tipping the cup slowly into my mouth, feeling the hot liquid slide over my tongue and sizzle it nicely. Thea glared at me.
When I finished teasing her, I told her all about my non-date with Apollo. At first, she didn’t believe me, but then I gave her Apollo’s business card.
“You could have printed this yourself.”
“Feel it. It’s made of mithril or something. You think I could afford to print a card like that just for a made-up story?”
She caressed the card for a moment, leveled her eyes at me, and said, “You may continue.”
Gradually I got to the part about Perseus, which made her eyes light up.
“I want to have his babies,” she said. “His iron babies.”
“I don’t blame you. When you see that smile in real life, it melts you way faster than a MacBook on your lap.”
She sighed wistfully. “What happened next?”
It wasn’t really my business to say. But I spilled the beans anyway. I couldn’t leave her with blue balls at this point.
She tutted and took a sip of coffee. “I always figured Helen was a train wreck, even if her daddy always covered it up. Wait, did you say the Ridley twins?”
“Uh, yeah. Why, do you know them?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said, mimicking me. “Arthur and Margaret Ridley. They would be like the Lannister twins if the Lannisters were nearsighted hipsters.”
“Like, they’re, uh…?” I wrinkled my nose at the thought.
“Oh, probably,” said Thea, shrugging. “They’re always together. No, I mean they’re known for being ruthless. Secretly undercutting investment deals, stealing talent away from top startups, buying out trendy places and jacking up the price so they can market them to Starbucks-loving douchebags. Better watch yourself, J!”
Jordan said, “The world needs fewer Starbucks’s. No worries here.”
“Not exactly ones for the spotlight, though,” Thea went on. “Their media company tends to buy a lot of ad space from local publishers and blogs. Sometimes it’s ‘sponsored content,’ other times it’s straight-up buying good reviews. In any case, nobody has the balls to call them out on their dickishness, cause those who have, mysteriously got all their ad money taken away—even if the funding was from entirely different companies than those the Ridleys owned. They prefer to be ghosts. Douchey ghosts, with glasses and bowties.”
“So, what? Are they trying to poach Helen? Doesn’t sound like she’s a major asset to the Irons.”
“PR is everything, darling. Branding is everything. If the Irons can’t keep
their house together, their company will crumble. If you got a choice between two investors, one known for a strong family name, the other known for strong business and a member of the same family name, which one sounds more appealing? If you buy a cake, you wanna eat it too.”
That made sense. Except Helen was a wild-child—a very public wild-child. Why recruit the train wreck over the businessman?
Thea shrugged again when I asked her. “Maybe it’s to fuck with the Irons brothers. Throw them off balance, get them to make mistakes. Or maybe it has something to do with their missing dad.”
Missing dad? “I thought Apollo’s father was dead?” I got that impression from the lunch meeting, even though he never explicitly said as much. Perseus said their father “left” them.
“Ain’t nobody, sister,” said Thea. “At least, that’s the rumor. Daddy Irons went on a European vacay and never came back. Must have been looking for smokes. Official press said he died of heart attack during the flight, but nobody heard that from any witnesses, and the old man was cremated before anyone could ask about it. A real ‘Nancy Drew’ mystery. I got a few contacts from journalism school who tried to dig into it, but other than tabloid sensationalism, nobody took it seriously enough to follow up. The election kind of overshadowed everything at the time.”
Seriously. What the hell did I sign myself up for?
“Tell me you’re bullshitting.”
“I shit you not, babe. Look it up for yourself.”
I looked down at my coffee, watching the steam rise. Competing families? Missing patriarchs? Was I becoming a bit player in The Godfather? No… This had to be a joke.
“Hey,” Thea said, touching my arm. “Don’t fret about it. Like I said, it’s all tabloid rumors. Probably bullshit, like you said.”
“Yeah.”
She pursed her black lips. “Tell me more about Perseus. For my dreams tonight.”
That made me laugh. I told her the rest of the story, minus the whole ghost-editing thing. As far as she knew, I was interviewing for an assistant’s position. She perked up when I mentioned the eyelash.
“Callie, you’re making me sweat, girl,” she said, fanning herself. “No way that wasn't a move.”
“It wasn’t a move,” I said.
“It was so a move. I’ve seen that move before; it’s a move.”
“Not a move.”
“You don’t want it to be a move?”
I laughed again, turning as red as my dress. “I have a boyfriend. And I’m sure I’m not his type.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You say he ignores the twiggy blonde but pulls eyelashes off your lips, and you don’t think you’re his type? Bitch, have you seen your ass? Because mm-mm. He wants that booty. That big assistant’s booty.”
I was burying my face in my hands, laughing so hard my chest hurt. God, I loved this woman. I’d known her a couple of weeks, and I loved her. She was so different than the professional hashtag-girl boss I met when I was begging for print jobs. Maybe because she wasn’t my boss anymore.
“How the hell did you find this job, anyway? Monster dot com? Doesn’t sound like Apollo’s style.”
Shit. How did I hear about the assistant position? I couldn’t have met him through his autobiography…
“Uh,” I said.
Thea raised her eyebrows. “You forget? Used to happen to me too. I’d apply for a hundred jobs a day and completely forget about them until they called me.”
It wasn’t an excuse that would hold up everywhere. People would expect a reasonable answer—people don’t just work for billionaires by chance. They have to know someone. Who did I know?
Nick.
“Nick,” I said. “Uh, my boyfriend. He works at one of Apollo’s startup incubators. They put out a call for the position internally, and he passed them my resume. Obviously, I wasn’t internal, but they gave me the interview. I didn’t realize the position was under Apollo Irons until later.” A reasonable enough lie. But it wouldn’t work on Nick…
Thea shook her head. “Damn. Lucky break.”
“I don’t know if I’d call scheduling meetings and delivering coffee a ‘lucky break.’ I’m a writer. I should be writing.”
“You can do both. Nobody ever faulted a writer for having a day job. Kind of necessary in this day and age. Hell, not everyone has the luxury of being able to write—I worked two jobs throughout college and you can bet your gorgeous ass I didn’t write a single word unless it was for an assignment. A billionaire ought to pay a decent salary. And who knows—maybe you’ll have some downtime. You can write a book about sexy billionaires for me.”
I smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I’ll do that.”
Chapter Thirteen
Callie
Despite the unnerving information about Apollo’s father and the evil Ridley twins, I was feeling good after my conversation with Thea. Having someone on my side was nice. I felt guilty I couldn’t tell her the whole truth about what I was doing—she would have been so jealous—but what I was doing wasn’t that far from being an assistant. I was just “assisting” with a book.
I made it back home in the late evening. Nick was on the couch, playing games, and when he saw me, he jumped up and asked me how it went. I had to fib a bit, telling him I chose not to take the editing gig but instead accepted an assistant job.
“You mean you won’t be writing?” He asked.
“I can write outside of work.” I dropped my bag off on the kitchen counter and slipped off my heels.
“Well, that… that’s not so bad. Should keep you busy.”
I studied his face. He was never good at hiding his feelings—especially not after four years of us being together. He was unsure of the idea. He knew I wouldn’t have time to stay at home and attend to his interests. Food. Sex. An audience for his gaming.
No. That was petty of me. I shouldn’t be annoyed my boyfriend wanting to have me around. It was better than being unwanted.
But I was already doing what I told myself I should never do, compare my boyfriend to Apollo. Nick, late 20s, pale and skinny, but cute. A good, if uninteresting job. Gaming being his one and only hobby. Funny, if overly reliant on sarcasm. Has a dorky charm. No major aspirations other than getting the odd promotion. Mostly wears t-shirts and hoodies.
It wasn’t fair. The comparison wasn’t fair. Apollo came from a wealthy family. Sure, he rejected the rich kid’s comforts for hard work and study. Sure, he knew how to break wild horses and milk cows and live off the land. Sure, he relied on his own charm and ingenuity over servants and technology. But he came from privilege nonetheless. His marble-chiseled features, his oak-strong body, his perfectly tailored clothes, his beautiful classic car—he earned those with time and money and connections no regular person had. So it wasn’t fair to compare him to one.
Yet looking at Nick now, all I wanted was to be with Apollo. The alpha male.
I was disappointed in my shallowness.
“I promise I won’t disappear,” I said, as much to Nick as to me.
I placed my hand on his cheek, guiltily wishing it was Apollo’s high cheekbone my thumb was caressing. I kissed his soft lips, wishing they were Apollo’s. When he pulled me against his body, I wanted it to be broad and firm. When he kissed my neck, I wanted to feel a smooth face with the hint of stubble, not peach fuzz. I wanted his fingers to be long and deft, not nobby and fumbling when he peeled off my dress. I wanted to reveal a god’s body when I undressed him, not a man’s. I wanted to be loved, to be dominated, to be filled up to capacity. I wanted to be brought over the edge, not right to the precipice.
Lying there, next to a naked, sleeping Nick, I wanted to be draped over Apollo Irons. No one else.
I couldn’t sleep that night. I felt guilty about wanting another man, about thinking of someone else while making love to my boyfriend. And I felt nervous about my first day. Was I really a better writer than Apollo? Would I actually improve his manuscript? What would happen when I finished? Wou
ld he brush me aside? What if he really was attracted to me, like Thea said? God, it seemed so girlish to think that, so impossible. But what if? What if we fell in love? More likely, what if he wanted to make love to me without commitment? Could I jeopardize my relationship with Nick for a fling? And if it wasn’t just a fling, would I want to throw my life away to be with him?
Questions, questions. Unrealistic questions.
I tried to calm myself, to rationalize my situation. Apollo wasn’t interested in me. Nick wasn’t Apollo, but he was beautiful in his own way, and I should feel lucky to be with him. I’d improve the book, get paid very well for it, and get on with my life.
That was it.
And the instant I decided that, my alarm clock went off. Five o’clock. I didn’t sleep a wink.
“Does that say five o’clock?” Nick growled, face mashed into a pillow.
“Sorry babe,” I said, sitting up and clicking the alarm off. “It’s my first day. Don’t want to be late.”
“Today? It’s Sunday.”
Was it? It was. Was I supposed to start today or Monday? It must have been Monday. I should just go to sleep…
No. He said “tomorrow.” That was yesterday. Even though yesterday felt like today because I didn’t sleep. God, I was so mixed up. My brain felt like scrambled eggs.
Thankfully, the thought of scrambled eggs got me out of bed.
But before I made breakfast, I did yoga. For the first time in over two weeks.
“Hi guys, you’re watching Yoga with Adriene,” chirped the woman on the YouTube channel I streamed to the TV.
“Good morning, Adriene,” I said, finding my balance on my yoga mat. “It’s been a while.”
The session felt like forever. My arms and legs wobbled, I felt like I couldn’t bend at all, and I nearly fell on my face at one point. But afterward, during the corpse pose, I felt goddamn amazing. My body was alive; it was talking to me again. Why did I ever give this up?