by Ford, Hannah
I washed my face and brushed my teeth, wincing as I pulled on a pair of jeans and a light sweater. The cheeks of my ass were flaming red, even worse than I’d expected.
What he hell were you thinking, Adriana, letting him hit you like that?
I brushed my hair and scraped it back into a ponytail, then walked downstairs to the kitchen.
Callum was sitting at the table, fresh from the shower, wearing a perfectly pressed black suit, his jaw absent of the stubble that had been there last night.
A cup of coffee sat in front of him.
“Good morning, Adriana,” he said, turning the page of his Wall Street Journal.
“Good morning.”
“There’s coffee if you’d like it.” His eyes never left the paper, and he didn’t make a move to get it for me or offer me anything else. The kind, accommodating man who’d brought me ice cream in bed was gone, replaced with the man who’d brought me to a business lunch and told me he wanted to own me for one night.
“I’m fine,” I lied, even though I wanted a coffee more than anything. There was something about refusing his offer that gave me some kind of sick satisfaction, however small.
He folded his paper and drained the rest of his own coffee, then stood up and brought his cup to the sink. “The plane is ready to take us back to the city whenever we’re ready.”
My heart fumbled inside my chest as I waited a long beat, hoping he would say more. But when he didn’t, I raised my chin in the air. “I’m ready now.”
He nodded. “I’ll call the car.”
***
We drove to the airport in relative silence, and the plane ride was just as awkward. Callum sat in a seat by the window, and I picked one on the other side of the jet.
I made sure not to react to the takeoff, even though it seemed bumpier than usual, just in case Callum was watching me. I stared out the window as the shininess of Florida, the shades of deep oranges and bright greens and blues faded away, replaced with the muted tones of the Northeast.
As we touched down at Teterboro, it began to rain, the mist clinging to the windows of the plane. I’d gotten out of my seat and had pulled down my suitcase before Callum could even stand up.
I waited impatiently to disembark, acutely aware of him behind me, gathering his stuff, walking down the steps after me.
There were two town cars waiting on the tarmac, one black and one white, and I paused, not sure what to do.
Don’t look at him, I told myself. Do not look at him. If you look at him, you’re going to fall apart.
“The white car will take you to your apartment,” Callum said.
“Thank you.” My self- control gave out, and I turned to look at him, tumbling into his blue eyes as my breath snagged in my chest.
We stood there for a moment, just staring at each other, and I felt a misplaced sense of hope, like maybe if I could just say the right thing, if I could just make him realize that this didn’t have to be the end, that maybe he’d want to see me again.
For a moment, I thought I saw his blue eyes soften.
But then they hardened again.
“It was nice to meet you, Adriana.” His voice was devoid of emotion, the kind of voice I imagined him using at the end of a business meeting.
I wanted to turn my back on him, to walk away and just leave. But then I thought doing that would give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d broke me, that he’d gotten to me on some level, that even though he’d told me exactly what the situation was, I still hadn’t been mature enough to handle it.
Tell him it was nice to meet him, too.
But then I thought, fuck it.
If he thought having a great time with someone and wanting to see them again was weak, then that was his problem. Why should I be ashamed of my feelings?
So I bit back the urge to return his pleasantries and instead, turned my back on him before getting into the car and slamming the door. If that made me a baby, I didn’t care.
The rage returned, pulsing through me bright and strong.
But by the time the town car had pulled onto the highway, my anger had been replaced by an aching sadness.
I leaned my forehead against the window, watching the rain pour down as we entered the city.
And then I started to cry.
***
I spent the day in bed, watching Netflix on my laptop and dodging Nessa’s questions.
But the next morning, I work up early and made a pact with myself that I was done wallowing.
It was Monday.
A new start to the week.
A new day to get things done.
I was a grown, mature woman, who had made the decision to have random sex with a beautiful man. I’d thought I could handle it, but it was now blatantly obvious that I couldn’t. I wouldn’t be as reckless with my heart next time. There was nothing wrong with random sex, but there also wasn’t anything wrong with knowing you weren’t the type of person who did well with that kind of arrangement.
If I did it again, I would think about it logically, and I would make sure it wasn’t with someone as intoxicating and gorgeous as Callum Wilder.
I pulled on a pair of running capris and a t-shirt, then headed for the small gym in my apartment complex, ready to take my anger and sadness out on the treadmill. I ran at a slow pace and intermixed it with intervals of sprinting any time Callum popped into my head.
Just as I was finishing my workout, my phone began to ring, vibrating on the shelf of the treadmill where I’d set it down.
It flashed an unfamiliar 212 number, and my heart thrummed against my ribs.
Callum.
“Hello?”
“Hello, may I speak with Adriana O’Connor please?” The voice on the other end was female, young, professional and precise.
“This is Adriana,” I said.
“Hello, Adriana. My name is Michelle Nichols and I work in HR at Archway Publishing. We have your resume here, and we’d like to invite you in to interview for the position you applied for in our publicity department.”
My stomach twisted into a ball. It was a job call! My first call back, my first bite on anything.
“Thank you so much for getting back to me,” I said. “I’d love to be considered for that position.”
“Wonderful. Can you come in today at ten to meet with us?”
“Yes, of course.” Crap. It was already eight am. I was going to have to shower and do something about my hair.
“Great. We’re on Avenue of the Americas, in the Cleaver Building. You can come up to the sixth floor.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”
I ended the call and immediately opened my email, scrolling through so I could find the job description and see exactly what the position entailed. I frowned. I hadn’t applied for anything in publicity. In fact, I hadn’t even applied for anything at Archway.
But maybe they’d gotten my application from another publishing house, or maybe they’d seen my resume posted on one of the countless jobs sites I’d sent it to.
Who cared? I thought as I skipped back to my apartment and into the shower.
I had an interview!
At Archway.
Take that, Callum Wilder, I thought. You can’t keep this girl down for long.
***
At 9:45 sharp, I was sitting in the waiting area outside of human resources at Archway, waiting for Michelle to meet with me. I smoothed down my grey skirt and blazer, and took a deep breath in an effort to calm myself.
This is just your first interview, I told myself. You’ve only been in the city a few days. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself.
But damn, I wanted this job.
I wanted it so badly.
Everyone here seemed so happy here, I thought as I watched the girls in their heels and skirts click around the hallways, everyone moving to and fro like bees in a hive. The whole place was covered in books, shelves of them lining every hallway and glass-case displays
of them in the waiting room.
I wasn’t naïve – I knew jobs in publishing paid very little and required long, tedious hours, especially when you first started. But there was no other industry I’d rather work in. To see a book go from an idea to publication, that was… I couldn’t think of another way I’d rather spend my life.
My leg jittered nervously and I reached out and picked up the publishing catalog for one of Archway’s imprints, Fireside, off the table in front of me.
I’d familiarized myself with their catalog as much as I could on the subway ride over, but you could never be too prepared.
I flipped through. The Fireside imprint did a lot of non-fiction - pop culture and biographies of young entrepreneurs, mixed with some fiction -- novelizations of tv shows, that kind of thing.
I’d only made it a few pages into the catalog when I saw it.
A picture of Callum.
There he was, standing in what I assumed was his office, gazing out across the city, a contemplative look on his face, like he was thinking of ways he could own it.
My pulse quickened as my gaze moved to the other side of the two-page spread.
“Coming soon from Archway Fireside, the life story of one of the city’s youngest billionaires, twenty-eight-year-old Callum Wilder writes about life, business, and getting ahead in this gripping memoir…” My eyes slid down the page. “Three hundred thousand planned first print run, national book tour, national press tour. For television or even bookings, please contact Archway’s publicity team at 212-555-0112.”
I couldn’t breathe.
A rubber band was tightening around my chest.
What were the chances that Callum would have a book coming out from the exact publishing house I’d been called to interview at? A publishing house I’d had no recollection of even applying to.
Had he set this up? Had he done it so he could see me again? And if so, why? I stared down at the picture of him, his profile so strong, so sexy. I remembered his hands on my body, the taste of his lips on mine, felt the soreness on my ass that was still there and would be for at least a few more days, a constant reminder of our time together.
Run.
Get out of here.
You said you weren’t going to be reckless with your heart anymore.
Even if he hasn’t set this up, you’ll run into him again, he’ll be here, he’ll –
“Adriana?” I looked up to see a woman standing in front of me. “Hi,” she said, her brown eyes kind. “I’m Michelle. Are you ready?”
I glanced down at the catalog, still open on my lap. I remembered how he’d shut me out, how horrible I’d felt yesterday on the flight home as Callum had acted like I was nothing more than a stranger. I remembered the sound of his voice as he talked on the phone, probably to a girlfriend. I thought of how just one night with him had shattered my heart.
Get out of here, Adriana. Go home.
But I was powerless.
I wanted this job even more now.
Not in spite of Callum.
But because of him.
I closed the catalog.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”
I gave Michelle a smile.
And then I stood up and followed her into her office.
End of Book Two -- Look For Book Three, Coming Soon!
In the meantime, check out Hannah Ford’s bestselling series WHAT HE WANTS
Click here to read a boxed set of the first three books for only 99 cents, or borrow them for free as part of your kindle unlimited subscription!
Twenty-one-year-old law student Charlotte Holloway isn’t the type of girl to lust after things she can’t have. But when she starts working for the sexy and mysterious Noah Cutler, Charlotte can’t help but dream about the gorgeous billionaire, even though she knows it’s just a fantasy. Men like Noah – gorgeous, dark, and driven-- usually aren’t interested in women like her.
Noah Cutler is a man who doesn’t take no for an answer. His drive to go after exactly what he wants has made him one of the most powerful men in the city. And while he could have his pick of any woman, his sights are set on Charlotte. And he won’t stop until he’s taken control of every inch of her deliciously curvy body…
Click here to read more!
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