“EVERYTHING OKAY THERE, sweetheart?”
Pushing around the toasted flakes on top of my coconut cream pie, I sighed wearily and set my fork down. My stomach felt sick, and everything about my ego had been bruised.
Immediately after my ninth failed interview—and what I had deemed the worst of them all—I headed to Rosie’s, where I remained for the next four hours, drowning out my sorrows by binge eating her array of sickly sweet pies. I wasn't ready to return home and deal with my sad excuse of a life.
The small shop, named after the owner herself, was like many of the other eateries you'd find in and around the city, only less crowded. The homey feel of the place reminded me of my parents’ coastal side restaurant in Maine. It catered more to the locals than the tourists, and the patrons mainly consisted of regulars, whose usual orders were memorized by each member of the staff. Smiles and an all-around cheerful atmosphere made it one of my favorite go-tos, especially when I felt exceptionally shitty.
And today, I felt exceptionally shitty.
“Everything's good,” I lied, not wanting to get into a “woe is me” conversation about my life. I lived it every day. There was no fun talking about it. “Can I have the check, please?”
Rosie wiped her hands clean on the black apron tied around her petite waist and gave me a knowing smile. “It's on the house, dear.”
I looked at her, a frown creasing my brow. “Are you sure? All four of them?” Four slices of pie. Damn it. I’d regret that later while lying on my bed trying to get the button through its hole on my jeans. Setting my briefcase on the barstool beside me, I started to pop the locks to retrieve the little bit of cash I had with me. “I can pay.”
I couldn’t pay, not really.
Every penny I earned was accounted for, and seeing as I hadn’t returned home yet to assess the damage to my apartment, there was a good chance I was in the red. The far, deep, dark red.
She waved me off. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to take what is left of them to the shelter tonight anyway. We always replace them with fresh pies on Tuesdays.”
“That’s right. I forgot you guys do that. It’s very sweet of you.”
“It goes to a good cause. Not to mention, it keeps the inches off my husband’s waist.” A smirk tipped one corner of her lips.
“Hey!” Rick’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “I can hear you, you know!”
Sitting there, I listened to their banter for a few more laughs until my phone buzzed across the countertop in a vibratory dance. My sister’s name flashed across the screen, and I scooped it up, tossing a few bills down in its place, before giving Rosie an appreciative grin. “Thank you, Rosie. Have a great night, guys!”
“You, too, Elle!”
Their voices followed me out of the door as I stepped back into the city that had been my home for the last nine years and slid my thumb to answer the call. My voice was cheery and upbeat despite my crappy day. “Hey, Kimmi!”
“Hey, Elle. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No. No, of course not. I’ve finished early for the day, so I’m on my way home.” I bit down on my lip against the lie and quickly changed the subject. “How’s the wedding planning coming along? You haven’t turned into Bridezilla yet, have you?”
She chuckled, a sound I wish I could hear in person and not through a static line. At twenty-two, my younger sister had found love and the man of her dreams. Her life was exactly where she wanted it to be, unlike mine. “No. I haven’t. Chris might disagree, but I think everything is coming along as planned. Mom and I finally figured out the centerpieces for the reception, and Dad is making a trellis arch for the ceremony.”
“That sounds great.” Guilt stung my chest as I rounded the corner of my block. My apartment building stood less than fifty feet away, and I stopped as a world of regret wrapped itself around me. “I’m sorry I can’t be there. Work has had me busy, but as soon as I can manage a weekend away, I’ll come home and try to help. I promise.”
Another lie.
More guilt.
“Don’t be sorry. We all know work has you tied up. I can’t imagine having a fancy title such as senior editor is easy.”
My entire body winced at her words. “No. No, it’s not.”
“Anyway, I wanted to call and thank you for the check you sent Mom and Dad last week. Not sure you’ll ever know how much it means to them or what it’s like to see the little bit of hope in their eyes. Some days it’s as if they are barely staying afloat, but they are, and it’s all because of you, Elle. I feel bad that I’m not in my own position to help out.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, not sure how much longer I could keep this up. The weight of lies sitting on my conscience was soul crushing, especially because I wasn’t in any position to help either.
I wasn’t an editor.
Hell, I didn’t even work for the magazine company they all thought I was still employed by. I had interned there in my senior year of college, and when I’d learned of my parents’ struggles back home, one small white lie blew into a series of one hundred more. A promotion. Impressive paychecks. A pricey condo in an upscale high-rise. And that was to name a few. I had dug myself so deep into my own well of fake truths I was stuck at the bottom with no means of crawling out.
My life to them had been a painted picture of perfection, when, in reality, it was a blank white canvas still waiting to be splashed full of color.
“Hey, I, uh… I have to go. Tell them I’ll send more when I can and that I love them, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Disconnecting the call, I climbed the steps that led to the two-story brownstone. I hurried through the foyer and stopped in front of apartment 2A. Living on the first floor had its perks and...not so good perks. The walls were paper thin, and the neighbors upstairs made it a nightly habit of practicing their leading roles in the next low-budget porno flick—or so it sounded. It was a far cry from the condo everyone back home thought I lived in. I was just thankful they never pressed the issue to visit. Lack of funds made traveling nearly impossible, which meant the lie was easy to keep.
Fumbling with my keys, I managed to get the door unlocked, and as soon as I stepped inside, I kicked off my heels. My face screwed up and a groan erupted from my throat as the soles of my feet sank into the sopping wet threads of my carpet. For a split second, I’d forgotten about the disaster with the pipes that morning. Everything that had occurred after—the broken heel, the coffee on my blouse, the interview with the good-looking but heartless asshole—had temporarily wiped it from my thoughts.
Tiptoeing and cringing the entire way over to my windows, I slid them open in hopes the air would help dry out the place. A note rested on my kitchen countertop from my landlord, along with a copy of the hefty bill from the plumber. If he thought I was paying a dime for his shitty-ass pipes, he had another think coming. On the bright side, at least they were fixed, and I could take a shower before work.
After ridding the smell of coffee from my skin and taking the time to blow dry my hair, I slipped into a pair of jeans and a light-pink cami. My shift at the library didn’t start for another two hours, so I sat down in front of the small desk in my room. I could almost hear the distant reprimand from my mother concerning its state of disarray. Notebooks, pens, sticky notes, writing guides, and character-building sheets littered the flat surface.
But this…all of this was my hopes and my dreams.
Grabbing the closest notebook within reach and flipping it open, I stared at the pages full of written words and scribbled sentences. Notes and plot ideas whispered at me, begging me to put pen to paper and start writing. Characters screamed to have their stories told, and my heart was torn between doing what I wanted and doing what felt right.
Picking up the ballpoint pen and rolling it between my fingers, I pressed it to the blank white page. A laptop wasn’t a luxury I could afford, but sometimes if I was lucky and there was a computer free, I’d sneak a bit of writing time in on my lunch hour.
It wasn’t ideal, but it worked. And as my mother always said, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Spending the next hour and a half jotting down new ideas, I made a hasty decision to take it with me in case the mood struck and stuffed the notebook into my purse. I’d head into work, and if I happened to arrive a few minutes early, I'd take the time to catch up on all the latest celebrity gossip with Drew.
Opting to take a cab this time instead of the subway, I arrived fifteen minutes before my scheduled shift. Drew was in the midst of scanning in a huge pile of returns, and his pink shirt with a screen-printed banana on the front and the words “Fancy a bite?” made me chuckle before I even made it through the set of glass doors. A studded black belt held up a pair of bleach-washed jeans that I imagined were tighter on him than mine were on me, and a rainbow of rubber bracelets covered his wrists.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He winked, popping a huge bubble with his gum as I made my way around the counter to where he was working.
“Hey, Drew.” I ruffled my hand through his shaggy dirty-blond locks and shoved my purse into one of the employee bins for safekeeping. “That’s a heck of a lot of returns you have there.”
“Girl, you should have seen the pile. This is nothing. Be prepared to spend the next four hours putting them all away.”
“Really?”
He nodded his head, and I groaned. It looked as if I wouldn’t be getting any writing done after all. Turning around, I started loading the stack he had already scanned onto their dedicated push carts.
“So how did the interview go this morning?”
I blew out a long and heavy sigh, feeling the wave of humiliation crash over me once again. “Don’t ask.”
“That bad, huh?”
“That. Bad.”
Drew slid a couple more books in my direction. “I’m sorry. I know you really wanted that position.”
If that wasn’t the biggest understatement of the year.
Working at the library wasn’t a horrible job to have, and most days I thoroughly enjoyed it. For a lover of books, it was pure heaven, but I didn’t want to just read books. I wanted to be the one breathing life onto their pages. I wanted to do what I loved, make a decent salary to support myself and my family, and lose myself in imaginary worlds.
Was that too much to ask?
“Yeah, well...maybe I’m wasting my time.”
“Don’t say that.” Drew’s voice shot across the small space between us, echoing loudly throughout the otherwise quiet library, and Ms. Waters, the head librarian in charge, gave us a glare capable of wielding daggers.
“Nine interviews, Drew,” I whispered in an exasperated tone. “Nine freaking interviews and this was the worst of them all. I mean, what’s even the point?”
“The point is, you have a talent and you have a dream, Elle. The only thing you need now is to believe in yourself. You do that, and I promise you, you’ll be unstoppable.”
This was why I adored this man. Too bad I didn’t have the equipment between my legs needed to satisfy his needs.
“And what about your dream? Do you plan on spending the rest of your days wilting away in this library like poor old Ms. Waters?”
“Pah! Please. As soon as my sugar daddy comes walking through the door, you can kiss this sweet ass of mine goodbye.”
We both fell into a hushed fit of laughter, and once it subsided, I slipped out from behind the counter and took ahold of the cart. “I’ll be back. I’m going to make a start on these for now.”
Drew wiggled his fingers. “Have fun.”
“Thanks. I’ll try.”
Passing the periodicals section, I made my way across the main floor, in search of the women’s fiction shelves. The library was filled with its regulars: students working at tables, senior citizens flipping through newspapers in large, cozy chairs, and the children in their dedicated area, stretched out on beanbag chairs and enjoying their picture books. Contrary to popular belief, the library wasn’t really all that quiet. Fingers tapped on keyboards, and the tearing of paper from notebooks filled the ears of everyone around. Still, people flocked here for many reasons, and knowing the library was a much-loved place brought a smile to my face.
Finding the rows I was looking for, I pulled the cart to the side. With a stack of books in my arms, I climbed the steps of the rolling ladder, and as I reached the top, I set them down on the platform beside my feet. Picking up three from the pile, I placed them back in their homes on the shelves before moving to grab three more.
My gaze ran along the colorful row of spines as I searched for their respective locations, and spotting one on the top shelf, I pushed onto the tips of my toes. Dust covered the empty space, and I quickly wiped it clean—a book lover’s habit that some claimed made me OCD. As I slid the first book into place, my lashes lifted.
The remaining books I held in my hand crashed to the floor.
All eyes in the quiet library fell on me, and the person who had caught my attention and was the cause of my reaction spun around.
Shit.
I quickly ducked behind the case of shelves, cursing myself under my breath for being so clumsy and then cursing him for giving me a reason to be.
What the heck is he even doing here?
I stayed crouched for another nervous heartbeat before slowly pushing up from my position. Resting the tips of my fingers on the cool metal shelf, I stealthily lifted onto my toes again, trying to catch another glimpse of the man who had stolen my breath for the second time that day.
Relief flowed like a slowly administered sedative right into my bloodstream.
He was gone.
My lungs expanded on a deep breath, and the residual panic fluttering the wings of the butterflies in my stomach rolled out like a fast-moving storm cloud.
That was close.
Not that I’d been doing anything wrong. I was putting the returns on the shelves. It’s what the city hired and paid me to do, but seeing him standing there was not on my anticipated agenda for the evening.
Calming myself, and my nerves, which were still zinging out of control, I turned around and reached over to pick up a few more books.
“Ms. Callihan?”
I dropped the books, again, and froze.
Fuck.
That voice, the deep, husky tone that reverberated across every inch of my skin, lifted the tiny hairs on the back of my neck and on the flesh of my arms.
Don't turn around. Don't turn around.
I turned around.
I said don't turn around, you dimwit!
My heart pitter-pattered beneath my clothes as my eyes connected with the green ones staring back at me. There was a softness in them, the same softness I’d witnessed when I first entered his office, after the initial flash of shock at my appearance had worn off, but I knew better. The guy wasn't any different from every other CEO in this city. He was a jerk. A good-looking jerk, who filled out every inch of his navy-blue slacks and his crisp white dress shirt to perfection, but still a jerk.
He took a step forward, his probing gaze running the length of me. “Is it a habit of yours to stalk people?”
My brows shot up my forehead. “Are you serious?”
Unbelievable.
This guy was really something else.
It took me all but a few seconds to realize I was no longer standing in his office and my need for a filter was unnecessary. Giving my head a disbelieving shake, I pivoted around, completely dismissing him and his presence. “Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Caldwell. There are only about a half-dozen people in this world I’d waste my time stalking, and I can assure you, you're not one of them.”
The deep rumble of a chuckle carried over my shoulder, and my stomach lurched at the gruff sound.
“Are you always so confrontational?”
“Only with people I don't like.”
No hesitation.
Another laugh.
This time a strange fluttery feeling took over the lowest part of my belly.
“Duly noted.” There was a pregnant pause before an exhausted sigh floated from his chest. “Look, could we maybe speak for a moment? Possibly somewhere with less people and without a librarian who is giving me the stink eye?”
I smiled to myself.
Leave it to Ms. Waters. She really was an old stickler.
My answer, a firm and unequivocal “no,” danced on the tip of my tongue, and I should’ve given it a voice, but my curiosity to hear what he had to say outweighed the stubborn side of me that wanted to tell him to go to hell, to shove it in that deep dark place where the sun doesn’t shine.
Showing my annoyance, I gathered the books I’d dropped and set them back onto the pile before descending the small five-step ladder. Resignation was a bitch. I couldn't believe after that morning I was even giving this guy the time of day.
“In here.” I pointed toward the copy room, a space not much larger than a standard utility closet.
He followed me, as did his delicious-smelling cologne that did funny things to my senses, and pulled the door shut behind him, closing out the rest of the world.
I leaned against one of the Xerox machines, my arms crossed over my chest and my hands tucked beneath my elbows, and he stood in front of me. The distance between our bodies was next to nothing, and his nearly six-foot height had me tilting my head back to see his face. Light brown hair sat above a set of dark green eyes and a hard-cut jaw dusted with equally light brown stubble. Other than a single crease along his forehead, his expression didn’t give away any clue as to what words were about to leave his mouth.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice lacking any authoritative tone I wanted to deliver.
“That’s a bit of an odd question given your education, don’t you think?”
I looked at him, completely unamused, and he raised a brow.
“It’s a library, Ms. Callihan. What does one normally do in a library?”
What a jerk.
I laughed, not a trace of humor accompanying the sound. “Excuse me for assuming the top publishing firm in the country would have an impressive library of its own, meaning its CEO would have no need to make an appearance at a public one such as this.”
“Indeed, we do.” A cocky smirk tugged at his lips, and he slid his hands into his pant pockets. “But has it ever occurred to you where a library such as this receives most of its books from? Surely you’re not so naïve to believe they all come from public donations?”
“Some do, yes. Others we buy.”
“And the rest are provided directly from the publishing houses.”
And so they were. Of course, I was privy to that knowledge, I just found it highly coincidental he was here, today of all days. He didn't come off as the type who spent his time in the public library. In fact, I knew he didn't because I would have seen him before. A man like Owen Caldwell didn’t go unnoticed.
“I'm a man of business, so it’s only logical I'd be here to...oh, I don't know…discuss business.”
I rolled my eyes. Okay. But that still didn't explain why he was here, with me, in this tiny space of a room, fogging my brain with his intoxicating smell that was having a welcoming effect on my lady parts.
Stupid traitorous body.
In need of a reprieve, I turned and glanced out the window that overlooked the main floor of the library.
“I just finished a meeting with Mrs. Schultz. You may know her as the library director. We were discussing the current catalog and which recently released titles need adding.” He paused. “I also wanted to see you.”
Wait. What?
My head snapped back to him. “Me?” A sudden thickness invaded my throat. “Why me? What do you possibly need from me?”
Something flashed in his eyes, something that looked a lot like heat, and I swallowed down the excess saliva coating my mouth.
“I find it rather amusing that you think I need anything from you, Ms. Callihan.”
Why did it sound so good when he said my name like that? And why did I like it?
My pulse quickened, and I got the feeling he knew what his proximity was doing to me, because he took a step back, but his cocky smirk remained.
Giving him another roll of my eyes, I sidestepped around him. Whatever game he was playing, I didn't have time for. I needed to return to work before my only source of income became my no source of income. My hand curled around the knob on the door, and as I pulled it open, his voice stopped me.
“I want to offer you a position at Caldwell Publishing.”
“What?” I twisted on my heels, a little too fast for my liking, and stared at him, my mouth agape and incredulousness etched into every one of my features.
“I said, I want to offer—”
“No, I know.” I shook my head quickly, the lines on my forehead multiplying as my brows pinched together in confusion. “I know what you said. I—why?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Only ones I want answers to.”
Silence settled in the air, and as the muscle along his jaw ticked, he reached up to smooth his large palm over it. The whir of the printer broke through our quiet barrier, and he chose that exact moment to elaborate.
“Let’s just say my time is too valuable for me to waste another second of it sitting through countless interviews.”
“Huh. That's funny. This morning you seemed to know exactly what you were looking for, and if my memory serves me correctly, I wasn't it.”
“Yeah, well, you brought something to the table that I admire, and admittedly, I didn't realize it until after you were gone.”
How ironic. Isn't that how it always works? Not knowing how great something is until it's gone.
Lips pressed firmly together, I glanced down at the threadbare carpet beneath my feet. Here he was, offering me a chance at chasing my dreams, and I was hesitant to take it.
“So, what?” My gaze flicked back to his. “I'm supposed to drop everything and take your offer as if—”
He started toward me, and my thought dissipated in thin air as I backed away from his closeness, my ass hitting the door and pushing it shut the rest of the way as he towered over me. His arm rested above my head, and he leaned in closer—to intimidate me or make a point? I had no idea.
Our breaths mingled, and I held my next one high in my chest as intense green eyes consumed mine.
“Let me make something very clear. I am not here to beg. There are forty-eight other qualified candidates who are anxiously awaiting my call and who I can guarantee are more than willing to accept my offer. The choice is yours. My office. Tomorrow. Eight a.m. And if you do decide to get off your high horse and actually show up, make sure it doesn't look like you've gotten into a fight with the coffee machine. Think you can manage that?”
The last of his words danced across my collarbone as a series of shivers, and as he pushed himself away from the door, grabbed the handle, and disappeared out of it, my lungs deflated like a pinprick deflated a balloon.
Jerk.
Who the hell did he think he was?