Rowan

My stomach is sick with butterflies as my cab crawls down Hawke Street in morning rush hour traffic. Checking my watch, I calculate that even if we sit here another twenty minutes, I’m still going to be early for my job interview at Calloway Corp.

I spent all of Sunday researching everything I could find on Spencer Calloway and his not-for-profit corporation, but most of what I could find consisted of an Instagram page clearly managed by a college intern and a few write-ups on Huffington Post.

The coffee and bagel I had for breakfast rumbles in my stomach, threatening to rise when the driver slams on his brakes at the next light. I’m not normally an anxious person, but I’m still new at this job interview thing, never having held a job outside my parents’ multi-million-dollar empire.

I blame myself. I should have flown the nest a long time ago, but I really loved my job.

The cab merges into the right lane, slowing to a crawl outside a familiar brick building. The Hightower.

My lips fight a smile when I think of last Saturday night with Keir.

Best. Night. Ever.

I’d never had such uninhibited sex. For the first time in forever, my mind, body, and soul were completely free. Sex for the fun of it is so much better than sex with a man who’s probably going to break your heart by the time he’s done with it.

“Ma’am, we’re here.” The driver flicks his hazard lights on and pulls up to the curb. I swipe my card and climb out from the back, straightening the hem of my pencil skirt before striding toward a five-story building with a limestone façade.

I stop at the reception desk to check in before taking a seat in the lobby, mentally practicing my spiel.

I graduated summa cum laude from Wellesley with a degree in Nonprofit Management. Upon graduating, I began working as the vice president of event coordination at Aldridge Corporation. In my spare time, I volunteer at Paws and Claws, Feed the Needy, and Water 4 All. I spent a summer abroad my junior year of college, taking classes on international not-for-profit strategies. My personal hobbies include reading, traveling, and … drinking Pumpkin Spice Lattes like my life depends on it.

Drawing in a deep breath, I let it go, convinced I’m the most boring, basic girl who ever lived.

God, I’d make the perfect First Lady. There’s not a single blemish on my record. Not a single hint that might imply I’ve ever colored outside the lines.

Laughing to myself, I shake my head when I realize the most scandalous thing I’ve ever done is wear a sexy dress to a bar and sleep with a few sexy strangers.

Big whoop.

Hopefully once I get out of Aldridge Corp—and DC—I can finally start living a little.

“Something funny?” A man’s voice breaks my daydream, and I glance up to see a tall drink of water with sandy blond hair tucked behind his ears standing before me. His mouth lifts at one side as he takes me in, his green eyes flashing. “If it’s an inside joke, you’ll have to let me in. I hate being an outsider.”

Shaking my head, I realize he’s wearing a suit and holding a copy of my resume.

“You must be Mr. Calloway?” I stand, extending my hand. It feels odd calling him ‘Mr. Calloway’ when he appears to be not much older than me, but we’re obviously not on a first name basis quite yet.

“And you must be my eight AM.” His grip is firm, his eyes holding mine. “We’ll head back to my office.”

He turns and I follow, the click-click of my heels echoing against the glossy white tile.

I knew I should’ve worn flats.

“So do you have this whole building?” I ask as we walk.

Spencer—Mr. Calloway—glances down at me, chuckling. “No, Rowan. We use about three offices here. I don’t even have an assistant. The receptionist is just a … building perk. She works for all of us.”

“Oh, okay. I tried to familiarize myself with your company, but I couldn’t find much online.” The moment the words leave my lips, my cheeks flush. Is this an appropriate thing to say at a job interview? I basically just admitted to online stalking his business.

Mr. Calloway grabs the door to his office, ushering me in first. “Have a seat there, Rowan.”

A moment later, he moves to the other side of his desk, across from me, smoothing his tie before taking a seat. His eyes never leave mine. Not once.

This man is intense, which piques my curiosity.

His hair is tousled, air-dried almost, but his suit is crisp and pressed and his shoes are expensive. His mouth smiles, and his stare holds me prisoner.

“We’re a start-up consulting agency,” he says. “What we do is we travel all around the country—sometimes the world even—and we help not-for-profits get off the ground.”

That much I knew already. He has a website with a brief “About Me” page. All the other pages said “UNDER CONSTRUCTION. CHECK BACK SOON.”

“So tell me about yourself, Rowan Aldridge.” He says my full name as his eyes fall to my resume. “Says you have a degree in Nonprofit Management from Wellesley. Impressive. What made you choose that path?”

Sitting up straight, I overthink the placement of my hands and almost miss his question. “My family is really into philanthropy, and I grew up spending most weekends and summers volunteering everywhere I could. When it came time to choose a major, my parents had only one requirement: choose something that’s going to make the world a better place.”

Mr. Calloway’ brows are furrowed as he lets my words sink in, and then he leans back in his chair, expression softening. “Wow. That’s probably the best answer I’ve had so far.”

Exhaling, I smile.

“So many people pick their college degrees based on how much money they want to make or some subject that kind of, sort of interests them. To pick a degree because you want to help others … that says something about your character. I like that.” He’s quiet now, nodding to himself as he pores over my resume again. A moment later, his eyes flick up. “Are you comfortable traveling?”

“Love traveling.”

“You might be staying in certain areas for months at a time,” he says. “You’ll be living out of a suitcase. You’re fine with not planting roots?”

I decide not to tell him I’m a freshly plucked daisy. “I’m absolutely fine with that. I need a change of scenery.”

“I believe you, Rowan,” he says, head cocked. “But I want you to really think about how it’s going to be. You might get lonely. It’s hard making new friends in new cities when you’re only going to be there a short while. All your family will be back home … wherever they are … and you’ll be missing out.”

“I can handle it.” I smile. “There’s always FaceTime.”

He doesn’t seem amused. “It’s not the same. Take it from someone who learned the hard way.”

Mr. Calloway’ eyes move toward a photo on his desk. I can’t see it, but from the tenderness in his eyes, I imagine it’s a small child. Maybe he’s divorced? A single father?

Clearing his throat, he redirects his attention back to me, firing question after question, testing my knowledge and analyzing my responses in real time. My answers are clear, my posture straight, and my eye contact unwavering.

When we’re finished, he walks me to the lobby and shakes my hand again, this time a little longer than before.

“I hope to make my decision in the next few weeks,” he says. “If you get another job offer in the meantime, let me know.”

I fight the excited grin threatening to make me look like a dopey lunatic, and I nod. “Will do. It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Calloway.”

“Spencer,” he says. And now we’re on a first-name basis. “I’ll be in touch.”

Hitting the sidewalk a few seconds later, my entire being is flooded with hope, like someone opened the top of my head and filled me full of glitter. It’s the only way I can describe it. Every part of me feels alive.

It’s like the world is finally at my fingertips when it was always barely out of reach before.

Walking south, I pass The Hightower and squeeze through a gathered crowd with outstretched phones, chattering to one another. To the right, Keir’s SUV is parked and his agents are clearing the walkway.

I can’t imagine what it would be like creating a spectacle of my every coming-and-going.

Turning to the side, I slip between two women yelling Keir’s name. He glances in their direction, only for a moment, but his eyes land on me.

We hold one another’s gazes for a single, endless second …

And then I disappear into the crowd.

I meant what I said.

One and done.