Because He Plays Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Seven) Read online

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “This is Faith Marshall. I’m the executive assistant to Peter Kelly.”

  “Oh.” My mouth went dry and my grip around the phone tightened. Peter Kelly was the publisher of Archway Touchstone. That meant he was Kiersten’s boss’s boss. I’d never met him, because he was the kind of person you didn’t just meet. He didn’t attend meetings like the one I’d just been at -- he was far too big and powerful for that.

  “Mr. Kelly would like to meet with you in his office.”

  “Wait, I’m sorry, I…” I trailed off, trying to get my bearings. I was confused. Why would Peter Kelly want to meet with me? I was just a lowly publicity assistant. Was he in charge of firing people? Was I getting called down to his office so that he could tell me he was sorry, but that he knew about me and Callum, and that he had no choice but to let me go? “I’m sorry, I think there must be some mistake,” I tried.

  “Is this Adriana O’Connor?”

  “Yes.”

  “You work in publicity as a publicity assistant for Archway Touchstone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then Mr. Kelly would like to meet with you. Can you be at his office in five minutes?” Her tone was curt now, decidedly less friendly, almost like she’d decided she was dealing with an idiot and couldn’t be bothered.

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I can be at his office in five minutes.” I knew where it was, right down the hall from human resources behind a very impressive oak door with a huge gold nameplate on the front.

  When I hung up the phone, my hand was shaking.

  I was getting fired.

  I was sure of it.

  * * *

  When I got to Mr. Kelly’s office, Faith told me to take a seat until Mr. Kelly was ready for me, and then she offered me a beverage. But I was too nervous to drink anything.

  I sat down in one of the plush chairs in the waiting area and tried not to freak out.

  The vibe down here was totally different than it was in the rest of the Archway offices. I couldn’t explain it, but it was somehow more tense, like everyone knew that the publisher of the imprint was just feet away.

  I pulled my phone out and pretended to be checking my emails so that I would have something to do.

  A second later, I got a text from Callum.

  Adriana.

  I stared at the word, annoyed at him for thinking it was okay to send such a cryptic text after the way he’d left me this morning, and annoyed at myself for the way my breath caught in my chest at just the sight of his name on my phone.

  You okay? I texted back.

  If he said he was, I was going to ignore his ass. Screw the contract. I knew it was messed up, but I wanted to hurt him, wanted to be petty. I didn’t like that he’d left this morning like that, no explanation, nothing.

  I need to see you immediately.

  My hand hovered over the keypad, about to type N-O.

  I knew my disobedience would enrage him.

  But I paused, wondering if part of me was being unfair, selfish. Rose was dead.

  She was dead.

  All that history, all those emotions that were tied up in that history. I felt an almost-overwhelming sadness wash over me, realizing how upset Callum must be, and I swallowed around the lump in my throat. I used to be jealous of Rose, or at least suspicious of her, but now I realized Callum’s interest in her had nothing to do with any kind of romantic feelings but was instead tied to his own self-loathing, his own need to take responsibility for everything.

  I wondered again what had made him become an addict, what his home life had been like, how it had been that he’d gone to live with his friend Brendan and had been so desperate for a family that he was willing to become an alcoholic.

  I took in a deep breath and texted him back.

  About to go into a meeting. Are you okay????

  I wanted reassurance, wanted him to say he was. I had a sick feeling in my stomach, a feeling that maybe something was horribly wrong, even more horribly wrong than it would normally be when you lost someone close to you.

  “Ms. O’Connor?” Faith asked. I looked up to find her standing in front of me, smiling tightly. “Mr. Kelly will see you now.”

  “Thank you.” I stood up and followed Faith down a short hallway to Mr. Kelly’s office.

  She opened the door and led me inside.

  The office was beautiful but sparsely furnished, everything very dark and heavy.

  Mr. Kelly was seated at his desk. I’d never seen a picture of him, and I’d imagined him being dark and dashing, with salt and pepper hair. But this man was thin, pinched, with a long nose and a suit that hung off his small frame.

  “Adriana O’Connor, sir,” Faith said, and then she left, shutting the door behind her.

  Mr. Kelly looked up and gave me a smile, and his whole face transformed.

  “Hello,” he said, and stood up. He held his hand out to me, and I shook it. “Have a seat, please.”

  I sat down and my phone buzzed in my hand.

  Two more texts.

  The first one just my name again.

  Adriana.

  Then the second.

  I need you to come to my office. Right now.

  Now I felt sick, my head spinning a bit.

  I’M IN A MEETING, CAN YOU PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU’RE OKAY?

  “Something important?” Peter Kelly asked, and I saw something flash in his eyes -- not annoyance, exactly, more like impatience, and I slid my phone into my bag.

  “No,” I said. “No, nothing important.” My phone buzzed again and I resisted the urge to reach into my bag and pull it out, to find out what Callum had said.

  “So, it seems as if you’ve made quite an impression in the short time you’ve been at Archway,” Mr. Kelly said. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. As he did so, the bottom of his pants slid up, revealing a pair of navy blue socks.

  “I suppose so,” I said, not sure exactly what he was referring to and not sure I really wanted to find out.

  “Especially with one of our most important authors,” Mr. Kelly said.

  My heart sank. He knew about me and Callum. Kiersten must have told him, she must have known that I was getting fired today, which was why she’d frozen me out and then put me to work reading the slush pile.

  “Mr. Kelly, I can explain.” My hands twisted together in my lap. “I knew… you see, I knew Callum before I even started working here.”

  “Callum?” Mr. Kelly frowned and sat up. “Ms. O’Connor, I was talking about Dean Bellingham.”

  “Dean Bellingham?”

  “Yes. He called this morning requesting your phone number and asking to have a meeting with you.” Mr. Kelly slid a business card across his desk toward me and I picked it up. It was a copy of the one Dean had given to me that day outside of the restaurant. “You might want to call him to set something up.”

  I swallowed, remembering the wildflowers that had showed up at my desk. Thinking of you…

  Had they been from Dean?

  “I’m… I’m not sure what exactly it is I can do for him,” I said. “Does Kiersten… does she know Dean’s requested a publicity meeting?”

  Mr. Kelly stared at me across the desk, his eyes boring into mine. “Dean hasn’t requested a meeting with Kiersten. He’s requested a meeting with you.”

  “Kiersten should know about this,” I said. “She should be there, I’m just…I’ve only been working here for a week.”

  Mr. Kelly smiled. “What are your goals here, Ms. O’Connor?”

  “I hope to work in editorial one day, sir,” I said.

  “You could have a bright future here,” he said. “If you apply yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He gave me a look, like he was trying to figure out a way to get his point across. Then he sat up even straighter and looked at me seriously. “Part of this job is keeping our authors happy. Dean Bellingham’s book has the potential to be huge for Archway. W
e’re very lucky he’s allowed us to buy him out of his contract with his previous publisher.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So it’s imperative that we keep him happy.”

  My breath caught in my chest as I realized what Mr. Kelly was saying. We need to keep him happy. Did he mean that he wanted me to sleep with Dean Bellingham? But that was ridiculous! According to Bailey, Dean had already slept with Kiersten. Shouldn’t that have been enough?

  “Call Dean,” Mr. Kelly said, nodding at the business card I was still clutching in my hand.

  The phone on Mr. Kelly’s desk buzzed then and Faith’s voice came through the speaker. “Your four o’clock appointment is here,” she chirped.

  “Tell them I’ll be right with them.” He stood up then, held his hand out to me in a gesture of dismissal. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, think about what I’ve said? And let’s maybe not mention this meeting to Kiersten, shall we?” he said, giving me a friendly smile. I took his hand out of habit, not because I wanted to. Because I was starting to realize that Peter Kelly might have looked like a nice old man, but he was really a snake. “I think you have a great future at this company, Ms. O’Connor. I look forward to seeing you working in editorial soon.”

  * * *

  My head was spinning, my thoughts twisting together into a swirling tornado of confusion as I left Peter Kelly’s office.

  The Archway building felt stifling, claustrophobic, but once I was outside on the streets of New York, it wasn’t much better. I tried to take big deep breaths, but I could taste the smog and heaviness in the city air.

  I pulled my phone out.

  Callum’s last text said Adriana, I need you.

  I dialed his cell.

  The phone rang and rang, went to voicemail.

  I called him again.

  Voicemail.

  I sent him a text.

  Pick up your phone.

  I stood there on the street, not sure exactly what to do.

  Finally, I decided to call his office. I looked up the number for Wilder Holdings, but the stupid thing rang to a switchboard and every time I tried to get through to Callum’s office, the switchboard operator would put me through to a main voicemail box.

  Probably anyone important had a direct line to him. Why didn’t I have a direct line to him?

  I wandered down the sidewalk toward Fifth Avenue, still confused about what to do. I was worried about him. But should I have been? I didn’t want to come across like some kind of stalker, bothering him if he was just busy or in a meeting.

  Adriana, I need you.

  He sounded desperate.

  So before I could change my mind, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of Callum’s building.

  * * *

  When I got to the gleaming building on Avenue of the Americas, I gave my name to the mustached security guard who was manning the desk in lobby, already anticipating that I was going to get thrown out on my ass.

  But to my surprise, the guard checked a list and then printed a laminated visitor badge with my name on it, attached it to a lanyard, and handed it to me. Callum must have put me on a list at some point.

  “Thirty-fifth floor,” the guard said, sounding bored. “I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

  I slid the lanyard of the badge around my neck and stepped onto the elevator.

  When I stepped onto the thirty-fifth floor, a man was waiting for me, about my age, with short cropped black hair and a gleaming white smile.

  “I’m Ray,” he said. “Mr. Wilder’s assistant. You must be Adriana.”

  “I am,” I said, suddenly slightly flustered. It was throwing me for a tiny bit of a loop, being here at Callum’s office, seeing a part of his life that up until now I hadn’t been exposed to.

  “He’s expecting you,” Ray said, and then he was leading me through a set of double doors and down a long hallway. One side of the room was open behind a half-wall divider, and it was filled with desks and cubicles. The whole vibe in the place was very …I couldn’t explain it, but it somehow seemed very serious and pressure-filled. It wasn’t anything like Archway, where everyone was happy and relaxed. (Well. Besides Peter Kelly.)

  Everyone at Wilder Holdings seemed like they were on edge, and I wondered if Callum was the one setting that tone, or if this was just how it was when you were in such a high pressure industry.

  As we walked down the hall, a few people glanced at me curiously, and I felt myself averting my eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” Ray said, smiling. “They’re just curious.”

  “About me?”

  He nodded. “Callum has never had a woman to the office before.”

  I felt myself blush.

  When we got to Callum’s office door, Ray knocked twice. “Mr. Wilder,” he said. “Adriana O’Connor.”

  “Let her in.”

  Ray opened the door for me and shooed me inside the office, and then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

  Callum’s office took my breath away.

  Everything was bright and open, all black leather and chrome and glass, shiny and new and immaculate.

  Callum was sitting at his desk. His dark hair was mussed just a little and there was stubble darkening his cheeks. His suit jacket was off, and his crisp white dress shirt had been unbuttoned at the top, his tie loosened.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  “Lock the door, Adriana.”

  I turned around and locked it, the room so silent that the click echoed through the air.

  I took a moment to catch my breath, and then I turned back around.

  And that’s when I saw it. The bottle of whiskey sitting on his desk.

  I took a step into the room.

  “Callum?” I tried. Was he drunk? He didn’t seem drunk. He raised his eyes and met mine, and I searched his face for any sign of him having consumed alcohol, but his eyes were bright and clear, his features just as crisp and chiseled as ever. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve been staring at it for five hours.”

  I swallowed. “I’m not…” I wiped my palms on my dress. I was in over my head, had no idea what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to handle this. What did you say to an addict who was thinking about drinking? I licked my bottom lip. “I don’t want you to do that.”

  “I don’t want to do it, either.” He raised his eyes to mine, and there was such a vulnerability there, such a resignation to what he was about to do that I felt my eyes fill with tears. For the first time, I felt like I was seeing him, really seeing him and the torture and pain that lived inside of him.

  “Oh, Callum,” I breathed, walking across the room to him. “Then don’t.”

  “She died because of me.”

  “Callum!” I took his hand in mine. “No. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I should have tried harder.”

  “No, you tried the best you could.”

  “I didn’t.”

  I groped around in my head for the right thing to say, but I felt helpless, powerless against the demons he was railing against.

  “I could have done more.” He took his hand from mine, and his voice sounded far away, his blue eyes listless, and I could feel him slipping away, could tell that I was failing as I tried to bring him back from whatever spiral he was about to go down.

  I reached for the bottle of whiskey – at least I could take that. But he grabbed my wrist, then took the bottle from me with his other hand and set it back down on the desk.

  “You should go,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You should leave, Adriana.”

  “Why would I leave?”

  “Because I’m…” He shook his head. “I’m fucked up. I don’t want you going down this road with me.”

  “Callum.” I closed my eyes and balled my hands together in fists at my sides. Part of me did consider just leaving, walking out the door and never coming back. My life had been nothing but complicated ever sin
ce I’d met him. But I couldn’t just leave him like this. I didn’t want to.

  I cared about him too much.

  I believed in him, believed he was a good person who was capable of loving me the way I wanted to be loved, and accepting that love in return.

  Maybe it made me naïve, but I’d seen glimpses of it inside of him, and I didn’t want to be the one to turn my back on him.

  “Callum,” I pleaded.

  “Adriana,” he said. “Go.”

  I searched desperately for the right words, feeling a crushing need to stop him. I imagined him tipping that bottle back, obliterating years of sobriety, getting drunk at work, risking his professional reputation.

  Do something, Adriana. You need to make him stop, you need to do something to get through to him.

  I fell to my knees and averted my eyes to the ground.

  “Sir,” I said softly.

  “Adriana…” Callum said, but his voice was less harsh, with just the tiniest bit of falter in it.

  “Please, sir.”

  “Please, sir, what?” he demanded, and the wheels on the bottom of his heavy leather chair were pivoting in the carpet as he turned toward me.

  “Take it out on me, sir.”

  “Take what out on you, Adriana?”

  “Instead of drinking,” I whispered. “Whatever it is you’re trying to forget about, to run from. Take it out on my body instead.” My skin was already flushing warm with the anticipation of what that would mean.

  “Adriana,” he said, and I could hear the tension in his voice, the break at the end.

  “Sir,” I said, and I kept my eyes to the ground. I waited a moment, time suspended, my heart beating so fast in my chest it felt like it was going to come bursting out, like a flock of birds beating their wings and struggling to break free. I wanted him to punish me. He’d primed my body to be ready for him, to want to be used for his pleasure.

  I wanted to submit.

  He reached down and cupped my chin in his hand, tilted it up so that I was forced to look at him. “Are you sure, baby?” he whispered. His thumb brushed my bottom lip.

  “I’m sure,” I whispered.

  His eyes were burning bright as his gaze slid up my body, taking me in, down on the ground, on my knees, ready to take direction, to act out his every desire. I could almost see his mind working, his eyes blazing with hunger and need as he worked over what he would do to me.