Because He Plays Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Seven) (2 page)

Tears burned at the back of my eyes and a hard lump rose in my throat as I pushed through the double doors and back into the hallway, my cheeks burning with humiliation. It wasn’t like everyone in there had seen me get kicked out –most people were still talking and milling about, not really paying attention to what was going on around them.

But still. Talk about embarrassing!

And now Kiersten had made it clear that she was going to freeze me out.

At least yesterday she had made me do busy work. Now she was intentionally trying to sabotage me. But why? Was sleeping with Callum really that big of a deal? Or was something else going on?

Had she seen the flowers that had been sent to me and known they were from him? Or
thought
they were from him?

It was clear that a line had been drawn in the sand.

And Kiersten was definitely out to get me.

I
t was
three o’clock when the phone on my desk rang.

Kiersten had sent me a terse email instructing me to spend the day reading submissions from the slush pile, so that’s what I’d been doing.

I’d been reading the same manuscript for the last three hours, stopping only to grab a turkey sandwich and a diet coke from the cafeteria and bring it back to my desk, afraid that if I took a lunch break, Kiersten would find out and reprimand me.

Now my neck was hurting from slumping in my chair, and my eyes were blurry from staring at the manuscript, which the author had, for some unknown reason, decided to put in 8 point Arial font, when everyone knew you were supposed to use 12pt and either Courier New or Times New Roman.

I stared at my desk phone. It had never rang before, and something about it was startling.

I picked it up.

“Hello?” I said, before realizing I probably should have answered it with my name, or at least something a little more professional than “hello.”

“Ms. O’Connor?” The voice on the other end was female, polite, and young sounding.

“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.

W
hen 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. We’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.”

M
y 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.

W
hen 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.