Page 5 of Adoration: Isn't What It Seems (Love Isn't What It Seems 2)

“You said nine o’clock, Lena.”

“I said you had to be there eight thirty for the initial step and paperwork, and the interview with Mr. Caldwell was at nine o’clock.”

“Ok, well, I am here now. It is almost nine.” I exhaled. I wanted to help Lena with her business, but I wish she could give me something I could do behind the scenes. “I don’t know about this. Why am I doing this, anyhow?”

“It is a little change, so you can try something new,” Lena told me. “Try it for me.”

I rolled my eyes but remained quiet. For the past three years, I have been earning money through ghostwriting and doing odd jobs here and there along with helping Lena. My sister knew I had avoided working for any company that could remotely put me in the same circles as Callen.

Working in publishing had been my life. My mother had a publishing company and I always tagged along, loving my time spent there. When I started working for Callen’s publishing company, it was on the brink of bankruptcy but I helped save it. I put all my energy and sweat into it. If I was to venture into the publishing world again, I was sure to run into him. And I had avoided any and all reminders of him ever since… I had to cut my train of thoughts.

“Liberty, don’t think too much into this,” she started again. “The Caldwells have a few publishing companies and Alexander Caldwell will eventually take over his family’s publishing. You could help with that.”

“That is the last thing I want or need,” I mumbled into the phone. “After what happened last time, I want nothing to do with anyone that remotely touches that kind of business.”

“C’mon,” she started to get annoyed. “You need this to broaden your horizons. And you need to get back to doing what you love.”

She might be right there. But I dreaded ever seeing Callen again. It still hurt thinking about what happened. My throat tightened thinking about him and the humiliation. I laid my cool hand on my neck to ease the uncomfortable feeling. It took me too long to finally get a grip and move on.

It wasn’t easy being left at the altar by the man you love before finding out he had been sleeping with a gorgeous redhead. To top it all off, I found out the week after he left me that the publishing company I saved from bankruptcy was taken away from me. He hinted he’d make me a partner and then he turned around and made William his partner.

No, I didn’t need to be around any publishing company. I didn’t want to be around anyone that disturbed this hard earned peace. As if my instinct took over, I took another step forward, putting additional space between me and the men behind me. Another step and I’d be plastered against the elevator door. I felt their eyes on me, like they were burning a hole in my back. With my back stiff, I had to fight the urge to look behind me. I wanted to gaze into those blue eyes again, like they were calling to me, but it was the last thing I needed. Instead, I glanced down at the floor.

“Damn it!” I muttered to myself.

“What?” she asked, alarmed.

“I forgot my shoes.”

“What?” she screeched again. “You are barefoot?”

“Lena,” I gritted through my teeth. “You’ve got to stop screeching. You are going to cost me my hearing. No, I’m not barefoot. I’m wearing my chucks.”

“Oh, that’s ok.” Then she asked, “Why are you late anyhow? You are never late.”

This time I glanced over my shoulder and switched to speaking French. “The two guys behind me are assholes,” I commented in French and watched for their reaction, but neither one of them had any.

Lena and I got into this kick in high school and took French classes so we could sound more exotic. We didn’t sound more exotic, but it served us well when we wanted to speak without others understanding us. When we met Layla, she fit right in since she spoke it too.

“Why are they assholes?” Lena asked, automatically switching to French too.

“Oh, I don’t know if they are assholes or not,” I continued in French, “I just wanted to check if they can understand it. Anyhow, I was late because Layla showed up last night, crying and upset over Lachlan. So we had a little glass of wine, maybe more than little, and I was working on a writing piece. And things got out of hand a bit. She helped me with some ideas and we came up with the scene. You know… the scene.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” She sounded excited and disappointed at the same time. “Can I read it? What do you mean about things getting out of hand?”

“No, you can’t read it,” I told her. “It’s horrible.”

“What do you mean about things getting out of hand?” she repeated, knowing me too well and my attempts at avoiding topics.

“She called Lachlan three or four times,” I murmured. “Maybe five, tops.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “And you?”

I didn’t want to tell her. She’d been worrying about me too much already. As I pondered what the best thing to say to her was, she repeated.

“Oh no, Livy,” she muttered into the phone. “What did you do?”

“It was nothing.”

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