SWNOVELS : Chapter 2
my headphones flows through me as I shimmy up to the cabinet, swaying my hips from one side to the other. Grabbing a glass from the shelf, I sing along to the song softly—I know better than to belt with headphones on. I save the Broadway-level theatrics for karaoke nights when I’m a few margaritas deep.
This fancy fridge dispenses the best pellet ice—the crunchy kind you find at gas stations—and perfectly chilled water. A glass of cold water from this fridge just hits different, especially after my morning workout. The first two gulps send a shiver through me, the ice cold shocking my system. The third swallow washes over me like a cool wave. I flip my high ponytail to the beat when the song changes, long blonde hair whipping around me from one shoulder to the other. Needing another dance break, I place my glass of water on the counter so I can spin around.
Turning, my gaze collides with a pair of hazel eyes and I freeze, letting out a breathy laugh of surprise.
Callum stands leaning in the doorway of his office across the open living space, arms crossed. His focus on me is intense, but the stoic look on his face gives away nothing about the thoughts that are brewing. Pulling the earbuds from my ears, I pause the music and offer him an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I completely forgot you’re here,” I admit. His eyes flicker to my navy athletic leggings, matching navy sports bra, and white mesh crop jacket. The sports bra is one of my favorites with good coverage and decent support for my enormous chest, my jacket left unzipped. Despite the amount of fabric on my body right now, my outfit makes no effort to hide my extra weight—apron belly included. I look cute for the gym downstairs, but Callum is seeing me when I’m not dressed to impress. Again.
“You’ve definitely made yourself at home.” His eyes break away to look at the collection of houseplants I’ve added to the expansive windows in the living room, before returning to me. “Something tells me it wouldn’t have made a difference if you had remembered,” he says, raising dark brows in question.
I think about it for a brief moment. Going to walk on the treadmill, doing a few sets of weights, then coming back up and drinking a giant glass of water is my routine. And I always enjoy my music every step of the way, even in public. I’m not exactly shy.
“Honestly, probably not. Just let me know if I’m being too loud. I don’t want to disturb your business.” It’s a sincere request, though probably unnecessary. Callum seems like the kind of guy who would bring up an annoyance the second it became an issue.
“I’d never allow you to disturb my business,” he says simply, his face still giving no indication of how he’s feeling. On one hand, I can’t feel his irritation. But that just means he could be silently plotting my very slow and painful death and I won’t know until it’s too late.
I open my mouth, planning on asking him to warn me before he gets annoyed to the point of homicide, but I’m interrupted by the doorbell. Callum flashes me a look—a reminder of his rule not to answer the door—and moves to get it himself. I stay back, finishing my almost forgotten glass of water as he greets the newcomer.
“You look like hell,” Callum says instead of a hello. Kinda rude, but ok.
“Red-eyes from California will do that.” The responding voice is deep and gruff.
The door closes and Callum walks back into the open living space. He’s followed closely by a man who looks like he stepped out of a mafia movie casting call for burly muscle-men.
Though a few inches shorter than Callum, he’s still tall and wide, sturdy as an ox. His head is shaved bald, his broad face covered in salt and pepper stubble. If Mia was here, I’d bet her twenty dollars that his name is Boris or Ivan—something like that. When his eyes land on me, it’s as if he’s assessing whether I’m a threat.
“This is the house-sitter.” I don’t miss the meaningful look Callum shares with the ox at my introduction. “Roscoe works my security.” Roscoe is close enough, I definitely would’ve won that twenty bucks.
“Hi, I’m Lexie. Nice to meet you.” I greet him like I would anyone else, offering him a smile, which almost seems to throw him off for a split second. He gives me a solemn nod, simply rasping a curt hello in return. Callum keeps his eyes on me during the exchange, his computer brain no doubt filing away everything he observes.
“You brought what I asked for?” Callum turns his focus to Roscoe. The bald man nods.
“Harris is an ass, but he’s a well-connected, rich one,” Roscoe grunts, producing a plain white envelope from his coat. Callum’s face remains unreadable when he nods.
“Let’s go to my office.” They’re both already walking, leaving me behind completely forgotten.
I’m not put off by it in the least—they can go about their business. I need to go shower and actually get ready for the day. Not to mention I have to break the news to Mia that I might have to cancel our plans for tonight.
***
Wrapped in a towel fresh from the shower, I wipe the steam from the fogged vanity mirror while the phone rings. I can’t help but smile when the other end picks up and my best friend’s voice sounds in the bathroom on speakerphone.
“Hey, bitch.” The greeting is a term of endearment coming from Mia. “I’m just filling out some paperwork, so I only have a few minutes. What’s up?”
“I might not be able to watch the Bachelor with you tonight.” Getting between Mia and her weekly reality tv fix is asking for trouble. I wince, bracing for her wrath.
“You better be joking.” She’s pissed, her tone promising terrible things if I don’t take it back. Hopefully, my reason will be enough to smooth her temper.
“The owner of the penthouse I’m watching is here.” I offer it like a golden nugget of prime gossip—something Mia lives for. Just as I was hoping, her tone shifts instantly.
“Shut up, who is it? Is he some crusty old businessman?” I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of her question. If she met this man, she’d have a field day.
“His name is Callum Russo.” The wand of my mascara pauses mid-swipe, my mind conjuring up the image of the man who owns the roof over my head. “Businessman? Yes. But old and crusty are not words I’d use to describe him.”
“What words would you use to describe him?” She’s begging me to paint a picture for her, so I oblige. Placing my lip oil on the vanity, I brace myself against the counter. What words would I use to describe the unreadable man I ate dinner with last night?
“Giant, beard, tattoos.” Those are the physical descriptors she wants. But I can’t help but add, “Intense. Complicated.”
“He sounds hot.” If only she knew.
“Hot? Yes. Someone I plan on spending any time with? Nope.”
“Damn. So Hot Tattoo Guy is there. Does that mean you’re coming home?” she asks hopefully, her voice sugary sweet. Nice try, Mia.
“He says he’s only in the city for a few days on business, whatever that means. So I’m staying, apparently. I just have a slightly terrifying roommate for a while.” And just like that, I’ve deflated her balloon of hope in one fell swoop.
“So, not only are you not coming back, but you can’t watch the Bachelor with me tonight? Hot Tattoo Guy sucks.” She’s pouting now, which I think is a step in the grieving process—right after depression and before acceptance.
“His name is Callum,” I supply.
“Fine, Callum sucks,” she huffs indignantly. I let out a laugh, in total agreement.
“I might be able to watch, I just don’t know yet. So text me when you get home from the hospital, maybe I’ll be free.”
“Okay, okay fine.” I can hear the switch in her tone, the added concern. “How are you, really? Are you sleeping?”
“Technically.” My attempt at a joke brushes off her question. But I know her better than to think that would actually work.
“Lexie—” I cut off her rant before it starts.
“I’m fine, I promise. It’s just going to take some time.”
“Is that what Julie says?” Julie is my therapist and my idol. She’s seriously one of the best things that ever happened to me, after Mia and caffeine.
“Yes, Julie says taking some time away to refocus and heal is the best thing I can do for myself. Which is why I’m not at the hospital on contract right now.”
“Instead, you’re shacking up with rich, hot, bearded men. Maybe Julie’s onto something.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure this is exactly what Julie had in mind for me.” I laugh, leaning forward to finish my makeup. A third voice sounds through the phone in the distance.
“Ok, I’m coming,” Mia says, addressing the other person. She needs to get back to work. “I gotta go, Lexie. But I’ll call you later.”
“Ok, bye. Love ya.”
“Love you lots.” With that, the call ends. Letting out a deep breath slowly I brace my hands on the vanity counter and stare into the mirror.
Eyes as blue as the summer sky gaze back at me over a delicate nose and glossed bow-shaped lips. All wrapped in fair skin that’s never held a tan long enough to be considered anything other than porcelain—at least not without a good fake tan. Tilting my head to the side, light blonde hair tumbles over one shoulder and spills down to the small of my back in long loose curls. Other than the dark circles under my eyes, currently hidden beneath a little extra concealer, I look how I always look. But I don’t feel the same.
Julie says taking time will help with the healing, and I trust her. She’s gotten me through so much already. But so far all I’ve gotten is two weeks of sleepless nights and an overwhelming sense of feeling completely lost.
Helpless.
I’m twenty-six years old, with what I thought was a career path set for the rest of my life. But now I’m not so sure. After everything that’s happened, I can’t picture ever going back to how things used to be. And I’m left teetering on the precipice of the unknown, dangerously close to plummeting into what could be total ruin.
Sucking in a deep breath, I push my shoulders back and finger comb through my curls. I won’t fall off the edge, my feet are firmly planted. There’s no fucking way I’m going to lose myself—not with how hard I’ve worked to get here. I deserve so much more than that.
Touching up my gloss, I head into the closet to pick out an outfit. A short, soft pink sundress is the perfect choice for a day like today. Look good, feel good.
And, damn, do I look good.
I consider wearing heels, but that might be pushing it, especially with how much I’ll be walking today. The weather is nice, the late spring days warming up as we head into the east coast summer. But I grab a sweater to wear later, just in case. I haven’t quite figured out New York weather.
Grabbing my purse off the kitchen counter, I head out the front door. Locking it behind me, I turn and collide with a solid frame. Stumbling back a few steps, I blink up at them.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” the man apologizes, taking his own step back. His slender build stands at a modest height, but maybe I’ve just been standing next to Callum too much. Honey blonde waves fall across his forehead over soft-green eyes. Compared to the other two men I’ve met in the last twenty-four hours, this guy looks friendly and relatively harmless.
“It’s ok, I wasn’t paying attention,” I assure him with a smile.
“I’m here for Callum. But I don’t think we’ve met.” His eyes scan me as if to confirm before he makes his introduction. “I’m Enzo.”
“Lexie,” I offer. “I think Callum is in his office.” An awkwardness settles over me as I struggle to figure out what to do next. Obviously, this introduction was an accident created by timing and coincidence. Not answering the door is one of Callum’s rules, but I don’t think literally bumping into someone outside the door counts. Should I just make an excuse to leave? I open my mouth but my response is cut off when the door opens behind me.
“Enzo, you’re late.” I turn to find Callum’s irritated expression pointed at the newcomer. Enzo, however, doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the glare he’s receiving.
“I was just meeting Lexie,” he replies breezily, making Callum’s focus cut to me. I can practically feel the accusation in his eyes, berating me for breaking the rules.
“I bumped into him on my way out.” The need to explain the situation feels important, though I’m not sure why—maybe so he doesn’t think I’m incapable of following simple instructions. My reputation for not being a complete idiot is on the line here.
Callum’s gaze moves over me as if he just realized I’m dressed in something other than pajamas or workout attire.
“Out where?”
“I’m going to brunch.” Glancing down at the time on my phone I realize I’m running late. “I actually have someone waiting for me, but it was nice to meet you Enzo.” I flash another friendly smile before stepping around him. His head turns to watch after me along with the man in the doorway.
“You too, Lexie,” Enzo calls after me. He then turns to address Callum. “She seems nice, way too nice for you. Who is she?” I press the button for the elevator and wait for it to open.
“She’s the house-sitter,” Callum replies simply. “Now get in here, we have shit to talk about.” The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding. I step in and turn around to press the button in time to see Callum stepping aside to let his guest enter the penthouse. My eyes meet his for a moment.
“Alright, alright,” Enzo complies. “Wait, the house sitter? What happened to Tony?” Whatever answer Callum gives is cut off when the elevator doors slide shut, closing in unison with the apartment door.
***
Walking up to the restaurant, my friend is unmistakable. Her toned, willowy figure is accentuated by a colorful mini set, the sun kissing her rich, deep brown skin like an umber goddess. The colorful woman looks more suited for the runways in L.A. or Miami than the sidewalk in Manhattan.
“It’s so unfair that God has such clear favorites,” I speak up as I approach, making her turn.
“Stop pretending like you’re not one of them,” Veronica grins, looking at me with a light squeal of excitement as she pulls me in for a hug. I breathe a laugh as we embrace, feeding off her energy.
“Hey girl, I missed you,” she announces, pulling back to look down at me. We make quite the pair, physically complete opposites. Where I’m short, fair, and round, Veronica Price is tall, dark, and slender. But we share a love of margaritas and karaoke-nights out.
Ebony and ivory, as we were called around the hospital. And Ronnie made New York Presbyterian so much more fun. “I missed you too.”
It’s the truth, I miss her. Ronnie doesn’t take life too seriously, and her breezy attitude makes heavy situations feel lighter. It’s the reason she works so well in the ER. When she’s nursing everything remains on the surface, allowing her to leave work at the hospital instead of carrying it home with her. She doesn’t let it weigh her down, not like I do.
The hostess seats us outside at a table with a cute white umbrella, a beautiful floral arrangement in the center of the circular wrought iron table. The whole restaurant is aesthetically pleasing—with exposed brick, climbing ivy, and a charming macaroon station. It’s the perfect place for brunch in the city, the kind of place where pretty people take photos to post on social media.
Maybe I’ll take some photos myself.
The waitress is a friendly teenage girl on a mission, with a frizzy red ponytail and a green apron. She takes our order and speed-walks away back inside, skirting around the other servers. Sitting back in the chair, Ronnie’s dark brown eyes move over me in curiosity.
“So tell me all about your life,” she says, crossing one long leg over the other. “You know I love to be in everyone’s business. Just because you left doesn’t mean that saves you.”
“Not much to tell,” I downplay, adjusting the neckline of my dress. “I’m house-sitting a penthouse uptown for some rich businessman for the next few months. The internet is supplying me with a bunch of recipes to try, and I’ve been getting back into drawing.”
“That sounds very relaxing, now I’m getting jealous.”
“It’s been nice, not gonna lie.” My fingers comb my hair back from my face. “So tell me what I’ve missed. It’s only been a few weeks, but I’m sure Dr. Denton has done something asinine.”
“Ugh, he has,” Ronnie says animatedly. “He hooked up with one of the peds nurses then snubbed her. She had a complete meltdown and went psycho on him in the cafeteria. It was crazy.”
“Damn, I can’t believe I missed that. Next time take a video for me.”
“You know I will. I almost called you right after it happened, but then I got paged by a woman who came in barefoot and ended up peeing in a trashcan.” Ronnie rolls her eyes while I cringe at the mental image she’s painted for me. “Damn girl, the unit isn’t the same without you. Everyone is so boring and I have to deal with the crazies by myself.”
“We handled a lot of crazies together.” I laugh. The waitress walks up to deliver our food, placing my iced matcha and croissant sandwich in front of me before placing the spinach omelet, fruit salad, and latte in front of Ronnie. Next comes the pitcher for the bottomless mimosas—the real brunch necessity.
“We need a night out.”
“Hell yeah, we do,” I agree readily. “We need a girl’s night out with karaoke and booze.”
Ronnie is a bit of a party girl, and she definitely knows how to go out and have a good time. She might be a more surface-level friend but that’s exactly what I need right now—light conversation, and distracting fun.
“Fuck, yeah! I’m so down.”
“Ok, yay!” Taking a sip of my iced matcha, the caffeine greets me like a warm hug.
“Where’s the apartment you’re staying in?”
“Columbus Circle.”
“Damn, girl! Central Park West? They don’t just have money, they have money.”
“It’s a really bougie place, definitely out of my price range. I’m getting way too comfortable living in the penthouse, it’s gonna be a slap back to reality when I go back to my regular place in a few months.”
“You should come see my place in Harlem. I’m sure my one-bedroom makes your place in Oregon look like a palace.”
I can’t argue, I know what apartments are like in this city. The place I was renting before Tony set me up at Callum’s was more like a closet than a studio apartment, and cost an arm and a leg. My home in Oregon, a comfortable two-bedroom, is definitely more spacious and lacks the company of cockroaches and mutant rats.
Gross.
“So, who is this mystery businessman? Have you met the guy?” Ronnie asks, taking no time to pour the mimosas.
“His name is Callum. He’s in the city for a few days for business, he showed up last night.” I shrug, accepting the champagne glass and taking a generous sip. The bubbly goes down smoothly. “But I don’t know what kind of businessman he is, so my plan is to just stay out of the way.”
“Probably a good idea.” Ronnie drains her glass easily and reaches for a refill. “Leave the stuffy old guys to their business. It gives us more time for champagne.” She lifts her glass towards me with a grin. I chink my glass with her, my head tipping back in a laugh.
“Cheers to that.”
Spending three hours with Ronnie is the perfect little vacation from reality. Talking pop culture, discussing drama from the hospital staff, and sharing dating stories, fueled by carbs and mimosas—it’s exactly what I needed. And I’m bummed, even if I’m a little buzzed, when it’s time to say goodbye and head back to the penthouse. But it’s time to get back to real life. Unfortunately.
I didn’t mean to take the long way back to the apartment, but then the sunlight hit a gold handbag in just the right way, making it sparkle and call to me from a store window. I had to stop, I’m only human—one who can’t resist beautiful, shiny things.
The private elevator opens to the elegant corridor with black marble floors and cream porcelain tiled walls that reach up to the vaulted ceiling adorned with a magnificent crystal chandelier. Inside the oversized front door is an opulent entryway dressed in modern art that leads to the expansive grand room that makes up most of the first floor. A large waterfall island separates the impressive kitchen along the right wall from the rest of the open-concept space.
To the left is a dining room, with the living room taking up the corner along a wall of windows reaching up two stories that look out onto the terrace. A grand curved staircase by the living room leads to the second floor.
Dramatic light fixtures, chic art, and expensive finishes in neutral color schemes scream wealth and comfort. The entire space is dressed in a mix of modern luxury and traditional elegance. One of the best features of the penthouse is the breathtaking unobstructed view of the city and Central Park.
Callum is in the kitchen when I walk into the penthouse, and it seems like it’s just us. My plan to ignore him and stay out of his way is proving to be impossible under the constant weight of his stare. I don’t know why I thought I could pretend the man isn’t staying here with me, he’s built like a bull with an even more dominant demeanor.
“I thought you said you were going to brunch,” his tone is calling me a liar, arms crossing as his hip leans against the counter beside me.
Is he always so serious? Must be exhausting.
“I did. I met up with a friend at Flora’s on West 118th Street.”
“That’s basically in Harlem.”
“I know, Ronnie lives in Harlem. It was perfect.”
“So what’s that?” Callum points to my shopping bag. The one holding my newest gold obsession. “I know restaurants have brunch promotions, but I didn’t realize they started giving out gift bags with your meal.”
“They don’t… although they really should.” Now that I’m thinking about it, getting a free purse with lunch would be too amazing for words. “I did some shopping on my way back. I’m a sucker for a pretty window display.”
“What is it?” he nods towards the bag.
“You ask an awful lot of questions.” I tilt my head up and to one side. “Why so curious?” He doesn’t acknowledge my question. Instead, he simply stands and waits for me to answer his. Clearly, trying to get out of telling him what he wants to know is pointless.
“It’s a handbag. A pretty, mini, gold one. There was a purple one I almost got too, but I couldn’t justify the price. Especially since I have nothing to wear it with.”
Stepping around Callum, I open the fridge to reach for the can that’s been calling to me since I finished my matcha.
I’m the first person to admit that I’m attached, but calling it an addiction would mean there’s something wrong with it. I prefer the term simple pleasure.
The can pops with a hiss when I press down the tab. The first sip feels so comforting, the carbonation greeting me like an old friend. I know one sip isn’t enough to start feeling the effects of the caffeine, but I swear some of the exhaustion weighing me down eases from my shoulders. Twelve ounces can’t make up for the fact that I haven’t slept more than a few hours a night for the last two weeks, but it definitely helps.
“Do you drink anything else?” Callum’s eyes move pointedly to the can of soda in my hand. I shrug as I take a sip of my Mountain Dew.
“Energy drinks. Oh, and Margaritas.” I smile prettily when he scowls in disapproval. “But it’s too early for that.”
“It eats you from the inside out,” he grates. I look down at my soft, curvy body.
“You’re right, I’m practically wasting away here.” There’s a healthy dose of sarcasm in my voice accompanying the nonchalant smile. Hazel eyes narrow at me, unamused.
“That stuff will kill you.” Callum is glaring at the can I’m holding like it personally insulted his family. I bite back a smile, doing my best not to laugh in his face. He’s so serious.
“So I’ve heard.” I lift the can to my lips and take an exaggerated sip. “But until then, it’ll keep me happy and caffeinated.”
The sound of the front door opening and closing cuts off whatever Callum has to say, a male voice ringing through the entryway. “I hope you have coffee in here, I’ve got the biggest fucking hangover of my life,” A new man announces as he appears in the doorway.
He’s tall, maybe a few inches shorter than Callum’s towering height. The term pretty boy comes to mind with his tousled black hair and playful whiskey brown eyes. He’s extremely good looking, he almost doesn’t look like a real person.
“You’re letting yourself into my apartment now?” Callum asks flatly.
“You get pissy whether or not I ring the bell, this way I get to see that look of excitement on your face even faster.”
“We have work to do now that you’re finally here,” Callum says annoyed.
“It’s too fucking early for this.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” Callum points out.
“Exactly, I woke up three hours early for you. You should be grateful.” The newcomer’s attention catches on me, his eyes lighting in curiosity. “And who is this?”
His gaze on me is lacking the hint of disgust and judgment I’ve learned to expect from a guy like this. The rakish player type who bed hops, using his looks and charms to get whatever he wants, staying out all night and sleeping late into the afternoon.
“He’s about to tell you I’m the house-sitter, which is apparently all the introduction I need nowadays,” I say, watching the look of intrigue flash across his almost too-pretty, angular face. “Then you’ll both look at each other and have a silent conversation about me like I’m not standing right here. It’s fascinating every time.” I laugh knowingly when the new guy shares a look with Callum. “Just like that.”
“Ignore her, Liam.” Callum’s easy dismissal gets me fired up to piss the man off. Let’s see if I can pick at his control enough to get it to crack.
“Ahh, Liam. He was talking a lot of shit about you earlier, maybe you two should have a little heart-to-heart,” I mock a serious expression as I lie to stir the pot, raising my eyebrows smugly at Callum’s annoyed expression.
“Lexie.” My name is a warning. Callum isn’t amused. But Liam is. He poorly disguises his laugh as a cough, hiding his grin behind his hand when Callum’s glare cuts over to him. I smile prettily and keep bold eye contact as I move around the men to the living room.
“I’ll leave you to it.” I raise my can of Mountain Dew to them, picking up my bottle of glitter nail polish off the coffee table and shaking it in the other hand. Plopping down onto the couch to resume the episode of Real Housewives I was watching earlier, I begin to prep my toes for the polish. It’s a rerun since I’ve already watched every season, but the petty drama never gets old.
There’s something about watching super rich people’s ridiculous problems that feeds my soul. Like, can you believe Lisa didn’t invite Vicky to the fundraiser gala after Vicky invited her to the birthday party on the super yacht? It’s unhinged, I love it.