4. Silas
Chapter four
Silas
The irony of life is that it always brings back what you’ve tried hardest to forget; like a boomerang coated in emotional shrapnel. And today, that boomerang walks into my office with her own two feet.
I stand behind my desk, frozen in my office, staring at Leah like seeing a ghost. A very real, painfully beautiful ghost from a night I can’t seem to bury, no matter how hard I’ve tried.
Leah.
I can’t breathe momentarily as my mind rewinds to five years ago. She’s different now. Older? No. More mature, maybe. Her body, still petite but with new curves, is wrapped in a black dress that skims her knees.
Her dark brown hair, which used to be lighter like honey, is now dyed a rich, chestnut color, and it’s cut shorter, just brushing her collarbones. It makes her look sharp. Like someone who knows exactly what she’s after. Except, at this moment, the only thing I know for sure is that she’s caught just as off guard as I am.
Her brown eyes widen in recognition, lips parting slightly like she remembered that night in Rome. She glances at the door, clearly contemplating bolting from this office.
I can’t let her leave. Not again.
“Leah,” I say, my voice betraying a little too much surprise.
She stops, eyes narrowing at me. "Silas. You’re Mr. Waverly?”
“And you are Leah Grayson,” I rattle the name off my head. Jim, the head of H.R., had told me the candidate’s name, and I hadn’t made the connection. I mean, hell, there’s gotta be what? A few thousand Leahs in New York?
“If I knew it was you , I wouldn’t have come.” Her tone is sharp. And somehow, her eyes are sharper.
There it is. The sting. Her words hit me like a whip, but I keep my cool. I don’t blame her for hating me. I’d hate me, too, if I were her.
"I didn’t know you were the one coming either,” I admit, keeping my voice level, professional, like the sight of her isn’t throwing me completely off balance. “But now that you’re here, well, here we are.”
Her expression tightens, jaw clenched. “Here we are,” she repeats, each word cold, biting. “Though I’m shocked you remember my name after all these years, considering you made it clear that night meant nothing to you.”
I swallow. Of course, she’s bringing up Rome. Why wouldn’t she? That night’s been haunting me ever since I let her walk away like the asshole I was. But I’m not ready to dig up that grave right now. It’s barely nine in the morning, and I’ve got a meeting in an hour.
I start to say something—an apology, an explanation, anything —but she cuts me off, raising a hand. “I don’t want to talk about that night.”
Right. Of course. She’s still in control. “You brought it up,” I say, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
“Yeah, well, forget it,” she snaps back, eyes blazing. “I’m just gonna go. Have a great life, Silas. Or not.” She starts to walk away.
“Wait.”
She stops in her tracks, holding the glass door. I notice there’s no ring on her finger. Her round face isn’t as round as it was. She’s lost some weight on her face, which makes her cheekbones more pronounced. Her heart-shaped lips are pressed thinly as she stares at me.
“What?”
“You don’t want the job?” I cock my head, pulling at my black tie.
“Working for you?” she scoffs like she just heard the stupidest idea ever. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“What, so you don’t need a job?”
She stays silent, her lips somehow pressed tighter together. I can see she’s desperate. I can also see that she hates my fucking guts.
“There’s a shitload of people on a waiting list somewhere that’d kill to have this job,” I say, wetting my lip.
“Give it to one of them, then,” she retorts.
“So, that’s a no then, yeah?” I step away from my desk and walk towards her. “You don’t want it?” She looks up at me, her brown eyes holding anger. She’s changed, but she hasn’t changed that much. I can still see the lady from that night in Rome.
"Can we just, pretend this didn’t happen? Move on? I need an assistant. You need a job, right? Simple."
It sounds so easy, but I can see the hesitation in her posture and the way she crosses her arms like she’s building a wall between us. There’s so much left unsaid, and it’s eating away at me. But the truth is, I do need an assistant. And after what happened in Rome? Hiring her might be my only shot at making things right.
“I don’t think we can make it—"
“I think we can,” I cut in, offering a small nod. “You’re already familiar with me. It’ll make the transition smoother.”
Leah scoffs, but she doesn’t immediately bolt for the door, which means I still have a shot here. She looks away like she’s considering it, eyes flickering toward the window where the rain pelts the glass in steady drizzles. Her fingers toy with the strap of her bag, a sign she’s thinking hard.
I know her tells. I remember them well, actually.
She finally sighs, as though she’s resigning herself to fate. “Fine,” she says, her voice low. “But let’s be clear. What happened in Rome stays in Rome. I’m not here for anything other than work.”
I nod, fighting the urge to say something more, but I keep it businesslike. “Absolutely. Strictly professional.”
“Great.” She nods, looking around my office. “So what next?”
“How about you head to Jim’s office on the third floor to get your contract and everything else signed?”
“Jim?”
“H.R.”
“Oh.”
She meets my gaze for one last searing moment, then turns sharply on her heel and heads for the door, leaving behind the scent of her perfume—something warm and spicy that lingers long after she’s gone.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or utterly terrified. Either way, tomorrow, she’ll be here, in this office, working with me. Every day. All day.
Shit.
***
Later that evening, I meet Harvey Grayson at the casino for our weekly poker night. The place is a little too grandiose for my taste. Crystal chandeliers, scantily-dressed ladies, red velvet chairs, and walls dripping with gold accents. But Harvey loves this scene. He fits right in, with his cigar clenched between his teeth, his tailored three-piece suit perfectly pressed, looking every bit like the old money bastard he is.
Harvey’s been my closest friend for the past four years. We met on a yacht during one of the governor’s Christmas parties, and we hit it off immediately. Harvey’s the quintessential old-money billionaire. He owns a movie studio and changes girlfriends like clothes off the rack. Unsurprisingly, many of his girlfriends are half his age, making them around twenty-five.
We’re deep into a hand when Harvey grins at me, smoke curling lazily from his cigar. “How’s the acquisition going? Are you close to sealing the deal?”
I shake my head, the Caldwells crossing my mind. “No, man. They are proving to be difficult. I mean, it’s twenty billion dollars. You’d think they’d be jumping at the opportunity to sell off their company.”
“Family companies are always a bitch to buy.” Harvey palms his salt-and-pepper hair, and I notice his hair is thinning. Something I’d never mention to him.
I’ve been trying to buy Caldwell Media for the last few months. I need their streaming platform and theatre chain to distribute my studio’s upcoming debut movie and other movies we plan to release. The Caldwells are being difficult to negotiate with, and it’s taking years off my life.
“You know I can distribute the movie for you, right?” Harvey says, bringing up a conversation we already had. “I don’t know why you want your own media company. I have a studio. Let someone else handle the distribution of your movies.”
I shake my head, smiling. I don’t like to mix business with friendship. I’m shrewd, so I am where I am today.
“I’m going to end up buying it.” A waiter comes around, handing me a glass of whiskey. “They know it, and I know it too. They’re just trying to drive up the price, I think.”
“Those fucking Englishmen.” Harvey tsks. “They’re just as greedy as we are, but they hide it with posh accents. Oh, cheerio, fancy a cup of tea? ” he does a terrible British accent. “Pricks.”
Sometimes, I wonder how Harvey has successfully run his studio for years without any major scandal. Because the things he says sometimes are a bit much. Even for me.
“The Caldwells are coming to America soon,” I say. “So, we’ll have a meeting, and I’ll let you know how that goes.”
We stay silent for a while, playing our game, until he breaks the silence. “So, Silas, you’ll never guess who’s back in town.”
I raise a brow. “Who?”
“My daughter,” he says, tapping his cigar on the ashtray and shifting in his chair. “She’s been away for years, but I hope to introduce you two finally. If she’ll give me the time of day, that is.”
I lean back in my chair, caring more about my cards than what he’s saying. Harvey’s daughter has been this elusive figure for as long as I’ve known him. I’ve never even seen a picture of her. He always says he’ll introduce me to her. But she obviously can’t stand his guts because she never comes around.
“You say that all the time, man,” I say, flipping my cards over. “She hates your guts. Why’d you think she’s gonna like me?”
Harvey chuckles, taking a puff of his cigar. “Oh, she’ll like you, and you’d like her. Smart, independent, doesn’t take crap from anyone. Reminds me of you, actually.”
I snort, taking a sip of whiskey. “Sounds like a dream.”
“Maybe, one day, she’ll let me introduce you properly,” he says.
“Are you trying to set me up with your daughter?” I glance at him.
“What?” His face turns red. “That’s disgusting, man. She’s half your age, for God’s sake.”
“Your new girlfriend’s half my age, Harvey. Way to have some self-awareness.” I chuckle.
“But she’s not your daughter, is she?” He moves his chips, smoke curling from his mouth. “Prick,” he mutters, and I laugh.
Harvey’s fiercely protective of his estranged daughter, and I know it. So I yank his chain whenever I can. I don’t plan on getting together with my best friend’s kid. I’m a bastard, but not that kind of bastard.
Leah is still circling in my mind like a damn storm cloud. Her face, the way she looked at me when she walked into my office today . . . hell . The past is supposed to stay buried, isn’t it? But now I’m going to see her again tomorrow morning, and every part of me is dreading it. Then why the fuck did I offer her the job? Some kind of recompense for what I did to her?
Harvey slaps the table. “You gonna bet, or what?”
I glance at my hand and throw in my chips. “I’m in.”
But my mind? It’s far from poker. All I can think about is Leah, and how the hell I’m going to make it through work tomorrow without screwing everything up again.