2. Callie
two
Callie
I step off the elevator, and I can smell the devil before I can see her.
My manager. Silla Treymonde. The wolf in designer sheep’s clothing.
With a deep breath in and shoulders back, I paste on a bright smile before walking into the reception area, where I know she’s waiting for me. My steps freeze at the sight of her.
Barf . Why is she lying on the couch like she’s at home?
There she is, sprawled across the sleek white couch in the reception area, phone in her hand, in a pose she no doubt thinks is sexy. She looks as desperate for attention as ever.
I take a few more steps in the waiting area, and Silla’s head snaps up at the click of my heels on the concrete floors. If her unnaturally botoxed face could move, her forehead would wrinkle as her shrewd eyes take in my outfit. My non-sanctioned outfit. In a blink, her face transforms from angry to sickly sweet. She leaps off the couch and rushes towards me with her arms wide.
“Darling,” Silla croons.
I fight a shiver as her nasal voice grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
“Silla,” I murmur, pushing her away, but she wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in for those “half hug, half air kiss” things she thinks are so European and chic.
She uses the friendly rouse to hiss in my ear, “We agreed you would wear the blue dress.”
“Sorry. Ran out of time to change before the meeting. I didn’t want to be late,” I lie.
I deliberately ignored the outfit she had laid out for me. When I left for my monthly visit to Malibu this morning, I dressed for both meetings. I knew damn well that I would never make it back in time to change outfits for my appointment with the Blaze representatives.
Wearing a twelve-thousand-dollar designer dress that is way too short and revealing for a meeting with new management is not how I want to present myself. It’s bad enough that the town thinks I’m a spoiled little diva with outrageous demands. I’ve heard the rumors.
If only everyone knew the truth.
Besides, the wide-legged lavender jumpsuit with cap sleeves I chose is sweet and fun. It’s cut perfectly and hits my waist just right, accentuating my newfound curves in a sleek and sophisticated way.
I might pay for my little act of defiance later, but it had to be done. I need these people to see me as the woman I’ve become, not Callie Wright, the teen sensation and brand.
“Don’t do it again. Or are you forgetting who’s in charge?” With a wicked smile, Silla leans back, gripping my forearms with her fake, pointy talons, which pierce my skin and almost draw blood.
A throat clears behind us, and Silla drops her hold. She throws her head back with a laugh—her phony attempt to act like we are in the middle of some funny conversation. Her fabricated, sweet facade is all for show. She’s rotten to the core.
The feeling of being watched has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I step back, putting space between me and Silla, and search for the source of my unease. I fight a shudder as the feeling of being watched overwhelms me and glance around the room one more time .
Aside from the impeccably dressed man holding a manilla folder, there’s no one around and nothing stands out as I take in the simple reception area for the first time. It’s a giant glass bowl. Distressed wood, iron, and glass give the inside of the building an industrial feel. The white couches and the few pops of indigo around the room make the space feel modern.
The sight of the purple shade has a smile pulling at my lips.
A sign.
I knew taking the meeting with Hudson Campbell and his partner, Eli Miller, was a smart move. They’ve been making a name for themselves in both the music and movie industry.
I looked into them myself, and while I think they could probably be movie stars themselves—because they are that good-looking—the word on the street is they are decent guys. Multiple sources I’ve discreetly chatted with have told me the two really care about their clients and are very hands on. I’ve also heard they are sharks when negotiating contracts. That’s what I need: sharks.
“Ms. Wright?” My head snaps toward the raspy voice. The man who witnessed Silla’s little slip stares are me with concern. He’s dressed in a sleek, stone-gray suit and a matching tie, with shiny black shoes and blond hair coiffed to perfection. He’s average height, but damn, he’s hot.
“That’s me.” I give him a little wave.
Did I seriously just wave at him like an idiot? Of course, he knows who I am. Everyone in America knows who I am.
The man’s face softens, and his soft-pink lips twitch as he fights a smile. His kind blue eyes sparkle as he says, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Desmond, but you can call me Dez. I’m Mr. Miller’s assistant and a huge fan. He and Mr. Campbell are ready for you. If you will, please follow me.”
“Yea—” My palms are suddenly sweaty, my nerves jittery. I clear my throat, trying to find my voice. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Please, lead the way.”
Desmond nods, ignoring Silla, and gestures for us to follow him.
I run my free hand over my jumpsuit and clutch my notebook tighter. I can do this.
“Desmond, darling,” Silla sneers with a sickly sweet voice. My manager doesn’t take well to being ignored. She likes to be the center of attention. “I’m Silla, Callie’s manager. I’m the one in charge. Remember that.”
What the hell?
Something is off with Silla today. She never drops her “doting manager” pretense in public. I have a feeling that showing the chink in her armor in front of this assistant will not work for her. While I love the prospect of people seeing the real Silla, now isn’t the right time. I need to keep her calm.
She grips my upper arm tight and tugs me to follow Desmond, who leads us through the glass maze towards the awaiting conference room. She lets Mr. Miller’s assistant get a few steps ahead before leaning in and hissing in my ear again. “Keep your mouth shut. I will do all the talking. Just sit there and do as you’re told. Do you hear me?”
She doesn’t whisper low enough, and I can tell Desmond heard every word. His back is stiff, and his steps slow. In my shocked state, my foot catches on the carpet. Silla releases my arm with a shove, aiding my inevitable fall.
In slow motion, I watch as the ground gets closer. I slam my eyes shut, ready for the hit, when out of nowhere, a gentle arm wraps around my waist and stops me from falling. A large, warm hand slides to my hip and steadies me.
When I look up, my lungs seize and the air catches in my throat as I stare into the most unique eyes I’ve ever seen.
Eli Miller.
I’ve seen pictures of him on the internet to prepare for today, and I knew he was good-looking, but pictures do not do him justice. He looks like the living embodiment of Michelangelo’s David.
Perfect. Sculpted. Hard.
Eli is tall and towers over my five-foot-seven frame by at least six inches. He has dark-brown hair that’s long on top—styled to the side and back—and fades from the side down to his impeccably clean five-o’clock shadow. Square jaw, straight nose. But it’s his eyes that do me in.
His mismatching gaze is captivating, simultaneously reminding me of the California coast and the lush forest of the Pacific Northwest. Both comforting and wildly exciting. I could stare at them for ages, trying to identify the various shades of green, gold, blue, and brown that swirl in his irises.
His pupils dilate, and my eyes dip to his mouth as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. The sight of his pillowy-pink lips has me wondering how soft they’d feel pressed against mine.
A soft gasp escapes me as heat radiates from where his fingers dig into my hip throughout the rest of my body and settles my chest. A hidden spark I never knew existed ignites and becomes a raging inferno inside me, ready to explode.
Blood roars in my ears, and my cheeks flame as an unfamiliar—yet rather pleasant—warmth settles heavily between my thighs, sparking an innate need for something more.
Well, that’s new.
The skin between his eyebrows pinches, and he drops his hand from my waist as if burned by the fire roaring inside me, breaking whatever weird connection we had.
Eli glares down at me, his narrowed eyes swimming with a range of emotions, but fury takes the lead as his pupils grow wide and his nostrils flare. For some strange reason, my throat swells and tears sting the back of my eyes at the anger directed my way.
Don’t break.
I hold my head high, staring back at him until Silla grabs my arm and yanks me behind her, sliding between us. I wince in pain at the puncture wounds her nails inflict as Silla turns her talons on Eli and slides them down his suit-covered arm.
She drops her voice as seductively low as she can. “Eli Miller, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My sincerest apologies for my client’s behavior. The child is a klutz,” she says, dismissing me.
Child? What the hell? I am twenty-freaking-two.
I wouldn’t have fallen if the she-devil hadn’t put her damn hands on me. My blood boils for a new reason as I stare lasers into the back of Silla’s head.
Without so much as a word, Eli removes his arm from Silla’s grip and walks past her into the conference room. His assistant looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it and follows his boss into the room.
Silla turns to me. “Remember what I said. I’m in charge, or you can kiss your little trips to Malibu goodbye.” She pushes her tits up, flicks her hair over her shoulder like she’s getting ready to meet a date, and walks into the room ahead of me, her hips swaying like the snake she is within.
I watch through the glass as Silla leans in and air-kisses Hudson Campbell, all fake laughs and smiles. I want to throw up, but I need her oblivious to my need to get these guys to sign me. If what everyone says is true, they are the right people for the job and getting me closer to my goal: get rid of Silla.
Of their own accord, my eyes search for him . He’s seated at the reclaimed wood and iron conference table, in a black leather chair, looking like a boss.
A hot, angry boss.
I internally roll my eyes at myself. The man is hot, but I can’t go there. I force myself to recall the way he glared at me, dousing the flames that he’d brought to life inside me.
As if he can feel me staring, Eli turns his wild and aggravated gaze to me.
What the hell is wrong with this man?
Never have I met such hostility without even speaking a word. Sure, I let Silla dictate my life, but I have my reasons. Reasons no one knows about and never will. For protection, it has to stay that way.
But this man? A man I don’t know and who doesn’t know a thing about who I really am will not push me around. No matter how hot he is or what he can do for my career.
I stare back at him, unable to break the connection, and step through the conference room door with poise. He tilts his head to the side. I mimic his movement. The colorful depths of his contrasting eyes glow as an invisible cord begins to coil and wind around my ribs, drawing me closer to the vexed man I’ve found myself entranced by.
“Callie, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hudson says, stepping in front of me and breaking the strange spell his colleague has on me. He holds out his hand for me to shake.
“You as well, Mr. Campbell.” I place my hand in his, and I can’t help myself from grinning at Hudson.
There’s something about him that feels trustworthy and puts me at ease. He’s a few inches shorter than Eli and just as handsome, with sandy-brown hair and a kind smile. He looks an awful lot like Glenn Powell, but when I gaze into his kind, green eyes, my insides don’t light up like the night sky on the Fourth of July.
“Please, call me Hudson.” With his thumb, he gestures over his shoulder and steps aside, revealing his grumpy business partner. “This is Eli.”
“Ladies.” One word, and all the hairs on my arm stand on end at the rough and gritty sound of Eli’s voice, sending shivers down my spine. “Shall we get started?”
“Yes, let’s.” Hudson claps his hands and pulls out a chair for me, revealing an annoyed-looking Eli, who is watching me with shrewd eyes as he grips the pen in his hand so tightly his knuckles turn white.
Ignoring the grouch across the table, I take the seat, placing my journal in front of me. Hudson repeats the process for Silla, who takes the chair beside me.
“We’re excited to meet with you, and discuss the prospect of working together, and our vision for your career going forward,” Hudson says.
Because I have an established career that’s growing faster than Silla can manage on her own, I’m fortunate to be in a position where agencies are pitching to me. Few do. There are thousands of talented people in the world who would sign a contract in a heartbeat.
Hudson walks around the room to sit beside Eli as Desmond places glass-bottled water in front of me and my manager. I glance at the perfectly fine, filled pitcher in the center of the table before glowering in disgust at the ten-dollar bottle.
“We’ll see,” Silla cuts in, always reminding me of her dark presence.
Ignoring her—and the water—I nod at Hudson to continue. “I like the sound of that.”
Hudson slides me and Silla each a bound copy of the mapped-out career trajectory they have worked up on my behalf, and a copy of the contract. He talks about Blaze Talent Agency, their mission, how they work with their clients, and what kind of representation they offer.
Eli remains quiet during Hudson’s pitch, brooding in his seat. Every so often, I can feel his eyes on me. I force myself to keep my focus on Hudson, but I can’t ignore Eli’s presence or the way my body heats under his gaze.
At the end of the presentation, Silla is practically foaming at the mouth as she adds up all the dollar signs.
I grab the pen, and my heart beats in my chest, threatening to claw its way out. My dad’s gentle face pops into my head, reminding me of why I must do this. If only he were here. He’d be able to protect me, ensure I wasn’t about to be used by someone I’m supposed to trust.
“Before we get to signing, why don’t you tell us what you expect from working with us?” Eli cuts in.
For you to help me escape this living nightmare.
My eyes cut to Eli’s wild ones as he steeples his index fingers by his bottom lip, his elbows resting on the table. He looks regal in his black leather chair as he stares at me, awaiting my answer.
Under the table, Silla grips my thigh with her claws—a silent signal to keep my mouth shut. She leans forward, purposefully putting her cleavage on display. “To make money, of course.”
I fight the bile rising in my throat as she throws her head back and laughs, but I keep my eyes on Eli. On the untamed ocean and uncharted forest looking back at me. The color swirling in the depths of his irises changes as Eli quirks a brow.
Hudson chokes back a cough, and the room falls silent. A second later, Silla realizes she missed her mark with these two.
“I’m kidding, of course,” she tries to recover. She grits her teeth and produces a fake smile. “Callie has the voice of an angel that needs to be shared. She wants to be a singing sensation. A global singing sensation.”
No, I don’t. I sing to survive. For now.
“Calliope.” Eli says my name, and it’s like a balm to my racing heart. How does he know my real name? Nobody has called me Calliope in eight years. “What do you want?”
What do I want?
A simple yet loaded question. Unshed tears prickle my nose, but I don’t let on. It’s been so long since anyone has asked me that question. Unfortunately, I can’t answer that question because what I want isn’t possible … yet.
I go with an answer as close to the truth as I can get without tipping off my manager. “I want the right people around to help guide me towards my goals. People I can trust. People who know the business, and are intuitive and loyal.”
Loyal. I frame the end of my sentence almost like a question, hoping he catches on. I need people to be loyal to me, unlike Silla.
He sits there silently for what feels like minutes when it’s only been seconds, making me feel raw, exposed, and under the microscope of his scrutiny. His expression gives nothing away. I can’t tell if my answer was to his liking. I bristle at that thought.
Why the hell do I care if he approves? I don’t. That’s not why I’m here. And yet … I have this unfamiliar need to seek his validation.
“I see.” Eli’s left eye—the one that’s half brown and blue like the ocean—turns dark as we lock gazes.
I implore him to see what I cannot say. A small part of me thinks he saw through my pretense. Until he speaks.
“Got it. Fame and fortune,” he grunts. I can hear the disdain in the timbre of his voice. He didn’t see a damn thing. Or worse yet, he just doesn’t care. Maybe coming here was a mistake. “Cookie cutter, like the rest.”
Cookie cutter? What the hell?
Coming here was definitely a mistake. The man sitting across from me has no clue what I have gone through. Who is he to judge me?
I might not have chosen this career path, but I still want to be me. Silla has yet to let me break from the teen pop scene. I was hoping these two would see that and help me develop as a songwriter, not just a performer. I’m tired of the bleach-blonde hair, the designer clothes, and the meaningless songs I have been forced to sing, written by men older than my father who know nothing about women.
Anger burns in my stomach at Mr. Miller’s audacity.
“I didn’t say that.” My voice is steady, no hints given of the raging roller coaster of fire that zips through my veins, burning my insides.
“You didn’t have to, princess ,” he sneers, planting his large hands on the table.
“Don’t call me that,” I seethe.
He stands in what feels like a power move.
I shoot to my feet, the chair flying out behind me. “I don’t think Blaze is the right place,” I grit through my teeth.
“Wait!” Hudson puts a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Eli.”
Eli breaks eye contact with me and faces Hudson. They engage in a silent argument.
All eyes turn to Silla as she slams a fist on the table, then taps her nails. “Sit down, Callie.”
I don’t. Instead, I stay standing—another act of defiance I will pay for later, but I couldn’t give one damn about the consequences. Something in me is telling me to stay where I’m at and not move an inch. Not to bend the knee for Silla in front of Eli.
“Please, Callie. Don’t go. You came to the right place. We can help you,” Hudson pleads. Something about the softness in his green eyes roots me to the ground.
I glance at Eli. The hostility and displeasure that have plagued his face since I met him are gone, replaced by what I can only assume is intrigue. Respect? I can’t tell.
That’s right. I’m not the pushover I pretend to be. I have an agenda of my own. “Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll stay?” Hudson asks.
I pull my shoulders back and tilt my chin up. Eli’s gaze meets mine in a silent standoff. His lip quirks, and I swear the smile he’s fighting fits his face better than the rude, combative glower the man has had directed my way for the past hour.
My blood boils for an entirely different reason. The spot he touched on my hip prickles, and the air in the room shifts and comes to life with energy.
The invisible string that runs from my gut to my brain tugs. This is the right move. Leap.
“Okay, I’ll sign.”
“That’s fantastic. You won’t regret it.” Hudson pulls out the contract. “You’re more than welcome to have your lawyer look over the paperwork.”
“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.” Silla reaches for the contract, but I snatch it from her claws. I refuse to let her “lawyer” put his grimy hands on this. I’ll take my chances with these two before I’d ever let that snake look at this contract.
I flip to the last tab and sign my name.
Calliope Astra Wright.
I slam the pen down. Hudson reaches across the table to shake my hand for the second time today. “I promise this is going to be a success. Anything you need, you let us know. Right, Eli?” He nudges Eli with his shoulder.
“Yes. Welcome to Blaze,” Eli muses, his voice low and thick with an emotion I can’t quite decipher. He holds out his hand.
My heart thunders as I place my small one in his. A flash of heat licks my skin as our palms connect. The fire travels up my arm and invades my chest before spreading to my core. Our eyes collide, and my breath hitches as his fingers squeeze my hand.
What the hell was that?
Before I can define the exchange, it’s over. Eli releases his hold, taking his warmth with him, leaving me bereft as the strange feeling lingers in my hollow chest. His mask of indifference is back in place, like the fiery exchange of energy between us never happened. Like the attraction I felt was one-sided.
It’s for the best. I’m his client. Nothing more.
Then why does the idea of ignoring what just happened make my heart twinge and break?
My palm still prickles as if burned when I grab my journal and clutch it to my chest. The urge to write is strong. I need to get out of here.
“Nice doing business with you, Elijiah.” I emphasize his full name, letting the lush taste of it linger on my tongue.
His eyes widen, and I know I’ve hit the mark.
Yeah, I know your name too.
Without overthinking or looking back, I strut out the door and head for the elevator.
Silla catches up with me quickly, her nostrils flaring. She pushes the button, calling the cart. “I don’t know what you were thinking signing without my permission.”
“You wanted me to sign. The terms were fair. Decision made.” I step into the elevator and push the basement button, knowing Silla has a car waiting there. She follows, and her robust perfume sucks the air out of the elevator as it slowly descends.
Silla and I ride in silence all the way to our adjoining penthouse apartments in Beverly Hills as I go over every detail of our meeting. Or should I say every detail of Elijiah Miller? The sexy-as-hell dickhead talent agent I just signed up to work with.
I can’t shake the memory of him touching me. The heat that spread through my body like hellfire, settling low between my legs.
“Callie?” Silla’s nasal voice catches me off guard as I turn the key, unlocking my apartment door.
“Yeah?” I turn to find her red-faced and angry.
Her fake gel-infused lips purse as she wags her finger at me. “Don’t even think about fucking him. He’s mine.”
“What are you talking about?” I shake my head at her. I’m so tired of her manic behavior. It’s only gotten worse in the last year. I just need to bide my time. Three more years.
“Eli. I saw the way you looked at him.” I pray she can’t hear the thump of my heart at hearing his name. “He’s not for you. So stay the fuck away from him, or else...”
The hairs on my arm stand on end at her warning. It’s not the first time she’s threatened me, but sometimes I catch a malevolent flicker in her eye that scares me. My gut warns me to be careful. Maybe I should be more worried about her than I already am.
Silla turns and enters her apartment, slamming the door behind her. The sound makes me jump and forces me to rush into my home. Back against the door, I slide down, landing on my butt.
Unable to hold in the plethora of emotions from today any longer, I let the tears fall. My fingers find my pen as the words flow through me and onto the paper.
Lost, lonely Hidden from the world Your eyes are blank as they peer into mine The fire they once held and glowed bright Has burned out
Soon, my mind drifts from my last Malibu visit to a set of eyes that bring forth visions of a teal ocean flowing over the rich greens of the forest floor. Of a warmth that awakens me from my cold and lonely existence.
To him.
My heart skips a beat inside, but I know you’ll never be mine. Wild eyes watch me from under cover. My secret lover. Your pride will be our divide, but you’ll keep me in your sightline. Mismatching eyes catch mine like a hunter. My heart slayer. My body calls for you, aching, please put me out of my misery.