Southern Seduction (107 page)

“Give it time. Don’t rush anything. Let’s just get settled in, here and at work, and then we’ll go from there. Sound good?”

“Thanks, Bry. I couldn’t do this without you and Cori.”

“You won’t have to. Are you worried about seeing him, too, Cheyenne? Does he have anything to do with why you’re chugging JD before the sun even sets?”

One drunken night, a long time ago, I ended up spilling to Cori and Bryan all about Sawyer, our summer together, and my tattoo. They both knew that my reservations about taking the job at Wellsley had to do with him, even if I tried to pretend they didn’t. The thing is, I have no idea where he is or what he’s even doing. The summer we spent together ended up so messed up, and by the time I left, I had no idea what he was going to pursue. Supposedly, he wanted to finish his economics degree at Auburn University before joining the firm where his dad worked. The one his dad actually owned. Mother never mentions Sawyer in her correspondence, and somehow I’ve been able to avoid typing ‘Sawyer Callahan’ into my Facebook search engine, even though I’ve been tempted on many drunken nights. That would just lead to me friending him, messaging him, or doing something stupid that I’d regret when I sobered up the next day.

“Hey, what am I missing?” Cori exclaims when she walks into the kitchen. She rushes over and throws her arms around us, her eyes lighting up when she sees the amber liquid.

I watch as she searches the boxes until she finds one marked ‘barware.’ Grabbing a box cutter off the counter, she opens it and finds three shot glasses. She rinses them out and then fills them to the brim with whiskey. Prompting us to each take one, she raises hers and we follow suit.

“To new beginnings in Hotlanta!” she says, causing me to giggle. Clinking our glasses, we all down our shots, and in that moment, I actually believe that everything is going to be fine.

After taking a week to settle into the apartment and explore Five Points, Bryan and I are finally on our way to the first day of work. When we get to Wellsley, we’re directed to security to get badges made and then sent to HR, where we join a group of about ten other new hires. We’re taken on a tour of the building, and I’m hoping there’s a map, because this place is huge. After being corralled around like a bunch of cattle, we’re finally led to a small auditorium, which seems a little excessive since there are only a handful of us. Bryan and I take seats in the middle, hoping to blend in, just like we did at Berkeley.

We settle in and listen to various department heads give briefings over things like benefits, company values, ethics—all that standard crap companies like to train their new employees on. I’m anxious for this to be over with so I can meet my new boss. I don’t actually know who I’m going to be working with. The human resources representative who hired me simply said I was being placed in a production analyst position, and I’m hoping that means I get to do product analysis to determine the best marketing options.

After hours of death by PowerPoint, we’re about to be released for lunch, and I let out a sigh of relief. It’s getting hot as hell in this room, and the last thing I want is to be sweating profusely on my first day. Before we’re dismissed, the side door opens and Mrs. Richardson, the human resources VP, holds her hand up to us as she confers with the person on the other side of the door. Nodding, she turns back to us and places a smile on her face.

“My apologies, but before we break for lunch, the head of our production department would like to say a few words.”

I’m already distracted, doodling on my notebook when I hear a girl behind me let out a low whistle.

“Damn. If I’d known the boss looked like that, I’d have been begging to be on the production staff,” she says, piquing my interest.

Looking up, my heart stops when I see him. Sawyer Callahan, the boy who led to my broken heart, the one I’ve tried to forget for so long, the one I never thought I’d see again, is not only in Atlanta, but he’s here. In the building. And apparently the head of the department I’m supposed to work in. Hell’s Bells.

The twenty-year-old boy I last saw is gone, and a man, a gorgeous man, with dark brown hair and what I know are beautiful green eyes stands less than thirty feet from me. Sliding down a little in my seat as his eyes rake over the room, I pray to God he doesn’t see me. It’s no use. His gaze falls when he spots me, and he almost does a double take before he regains his composure. He continues to look around the room and I take a moment to study him. Back then, he was lean, but by the end of the summer, he’d filled out pretty nicely from all the work he had done on his uncle’s farm. Luke Bryan wasn’t lyin’ when he said you can’t get muscles like that but anywhere on a farm. Either he’s kept working out or he still goes to visit his Uncle Wyatt. Probably both.

He launches into a short history about the company, surprising me when he calls it Wellsley and Callahan. How in the hell did I miss that on the paperwork? Does Thomas own part of the company? The wheels are turning in my head, and I realize that it makes sense. Didn’t Mother mention that Thomas was merging with another company so he could start to hand over the reins a little bit more? My mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, and I don’t realize that we’re breaking for lunch until Bryan shakes my shoulder. Coming out of it, I look around, noticing that the room is half empty.

“Come on, daydreamer. Let’s go grab something to eat. I swear the girl in the row in front of us kept checking me out, and I want to see if I can introduce myself.”

“You’re such a horny bastard. The last thing you need is to start an office romance,” I warn him, and he simply grins at me.

“Yeah, well, I hope you can stick with that. The last speaker couldn’t take his eyes off you, and don’t even act like you weren’t checking him out when he wasn’t looking.”

I can feel the blush creep up on my face, and I’m glad Bryan hasn’t put two and two together. I’m pretty sure he knows Sawyer’s name, but it probably didn’t register when he introduced himself to the group. We get up to leave, and I keep my head down, not wanting to see him. Relief washes over me when we make it out of the auditorium, and we’re almost out of the building when I hear my name being called.

“Cheyenne!” I hear Sawyer say loudly, trying to get my attention.

I stop in my tracks, and I can’t help but turn around to look at him. His eyes light up when mine meet his, and he gives me a small half smile, that dimple deepening on his left cheek. I want to study him, to move in closer to see how much of the boy I knew is left. Instead, I break our gaze and grab Bryan’s hand, quickly pulling him through the revolving doors that leads outside. At the last second, I turn to see Sawyer staring after me, and he looks…crestfallen. Like he just learned he had the winning lotto ticket and his asshole friends started laughing, telling him it was just a prank. His eyes widen when he sees our hands linked, and I can probably guess what he’s thinking. Tearing my eyes away, I walk quickly down the street, practically holding my breath until we’re finally sitting in a booth at a deli down the street ordering sandwiches.

“Cheyenne, how’d that guy back there know you?” Bryan asks as I let out a deep breath. It’s times like these that I’m so thankful I have him, a guy best friend.

“Did you not hear his introduction, Bry?” I ask wryly, wondering how in the hell I’m going to deal with this mess. I knew it was possible to see Sawyer in Atlanta, but to be honest, I’ve been telling myself that it’s a big city and the likelihood of running into him would be minimal. Fate must’ve been laughing at me every time I had that thought.

“Yeah, he said his name was Sawyer Calla—oh fuck, are you serious?” he asks, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Serious as a redneck bettin’ on a tractor pull,” I drawl, knowing how much he loves my Southern accent, trying to make light of the situation.

“So you’re telling me the head of the production department, the production department that you’re about to start working for, is…?” he trails off, shaking his head incredulously.

“Sawyer Callahan. First love. Taker of my virtue. Breaker of my heart. And last but not least, my stepbrother.”

June 2008

“Happy birthday, Birdie,” my daddy tells me, and I smile at him as he wraps me up in his warm embrace.

I can feel his arms around me, holding me tight when the world suddenly shifts. We’re no longer in the park watching the birds. I’m clinging to his uniform, crying for him not to go. He pulls out of my grasp and starts to walk away, but he turns back to me before he fades away.

“Always watch for the swallows, Birdie. When they’re with you, know that I’m there, too,” he says softly as the slow, creeping fog envelopes him, taking him completely from my sight. I’m running towards him, but no matter how far I go, I can’t quite reach the fog, can’t reach Daddy.

Falling to my knees, I’m back in the park, alone, distraught, tears rolling down my face. Lying down in the grass, I curl up into the fetal position and cry. For my daddy, my mama, my life. I don’t know who I’m crying for anymore, but the tears keep coming until darkness envelopes me.

“Hey, you can’t sleep here,” I hear a far-off voice saying to me as I feel a large hand on my shoulder, shaking me. Slowly, I come out of what must’ve been a dream, and when I sit up, I look around, half expecting to see Daddy there.

When I come to my senses, my heart falls, realizing that it was just a dream. This is the tenth birthday I’ve spent without my dad, and it’s not gotten any easier. The first couple of years, Mama tried to make a big deal about it, but eventually the booze and the men took precedent, so it’s not surprising that I’m spending my eighteenth birthday snoozing at the watering hole on Wyatt Worthington’s land.

Sitting up, I have to place my forearm over my eyes to shade the sun. When I rode my bike out here this morning, the sun was barely rising, but now it’s halfway up the sky, indicating that it’s around noon or so. I look to the human alarm clock and my heart stops when I meet his eyes. They’re green, a bright green, with golden brown flecks speckled throughout the irises. I can’t help but be drawn to them, and when he holds a hand out, I don’t hesitate to place mine in his, allowing him to pull me up right before he drops our hands.

He’s much taller than me, and he’s lean, almost like a swimmer. I realize I’m staring, and immediately go to smooth out my hair, to wipe my eyes, only imagining how I look post sleep. Raising his eyebrows at me, he gestures towards my towel and my bike.

“You’re trespassin’,” he says, with just a slight Southern drawl, deep and refined, letting me know he’s not from around these parts.

“’Scuse me? I come here almost every mornin’. I’ve never been a trespasser,” I retort as I place my hands on my hips, wondering who in the hell this guy thinks he is.

He raises an eyebrow at me like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “Who owns this property?” he challenges.

Setting my chin, I glare at him. “Wyatt Worthington owns this land, and he’s been letting me come here since I was twelve years old. Who the hell are you?”

He chuckles, shaking his head at me, and I can’t help but notice the dimples that form in his cheeks when he smiles. Okay, although he’s my annoying interrogator, he’s flippin’ hot, and I find myself wanting to know more about him.

Surprisingly, he holds out his hand for an introductory shake. “Sawyer Callahan. Wyatt’s my uncle. On my mama’s side. I’m here for the summer to help him out with the farm.”

“I’m Cheyenne. Cheyenne Hamilton. Nice to meet ya. Wyatt’s nephew, huh? I didn’t know he had family,” I tell him, and it’s true. In all the years I’ve known Wyatt, I’ve never seen family visit him, other than the one nephew he has working for him. I think that’s why we were drawn together. Kindred spirits and what not. He always saw how Mama flitted around Georgia and the surrounding states, trying to nail the next wealthy husband, and I saw a man with no family who just needed someone to care about. We’re two peas in a pod, no matter the thirty-year age difference.

“It’s a long story, and I don’t want to get into it, but I don’t know him very well. I guess I’ll get to know him just fine this summer,” Sawyer says, kicking a rock. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing just past me. When I turn around, I see my sketchpad opened up to a pencil drawing of a swallow.