Kiss the Sky (Calloway Sisters #1)(46)

What would that be? Cobalt Inc. is my birthright. And the only aspiration I ever had was to get an MBA from Wharton. Is my dream not necessary?

So that leaves Rose and the reality show. They’re intertwined. To have one, I must have the other. Rose’s necessity may be called into question. One doesn’t need a partner to live. To succeed. But Rose is not something I’m ever willing to let go. Necessary or not. She’s mine.

“My life is filled with essentials,” I tell Frederick.

There’s a long, strained silence that pulls over the phone. I wait it out.

When Frederick finally speaks, he sounds a little defeated but otherwise as calm as me. “I’ll order the Adderall, but the prescription won’t be filled until tomorrow. Can you text or call when you make it back to Philly?” He must be picturing that four-car pile-up.

“Of course.”

“Okay, great.” He doesn’t sound enthused.

After a few more words, we hang up. And I assess my level of consciousness. Steady hands. Clear vision. Full attention.

I’m finally awake.





*



By the time I climb the brick stairs of the townhouse, the promo has already aired. So I prepare myself for what I may find. The worst case scenario: Scott has seduced Rose somehow—his arm wrapped around her while she’s in a vulnerable state.

My adrenaline is already spiked from the decongestant cocktail. Add in this unnatural fear—and my hand shakes before I turn the knob.

As soon as I open the door, my fear disintegrates into self-assurance. Scott and Rose aren’t tangled on the couch together. She’s not crying in his arms.

The living room is in an uproar. A chair is flipped over. Pillows have been thrown and scattered all along the hardwood. Rose has her heels in her hands, and she swats them at Scott like they’re swords. But she’s being restrained by both Daisy and Lily, who grip her waist, tugging her back.

I hate questioning my resolve to overcome bad odds, and I’m glad to have it back one-hundred fucking percent.

I shut the door behind me, but no one hears my entrance. Lo is too busy spewing sharp insults that bleed my ears. Rose is violently cursing, layering on expletives like cocksucker, son of a bitch, womanizer, dick, bastard, dipshit. I hear castrate five or six times.

Scott has his hands defensively in the air, his back literally up against the wall furthest from the television. But he wears the biggest self-satisfied grin.

This is drama he created.

The cameras dance around the living room. Around Ryke who clenches and unclenches his fist, one hand protectively on his brother’s shoulder. Then around my girlfriend who has completely lost her shit.

Everyone is screaming over each other.

I calmly walk straight ahead, towards the chaos. Rose slips out of her sisters’ clutch, and she takes the opportunity to lunge at Scott, her heels barred. I slide into the space between them, and the sharp point of her heel digs into my chest.

My jaw muscles spasm, the only sign that it fucking hurt.

Her eyes widen in horror, and she drops her four-inch heels immediately, the shoes clattering to the floor. And then, just as quickly, her gaze becomes hot and ill-tempered. She points an accusatory finger at Scott. “He’s a—”

“Douchebag? A pig? A fucktwat?”

She places her hands on her hips, fuming. I rub her arm, and she begins to calm. But hate is still present in her eyes.

My gaze flits between each of my friends. Their bodies begin to relax when I look at them individually, the tension in their muscles slowly loosening. Lo actually shuts his mouth, and Ryke unknowingly releases his fist.

People believe I have some sort of magic hold over others. That I can cause crowds to part without asking. All I have to do is stand at the edge of a mass and they’ll slowly, effortlessly make a path for me. I can calm the most restless soul if I choose to, and it’s not because I’m gifted with some inane supernatural ability.

My power is in my confidence.

It’s that simple.

Their belief that it’s something more—that it’s something greater—is what makes the effect so strong. They need me to be their sturdy unbending fortress.

So here I am.

“Let me watch the commercial,” I say. And then we can decide whether Scott deserves a heel to the fucking face.

I pick up Rose’s shoes while Lily retrieves the remote. Rose reaches out for them, her nose scrunching at the hardwood that’s most likely clean. But to Rose—it’s not clean enough.

There’s such malice in her features. I envision her impaling him in the eye. As much as I hate Scott—I don’t want her to blind him. So I retract my arm, keeping the heels in a firm hand. “I changed my mind.”

She gapes. “Give those back, Richard!” She doesn’t want to walk barefoot around the townhouse. Fine. I lift her easily in my arms, cradling her body, and she inhales sharply. But instead of arguing with me, she holds onto my bicep. My eyes fall to her breasts that rise with her heavy breath, and I internally smile.

I have the girl.

In my arms. Dizzy at my touch. I could have walked into something so much worse.

I carry her to the couch and set her down long-ways. She tucks her legs to the side, her dress rising to her thighs, despite her efforts to keep the hem to her knees. When I should be focused on the television, I ache to see all of her again. The curve of her waist, her erect pink nipples, her bare ass and her mouth wide and full of my cock.