Page 22 of Accidentally Hitched (Unintentionally Yours #1)

Amanda

“ M ove in together?”

I echo Callum's words because I’m not sure I heard him right.

One minute I am eating a baked frittata, which by the way is straight up orgasmic (I mean let’s be honest…

everything involving this man is orgasmic) and the next, ready to walk of shame out of here and the next, he is asking me to pack up and live with him.

Here. In his penthouse. Like a zillionaire.

“I know it seems hasty, but I think we are in a jam here.”

“Are you worried people are talking too much?” I ask, gripping my coffee mug in my palms half because it feels good and half because I need something to hang onto.

The room is suddenly spinning, and I am wondering if maybe I am still asleep and everything that just happened was a dream.

A sexy, grinding, throbbing wet as Niagara Falls dream.

“I’m worried they aren’t talking enough,” he says, and I am lost. My face must say it because Callum rounds the counter to sit on the stool next to me. Facing me. In fact, our knees are touching…again. Bad things always happen when our knees touch…

Callum goes on. “Here’s the thing, Amanda.

Everything I do is speculated. Not just because I work at the top of the music industry cranking the gears on some of the biggest tours in the world.

But also, because my father, Hiram Hardin, is one of the most well-known faces in the record company business.

And as his son, that limelight is shifting.

Especially with the decline of his health.

Unfortunately, being a twin complicates the transition of that. And Avery…is not exactly CEO material.”

That, I figured out on my own. I haven’t been with the company for even a month, and I can already see it.

Avery is reckless, careless, and from what I’ve noticed, self-centered and an attention hog.

Callum, on the other hand, is calculated, precise, articulate and actually cares about the music, not just the face of the brand.

“I know you’re the same age and you’re both his sons, but I don’t see why your father doesn’t just do the obvious and hand it to you. I mean Avery is a bit of a loose cannon. From what I can tell.”

“Oh, he is. Always has been. I don’t know. Maybe he wants us to work for it.”

“Maybe he wants you to work together for it,” I say.

But Callum shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “Avery and I have always butted heads. And that’s mostly because the old man has pitted us against each other our whole lives. I guess he just likes a good cock fight, you know?”

“Maybe…he’s nervous about dying and is hoping this will make the two of you–”

Callum cuts me off. “He’s made it obvious that he only wants one man in the chair.

And he wants a woman sitting next to that man.

A good woman. A steady woman. If you and I are really going to be convincing, not just to Dad but to everyone, it would only make sense that we settle down and live in the same house. ”

I look around the room. I can’t even imagine living in a place like this.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with it.

Everything is over the top luxurious. Not to mention, it’s decorated nicely as well.

There’s posters and art, mostly music related.

An entire wall of vinyl. There's even a guitar collection and a keyboard. It’s my Zillow dream.

And all this can be yours…and the tiny expense of giving up everything else…

“So, what about my things?” I ask.

“I’m not using even half of the walk-in. We’ll have movers come and you can fill the space. I also have room for more vinyl, your guitars…anything that makes it feel like a home for now.”

I smile at his generosity, but the man is not quite getting it. “What about my apartment? It isn’t just going to go away.”

“We can sell it. I have an on-staff realtor. That’s easy.”

I sit up on my stool. “I don’t want to sell it, Callum.

I know that all of this comes easy to you.

But I have worked very, very hard for what I have.

Sure, I don’t have marble floors or a view overlooking the city.

But my place is cozy, and I’ve made it my own.

It wasn’t easy to get, especially as a freelance songwriter. ”

Callum’s face softens and he places his hands on my knees.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I guess I was just trying to be logical and forgot that this world is still foreign to you.

We don’t have to sell it. We can keep paying the mortgage, move a few things in here.

But we do need to live together. It’s the only way anyone is going to buy our act. ”

Our act.

Right.

Because none of this is real.

As real as some of it is starting to feel.

After I leave, I head straight home to change.

Nothing says ‘I never went home last night’ like parading around the city in a ballgown at noon.

The first thing I want to do is shower. I can still feel him, still smell him on my body.

I don’t hate it to be honest but it’s hard to think straight when someone else's hormones are constantly reminding you about the best sex you’ve ever had.

God, he is…unreal. I am obviously not a virgin.

And I’ve been with a couple of nice guys.

Attractive guys. They were…okay…in bed. But nothing like Callum.

Callum knows his way around a woman’s body.

And he takes his time. He knows exactly how to get me off and honestly could probably do it in three minutes or less if he just went for the goal.

But he doesn’t. He plays the entire field before circling back to the net and then, full speed, plows through it, sinking the shot and sending me to the fucking moon.

As I lather up in the shower, I am struggling not to get horny again. But I don’t let myself. I need to focus on the real world. Real life. My job and the possibility of moving and what that’s going to look like.

I step out of the shower and dry off, applying lotion and doing my face routine nice and slow. I hate going to bed with makeup on but sometimes, it’s inevitable. Like when you’re getting railed within an inch of your life.

I slip into some jeans shorts and a tank top, fully intending to take the rest of the day slow.

It’s Saturday and while it was in the job description that I would need to be available on Saturdays, Callum told me to take the day off.

Apparently, we will be traveling to Nashville over a weekend soon.

This world just keeps spinning faster and faster and I need to find something to hang onto.

I plop down in a patio chair on my balcony and for the first time in twenty-four hours, I look at my phone.

Kate, as usual, is blowing me up (I haven’t told her anything).

Iris is asking how my night went (I’ve basically told her everything).

I am in the middle of typing out a text to Iris when I hear a knock at the door.

Outside is a man in coveralls, holding a clip board. Next to him is a stack of collapsed boxes. Moving boxes.

“What–” I start to ask.

“Amanda Ambrose?” he interrupts robotically.

“Yes. But–”

“Sign here.” The man shoves the clip board at me. I look down at it. Over at the boxes. Around the hallway.

“I’m not ready to move yet,” I shake my head.

For the first time, he looks at me. “We’re not scheduled to move you until…three days from now? We’re just delivering the boxes. Someone should be here in a few hours to help you with packing as well. This is just the paperwork side of it.”

He wants me to pack already?

This is all going a bit too fast, but I sign anyway. Obviously, I don’t have a choice. Then men take everything inside and walk back out and I am left with a stack of boxes and a spinning head.

No sooner do I press the heels of my hands to my eyes than I hear another knock on the door, followed by its opening.

I spin around in alarm and then my shoulders drop. “Kate. What are you–”

“Where have you been? I have been trying to get a hold of you for days!”

“I’ve been working.”

“Well, it’s Saturday! The 23rd!” She snaps, setting a bunch of bags down on my counter and looking around. She’s in a long, swishy, yellow dress and her hair and makeup are done to the nines. Meanwhile I look like I’m about to go to a yoga class.

“The twenty–oh shit. Your dress trying on party thing.”

“The fitting! Yes! Jesus, it’s like ever since you started this new job you live on some celebrity planet. Except,” her eyes trail over me. “You still look like you. That’s okay, we can fix that. I brought you an outfit.”

Kate grabs one of the bags and ushers me to my bathroom. “I do own clothes you know,” I tell her with little to no enthusiasm.

“Yeah but Jimmy Eat World shirts and ripped shorts don’t exactly scream bridal parlor. Less Wednesday Adams, you know?”

She smiles. I don’t. And she pulls a pink maxi-dress from the bag complete with ruffles around the bottom. “You’re joking, right?”

She just keeps smiling. She’s not joking. She’s also the bride and while she’s acted like she’s been training to be a bride her whole life, bossing me around way more than she should ever have been allowed to, I am too tired to fight her. I swipe the dress out of her hand and shimmy into it.

“Beautiful. God, I forgot how big your tits are. It’s fine though. Now, the hair. Where’s your flat iron?”

I pull it out from under the sink and my sister takes over.

“So, I was thinking seafoam green. Or maybe powder pink? Like a soft blush.”

“For…what?” I ask.

“The bridesmaid dresses. Jesus, Amanda. Have you forgotten your baby sister is getting married?”

I cover my face with my hands, and she pulls them away so she can touch up my makeup. “No. My life is just a little chaotic lately.”

“Clearly. What’s with the boxes? Did you finally find a cute apartment? Something more chic?”

I stare at her with zero expression. Actually, my look could kill but Kate has a hard time seeing without her rose colored glasses.