Page 40 of Accidentally Hitched (Unintentionally Yours #1)

Callum

“ M r. Hardin. You’re here early.” Alanis, the receptionist at the front desk of Hardin Records offers me a surprised smile.

“Yes, I know. And I need your help with something.” I brace the counter in my palms and lean forward a little, just enough to enclose our conversation.

“Of course, Mr. Hardin. What can I do for you?”

“Where is the nearest florist?”

“I’m sorry?” Alanis blinks and I glance around before leaning in even closer.

“I need a florist. Someone who can deliver twelve…make it twenty-four…roses in the next hour,” I whisper.

And I know I must sound crazy. But you know what they say about desperate times.

I don’t think I’ve ever been desperate a day in my life.

But I am going on two weeks now of silent treatment from Amanda and I want her to be able to talk to me. I need her to talk to me.

“Le Petal is about two miles from here and I believe we can do a rush order if we place it in the next ten minutes.”

“Perfect,” I stand up straight.

“Color?” she asks.

“Color of what?”

“The roses, Mr. Hardin.”

I hadn’t thought about color. I guess I assumed they’d be red. But red roses, now that I think about it, are very traditional. Very standard. Very…cliche. And I certainly don’t want that.

“What color do you think they should be?” I ask.

A small, amused smile flickers in the corners of Alanis’ lips. If it weren’t for the fact she has been a long time, much valued employee, I’d meet that snigger with a scowl.

“I suppose that all depends,” she whispers.

“Depends on what?”

The smile broadens ever so slightly. “On who they’re for. And what it is you’re trying to say.”

As it turns out, every color of rose has a different meaning.

A different thing they are trying to say.

Red is obviously love. A stout love. Lavender, on the other hand, is a growing love.

A love at first sight. Coral is desire. Peach is gratitude.

Pink is appreciation. Yellow is joy and friendship.

The list goes on…and on…and on. More than 10 minutes, that’s for sure.

So, seeing as how I obviously didn’t think this through and now find myself overthinking it, I go with the obvious answer considering how complicated my relationship with Amanda is. I order one of every color they have.

Every color for every sentiment.

All my cards on the table.

Not to mention, all my cash on the table.

“Roses are fucking expensive,” I say as soon as they arrive.

Alanis smiles again, her eyes wide at the bundle in my hand. “There’s a reason they’re the most popular.”

Indeed.

I glance at my watch and hurry my way up to the recording room. I place the flowers on her desk and study them for a moment before making my way out. I even included a card with a typed note.

Amanda. I’m sorry. Can we talk? -Callum.

I’m no love expert but I do know women love flowers. And this bouquet is sure to catch her eye.

Afterwards, I head to my office to start my day. Within the hour, Hardin Records is buzzing with its usual busyness. With the launch of several new artists, we have a lot going on. Not to mention Noah has been scouting for two more bands to sign within the month.

“Business is a hurricane. Might as well ride the wave,” as he says. Scouting is Noah’s area of expertise, so I leave him to it. It gives me more time to focus on the inside work. The agents. The writers. The music.

Speaking of that.

Around 10:34am I look up at my door for the hundredth time since I sat down at my desk. I press the button to page my personal assistant.

“Yes, Mr. Hardin?”

“Is Miss. Ambrose in the building by chance?”

“I have not seen her today, Mr. Hardin.”

Hmm.

I don’t want to ask more. Not through a pager anyways.

Finally, I make the decision to go talk to her.

Maybe she’s nervous. Maybe she didn’t see the flowers.

Not that I am sure how she wouldn’t have seen the flowers.

I am pretty sure that you can see them from the space station right now.

Either way, the waiting game is giving me stomach ulcers and I’m over it.

I make my way toward the recording studio. It’s a room I love, a room I frequent, a room that brings me peace. But ever since Amanda inhabited it, it’s a room of thick magnetic air. A room that makes my heart race and my skin clammy. It’s a different room than I’ve ever known.

Just before I reach it, I take a hard left turn into Noah’s office. He’s sitting on his desk, feet on his chair, strumming on an old Ibanez. The lights are dim, and the shades drawn. The entire aesthetic is very him. I close the door harder than I mean to and he looks up.

“You look like hell,” he says, his fingers still picking at the strings.

“Is she here?”

“Is who here?”

“Amanda,” I bark out, then lower my voice. “Is she in the building?”

“Doubt it. Listen I don’t know how things went down but I don’t think firing her was the way to go. Especially with the launch of January–”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't fire her.”

Noah stops and sets the guitar aside, his brow stitching together. “Really? Because I heard she doesn’t work here anymore.”

“Since when?”

“Since the day you and Avery beat the ever-loving shit out of each other. Which, by the way, I think is bullshit. I very much wanted to watch that fight.” Noah hops off the desk with little to no care in the world. Meanwhile, I’m coming apart at the seams.

“She walked out,” I say, suddenly realizing what must have happened.

She was pissed that day. But my focus was on Avery.

After that, I tried to call her but as usual, it went to voicemail.

Considering my splitting headache, an aftershock of a split lip, I let it go so I could pop a couple aspirin and pass out for about twelve hours. “Has she not been back since?”

“Beats me. Why do you think the place is in such a frenzy? January wants to change the intro to the song and Avery is fighting her on it. She wants to talk to Amanda.”

“And Amanda is completely MIA?” I ask, my heartrate picking up the pace with each word.

“MIA. AWOL. Dipped from the sound of it. Nothing but radio silence.”

“Fuck,” I run my hands through my hair before opening the door again and marching out. Noah follows.

“Have you not talked to her at all?” he asks.

“No. I mean I’ve tried but she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. I just don’t get it. She can’t be gone. All of her stuff was still here this morning. I was in her office.”

“You were snooping in her office?” Noah asks with a grin.

“Of course not. I was dropping something off.”

We head down the hall and open the door to the studio.

“What kind of something?” he asks.

“Flowers,” I answer, and we both stop.

“You mean…those flowers?”

They’re still there. The giant bouquet is still there. But it’s not sitting on the desk where I left it. Instead, it’s shoved into the small trashcan next to the desk. The desk that is now void of all her things.

“She’s gone,” I say the obvious, picking up a purple rose petal off the ground. “She just…left.”

“You’ve got to talk to her, brother,” Noah says, and I whip my attention over to him.

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying? She doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. Obviously.”

“No offence, but how bad did you fuck up? For her to leave like this, I mean.”

My jaw tightens and my mouth goes slack. “I accused her of cheating on me, pretty much.”

“You told her you think the baby isn’t yours?!”

“Pretty much.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Callum! Who’s baby do you think it is then? She only has eyes for you.”

“It was stupid, I know,” I say, pulling the flowers out of the can. “But you have to understand. Everything hit me all at once. I panicked. I was a coward.”

“You have to fix it.”

I glare at my best friend and motion at the roses.

“Nah, man. Flowers aren’t going to patch this up. I mean hard core fix this shit.”

I know he’s right. Everyone is right. The problem is fixing it is easier said than done when she won’t even look at me. Won’t talk to me. I don’t even know where she is, and that scared the shit out of me.

“I haven't talked to her.”

Kate’s voice is dry on the other end of the phone. In the background I can hear the shuffle of chatter and blow dryers. A salon most likely.

“At all?” I ask.

“Not since she told me you two got married. By the way, your timing is shit.”

I bite my tongue and rearrange the words in my mouth before going on. “If it makes you feel any better, none of this was planned.”

“Why would that make me feel better, Colin?”

“Callum,” I correct her.

“Whatever. The fact that I have been in love and planning my dream wedding for years now only to be bulldozed by my sister and taking all the attention off me makes your little shotgun wedding even more mortifying.”

“So, you haven’t talked to her?” I ask with the same amount of venom in my tone that she is shooting at me.

“No. I haven’t. I’m too busy planning a wedding without a maid of honor.”

“Well, if you happen to take a break from forcing the planets to revolve around your head for five minutes, will you let her know I am looking for her please?”

I don’t wait for an answer, I just hang up. Why I thought calling Amanada’s sister would be a good idea is beyond me. Even when they are on good terms, the woman is a spoiled, self-centered brat who probably doesn’t even know her sister’s life is falling apart.

No, that’s the kind of thing someone who actually gives a shit would know. And I know firsthand that that person isn’t always going to be a sibling. That’s best friend material.

“Iris,” I say her name as soon as she answers the phone.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“Callum Hardin,” I answer, praying she won't hang up on me. Or reach through the phone and strangle me with the cord. Not that we are talking on a land line. But you know what I mean.

“Callum, hello.”

I can’t read her British tone. British people sound lovely even when they’re cross. If she is upset with me I have no idea. So, I take my chances and keep talking.

“I was wondering if you have heard from Amanda recently.”

“I have…” she trails off. It’s not the information I am digging for but it’s better than the last conversation. Unlike Kate, Iris cares that Amanda is hurting. In short, she’s not a raging bitch.

“I have been trying to talk to her for days now. And I haven’t seen her at work. I’m getting worried and I thought that maybe–”

“The thing about Amanda, Callum, is that she isn’t easy to break. But once she does, she’s very difficult to put back together.”

I take in a breath and let it out, pressing my hand to the glass of the window in my office. “If I could just talk to her–”

“That’s the thing. She’s hurt. She doesn’t want to talk.”

“Then how am I supposed to fix it? Iris please. I need to talk to her. I need to tell her that I was selfish and guarded and…scared. Loving her scares me.”

The last sentence comes out slow because it wasn’t until just now that I realized that. And it makes everything…everything…make sense.

“Callum, listen to me,” Iris’ voice is soft. Caring. Real. “I am rooting for you. I’ve known since day one that she was smitten with you. But because of that, I want to protect her. She’s pregnant. With your child. And she feels scared and alone.”

“She doesn’t have to be alone, Iris. I don’t want her to feel alone.”

“But she does. And until she opens the door, she is going to keep feeling that way. But the door can’t be forced. I’m sorry.”

The call ends and I sit down at my desk. I feel utterly defeated. I want to bust that door down. To toss it aside and pull Amanda into my arms and tell her she doesn’t have to be afraid or alone or any of it.

But I can’t. I know I can’t. Because Iris is right. Amanda has to come to me when she is ready. And until then, I have to be patient. It’s not a forte of mine but it’s necessary.

So, I pull out my phone and I do the only thing I can think of to show her that I still care. That I’m not going anywhere.

I order more flowers.