3. Lorelei

3

LORELEI

" I can't," I whine. I sound like a little bitch, and I hate it.

"Of course you can. Maybe this was all meant to be," she says, sounding a hell of a lot more hopeful than I feel right now.

"I can't apply for this, Tate. I just can't."

My heart races as I stare at a job advertisement for the opportunity of my life.

But I can't apply.

My best friend is married to the freaking CEO of the company, and I refuse to let anyone think that I only got the job because of my connections to the boss and his wife. And if that wasn't bad enough, now I'm unemployed. My ex-boss is hardly going to write me a glowing reference after firing me for stealing.

If—and I really mean if—I got the job, it would be a pity job. And I refuse to go anywhere near that.

"Lori, this job was made for you. It's perfect."

"No. It's a disaster waiting to happen. Even if I might have considered it a few weeks ago." Big fat lie. I wouldn't. I couldn't.

My best friend narrows her eyes at me, but I'm not going to budge on this.

"But working for Callahan Enterprises is your dream, Lori. Remember that teenage girl who wanted this?"

"Tate," I warn.

I remember all too well.

The old Callahan building and the images of the glitz and glamor inside were what my teenage dreams were made of.

I wanted it so badly.

Hell, I still do. But I'm not about to tell her that.

The time has passed for me to have a career at Callahan Enterprises. From the moment Tate and I became friends, that dream died. I just didn't know it until I discovered how close her family and the Callahans were. I knew then and there that it wasn't my destiny.

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, though.

Callahan Enterprises has since moved to new, even swankier offices. Ones that I gaze at dreamily every time I'm lucky enough to pass by.

"What? King and Kian won't care about what that prick has done to you. They'll?—"

"That's the problem, Tate. They'll give me a free pass because I'm your friend. I don't want free passes. I want to work for everything I achieve."

"Lori, you have worked for everything you've achieved. You never should have started your career at that place. You deserve so much more."

Unable to listen to her reasoning anymore, I reach for the bottle of vodka that's taunting me from the coffee table and twist the top off.

"That's not going to help," Tate chastises.

"You're just bitter because you can't have any," I shoot back before lifting the bottle to my lips and swallowing a huge mouthful.

It burns all the way down, making me hungry for more.

"Have you eaten?"

"Jeez, T. When did you become my mother?" I mutter. "No, wait. My mother doesn't care that much."

Tatum sighs. I don't look back at her. I don't need to. I can feel the sympathy oozing out of her.

Silence stretches out for a few minutes. I hate the reprieve just as much as I love it.

"What are you going to do?" she asks softly, finally breaking the silence.

I shrug one shoulder as I swallow another shot of vodka for good measure. "I'll start job searching tomorrow."

"Or you could just send your resume in for this job."

"Tate, you need to stop."

"I'll never stop supporting you and helping you make the right decision."

"Callahan isn't the right decision," I argue as I push to my feet and place the empty bottle back on the coffee table.

The room around me spins as the glinting lights from the city beneath us twinkle in the dark.

"You should go home to your husband," I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my tone.

If I wasn't aware that Tate knows me well enough not to take my attitude to heart, then I'd feel bad about it. But Tate is closer to me than anyone, and she understands that this is just my way of dealing with everything.

"He knows where I am. It'll do him good to be waiting around for me to return home."

Usually, I'd agree and encourage her to be bad and drive him wild. But I don't have it in me tonight.

I don't have anything in me right now. All I want to do is curl up in bed in the dark and pray this was all a bad dream.

"I'm okay, Tate," I say, sounding anything but convincing as I come to a stop beside the front door. "Go and spend the night enjoying your man. One of us might as well."

I look up just in time to see that expression on her face that I hate.

"Everything will work out, Lor," she promises as she moves toward me with her hand on her growing bump.

"Yeah," I say quietly. "I know. It always does, right?" What I really mean is that it does for the likes of Tatum and the people she's usually surrounded by. For people like me, however, it seems that nothing ever works out. We just constantly keep getting knocked down, dragging ourselves back up again, each time a little more broken and beaten than before.

"Will you do something for me?" she asks once she's standing before me, ready to leave.

"Anything," I say before I get a chance to realize my mistake.

She smiles, only confirming my suspicion.

"Apply for this job." My heart thumps against my ribs at the thought of putting myself out there.

What's worse than only getting this position because of my friendship with her?

Applying, not being successful, and then having to face those who didn't think I was good enough.

"Lori, if you don't do it, I'll do it for you," she warns before kissing my cheek and slipping from the apartment, leaving nothing but her ominous threat behind.

" F uck off," I bark as my phone continues ringing from somewhere way too close to my head. "Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off."

But it doesn't stop.

Sliding my hand around under the covers, I search for the thing so I can throw it at the wall to make it shut the hell up.

I wince, the brightness of the screen burning through my eyeballs and making my hangover feel a million times worse.

I've woken up in a similar state for the past four mornings.

I start each day with good intentions, but then, just like my life, everything goes to shit.

Job searching has been painful. I've applied for a handful of positions, but none of them really suit me. There's a real fear that I'm going to be applying to Starbucks and McDonalds in the coming days if the situation doesn't resolve itself. It won't be the first time I've made coffee or flipped burgers; I enjoyed my time doing both. But after working so hard to get here, I really don't want to go back to that.

But beggars can't be choosers and all that.

I need money. Not for me—well, a little for me—but I'm not the only one relying on my pay check.

Wilder and Hendrix are depending on me. It's not like they can trust Mom to keep food in their bellies or a roof over their heads.

When my vision clears, I find an unknown number staring back at me.

Before my brain has fully woken up, my hand moves and I find myself swiping across the screen to answer the call.

I don't know why I do it—maybe so I can shout at whoever thinks it's okay to call me so bloody early, or maybe it's the slightly less hungover part of my brain that knows it could be a job opportunity.

"Hello?" I croak, cringing as I hear my own raspy voice.

If this is about a job, I think it's safe to say I've fucked it up already.

"May I speak with Lorelei Tempest?"

My head spins as I try to place the voice, but I come up short.

"Speaking," I croak again.

"Good morning, Miss Tempest. This is Rebecca Hamilton from Callahan Enterprises. I'm sorry this is so last minute, but I wanted to invite you in for an interview for the position you applied for."

If I thought my head was spinning before, then it's completely out of fucking control now.

"I-I didn't—" I cut myself off as a hazy, drunken memory of my best friend flickers through my head.

"Apply for this job. If you don't do it, I'll do it for you."

Fuck.

Fuck .

I drop my head into my hand.

"Miss Tempest, are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry."

"Fantastic. Is there any chance you could come in this afternoon at three?"

With my heart pounding like a runaway train in my chest, I shoot a look at my alarm clock.

It's already past one.

How is that possible?

"Like I said, we know it's last minute and we apologize for that, but?—"

"Yes," I blurt, the volume of my voice shocking me as much as I assume it does her.

"Th-that's great. We were really impressed with your application and CV. We're excited to meet with you."

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

"Do you need me to forward our address, or are you?—"

"I know where you are," I interrupt rudely without thinking.

"Brilliant. I'll meet you downstairs and escort you to the interview with Martin, our finance manager."

"Okay," I squeak as something heavy and unpleasant sinks in my stomach.

"Wonderful. See you soon."

Before I get a chance to tell her that I've made a terrible mistake by accepting this, she hangs up, leaving me with nothing but my regrets.

I can't work at Callahan Enterprises. I can't?—

"FUCK," I scream, throwing myself back onto my bed. "Tatum Warner-Callahan, this is all your fault," I snap as if she can hear me.

I take a couple of minutes to compose myself before I lift my cell to my ear and repeat those exact words to my best friend.

"You're welcome," she responds happily.

"Tatum, this isn't fucking funny. I told you that I can't work there."

"And yet it seems to me that you didn't turn down the opportunity of an interview."

"You can't say no to the Callahans, Tate. You of all people should know that by now."

She chuckles down the line, letting me know that she's more than aware.

"Just go and have the interview. The role might not be for you. It might be you who turns them down."

Fat fucking chance of that ever happening.

"Does Kingston know about this?"

Silence.

"Tatum," I warn.

"I mentioned it, but he doesn't have any involvement in the recruitment of the finance team. That's Kian's domain."

Oh, Jesus. This is just getting worse and worse.

"And does Kian know?"

"I haven't told him, if that's what you're asking."

A memory of the last time I saw Kingston's younger brother plays out in my mind like a high-definition movie.

He tried hitting on me and I gave him the cold shoulder and told him where to go.

No woman in their right mind tells any of the Callahan brothers where to go.

"But he would be my boss," I reason.

"No, Martin will be your direct boss. You won't have many, if any, dealings with Kian."

I never told Tate about our interactions at her wedding, but she's more than aware of my opinion about the likes of Kian Callahan.

"Martin is lovely. I think you two could work together very well."

"I have to do this, don't I?"

"Do you have any other options right now?" Tatum asks smugly, already knowing that I don't. "Exactly," she adds when I don't respond.

"I'm hungover, Tate. I can't go to an interview with alcohol oozing from my pores."

"Go and get yourself a strong coffee, have a hot shower, and pull out that killer dress we bought that day," she demands, making me think of the little black dress I treated myself to for a special occasion.

"That's too much."

"Lorelei," she says seriously. "You have an interview at Callahan Enterprises. That fourteen-year-old girl deserves for you to go in dressed to the nines and be ready to impress. Make her proud, Lor. You've got this."

I suck in a deep breath, trying to find that little girl with stars in her eyes that lives inside me, but she's harder to grasp than ever right now.

"I'll call you later," I say, hanging up before Tate can say anything more. I walk toward my closet and pull the doors open.

Have I got this? Honestly, I have no idea.

But I owe it to that little girl to give it my very best shot.

Consequences be damned.