Big Boss by Cassie Mint

One

Daphne

Istumble out of the cab, my handfuls of bags knocking against my shins. As soon as my face meets the icy winter air, my eyes water and the tip of my nose starts to glow. I sniffle as I elbow the car door closed.

“Thank you!”

I bend down to wave in the driver’s window, but he’s already pulling away, car tires crunching over the gravel. One of my bags topples over, a gift-wrapped box spilling onto the snow-dusted ground, and the cab misses it by a fraction of an inch.

“Hey!” I sound annoyed, but there’s no way he heard me. Not when the car engine’s growling and the wind is blowing, and besides—I don’t think I’ve ever really raised my voice in my whole life.

Twenty one years of never once shouting. I’m not even sure my voice chords know how.

My teeth chatter as I crouch down, stuffing the gift away and grabbing all the bags again. I must look like a crazy person as I set off up the winding gravel driveway—like I’m lugging my life’s possessions around, trying to move into this grand house forever and not just visit for the holidays.

It’s mostly gifts, but that’s probably even more insane.

I definitely overdid it. But I’m just so grateful they’re letting me stay.

The driveway is lined with dark shrubs, their waxy leaves trembling in the wind. Every few feet, a wrought iron lantern casts a pool of warm light, chasing the evening shadows away, and I wander between those pools of light like I’m hop-scotching my way up to the house.

My steps slow as I get closer. Nerves, I guess.

Because I haven’t seen Mr Callahan for over four months—in real life, anyway. I see him in my daydreams plenty.

The house is gorgeous. All dark red brick and climbing ivy; a slate roof and windows glowing with light and warmth. It’s just like Mr Callahan: proud and striking. A display of understated strength.

And just like Mr Callahan, it doesn’t belong anywhere in my world. My world is a cramped studio apartment with a fold out bed. Movie nights with his daughter Kate crammed on my sofa, pieces of popcorn dropping into our laps.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my world.

But I wish I could picture him in it.

My gloves muffle my knock, and too late I notice the doorbell tucked discreetly beside the front door. I hover awkwardly, reaching for it then snatching my hand back, reaching then snatching, worried that they didn’t hear my knock but deathly afraid of ringing the bell and accidentally hassling them to hurry up.

“Daphne!”

The front door wrenches open and a whirlwind of dark hair crashes into my arms. My best friend squeezes me so tight that I wheeze, and my cheeks ache from grinning as she rocks me from side-to-side.

You’d think it had been years since we saw each other—not less than a week, back at college.

Kate Callahan is the best friend ever. A non-stop fountain of love.

“Hi Kate.” I nudge her back through the doorway, then bend to pick up all my bags. She takes one look at the sea of gifts at my feet, then stares at me, lips pinched and brown eyes like saucers. “I know,” I mutter, stifling a smile at her explosion of giggles. “I wasn’t sure how much to bring.”

“So you brought everything?”

“Yup. Guess so.”

I squeeze through the doorway, waddling awkwardly with the bags. My cheeks are hot with embarrassment, but it’s too late to undo this now. What am I going to do? Sprint out to the garden and toss half the bags into the bushes?

“Dad’s in his study.”

I blush harder at the mention of Mr Callahan. Kate snorts.

“Better work on hiding that crush before dinner.”

I should never have told her. Should never have confessed late one night on campus, when we were studying after hours in the library. But the stars were shining outside the library windows, and it was that hushed, not-quite-real time of night when secrets spill easier and it seems like the dawn will never come.

Kate didn’t believe me at first. She thought I was messing with her about crushing on her father—trying to make her cringe.

Then, when she finally believed me, her eyes bugging under the reading lamps, she still didn’t get it. Not really.

Kate thinks I like him the way some girls crush on the professors at college. That I want his attention and approval, nothing more.

She’s wrong. I want those things, yes, but that’s just the start of it. I want Mr Callahan like an addict needs their fix. It’s visceral. The feelings start at the very center of my body, and they radiate out from there. The first time I laid on him, it was like an electric current coursed through my whole body.

Every atom of me screams out for Mr Callahan: for his gaze. His touch. The deep rumble of his voice, vibrating down to my bone marrow.

I ache for him.

I didn’t tell her that, obviously.

“Come on, I’ll show you your room. You’re two doors down from mine.”

Kate says those words so casually, like every house has guest rooms, and I can’t help staring as she leads me through the lobby to the stairs. The floors are polished wood, scattered with expensive rugs, and original artworks and sparkling mirrors hang on the walls. I peek through each doorway as we pass, and every glimpse is like an interior design catalog.

Solid wood furniture and dark, masculine drapes.

It’s perfect. It suits him so well.

I mean, I think it does. It’s not like I’ve spent a ton of time with Mr Callahan—I can’t really claim to know him. I only ever see him when he meets Kate at our college across the city a few times a semester, and she invites me along to their dinners. He’s always polite, always urges me to order whatever I like, then waves away my offer to split the bill, but he mostly speaks to Kate.

And even then, it’s questions about her. Never details of his life.

So I’ve filled in the gaps. Decided for myself what his office must be like, where he lives, what his favorite movies are.

What he’d cook for me on a date.

Hey, it’s a daydream! It doesn’t have to be realistic.

With every step deeper into his house, I get this unsettling feeling—like I’m going into the belly of the beast. It was easier to pretend to myself that it’s only a harmless crush when Mr Callahan was miles away. But here, where everything is so masculine, where the faint, spicy scent of his cologne lingers in the air, he’s everywhere. Surrounding me. And my traitorous body responds, that blush creeping further over my skin while my breaths come quicker and my fingertips tingle.

I swallow hard. My tongue feels heavy.

“What do you think?” Kate asks brightly as she leads me up the staircase, our footsteps swallowed up by the runner.

Shelooks like she fits in here. With her dark leggings, fitted sweater and knee-high boots, she looks like she’s about to stride outside to some stables. Kate’s even got the strong, muscled limbs and freckled face of an outdoors-woman.

I’m her opposite. Waifish and pale. I’ve got no substance—not like this house. Not like this family.

“It’s wonderful.”

“Good!” Kate hops up the final step, swinging around the banister. “Glad you like it. I want you to come back all the time.”

Kate’s barely here herself now that we’re in our final year of college, but I don’t point that out.

I don’t want to jinx it.

Because I want to come back all the time too.

* * *

It takes me thirty minutes to work up my courage. Thirty minutes of hanging up the scant collection of clothes I brought and dragging a brush through my mousy bob. I settle in slowly, taking long, measured breaths and tucking the gifts away in the closet while Kate chatters away from my bed.

She’s sprawled there, flicking through a course catalog for next semester, quizzing me on which classes I’m going to take.

“Do you have your math credits already? Ooh, Art History! Or what about…”

I tune her out. It’s crappy of me, but I can’t concentrate. Not when I haven’t seen him yet.

Finally, when I’m feeling about as brave as I ever will, I clear my throat. Kate cuts off, smiling at me expectantly.

“I, um. I’m just going to say hi to your dad.”

Her smile morphs into a leer. “Say hi, huh?”

“Yes.” I skirt around the guest bed, cheeks hot again. Seriously, why did I ever tell her about my stupid crush? “Be right back. Stay—stay here.”

Her soft laughter follows me down the hall. I walk quietly, feet sinking into the carpet, a loose thread trailing from one of my fluffy red socks. Kate didn’t point out Mr Callahan’s study, but she doesn’t need to. His low voice rumbles down the hallway, and I drift towards it in a trance, heart pitter-pattering under my white sweater.

My knock is quiet. Just like at the front door.

His voice pauses.

Then: “Come in.”

The office door swings open under my palm, and I step inside, mouth dry. Mr Callahan stands beside a large oak desk, a phone in one hand, the other scratching his short beard.

When he sees me, his hand drops.

“I’ll call you back,” he mutters into the phone, and then it clatters to the desk.

Silence shudders through the office.

He looks more tired than I remember. More worn, somehow. Still powerful, still an imposing presence, but with faint shadows beneath his eyes. But maybe that’s because in my daydreams, he’s always relaxed. Smiling. Or smoldering at me as he crawls on top of my body.

He’s not smiling now. A faint frown darkens his face.

“Hi, Mr Callahan,” I rasp. I lift one hand in a pathetic wave. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

And no wonder he’s barely ever spoken to me, no wonder he hardly spares me a second glance. This man built a business empire from nothing. Everything in this house, in his bank accounts, everything—he earned it all with his own two hands. He’s the big boss.

To a man like that, I must be nothing. So inconsequential. A squeaking little mouse.

“I, um. I just wanted to say hi.” My toes curl against the rug. “And to thank you for letting me stay.”

Mr Callahan nods, the movement curt. There’s a fire flickering in the grate beside his desk, and its warm glow makes his beard and hair and eyes look darker. He’s dressed in a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and slightly faded tattoos wrap around one forearm.

I bite the inside of my cheek. I’ve never noticed that detail before.

“You’re welcome, Daphne.”

Oh, hell. Hearing my name in his deep voice, it does something to me. Sends sparks rippling through my body. I trip forward across the rug, still in that ridiculous trance.

He watches me closely as I approach, but he says nothing. Doesn’t move. Simply waits for me to come nearer, my head tipping back as I get close. And this is my favorite part of seeing Mr Callahan: relishing in his size.

Because Mr Callahan’s not just tall. Not just broad.

Mr Callahan is burly.

With his barrel chest and meaty arms, his thick stomach and boat-sized shoes, he’s a piece of structural engineering. His barber must need scaffolding to cut his hair. If I climbed up onto his shoulders, I’d need stairs.

And he makes me feel so tiny, a stiff breeze might blow me away.

When I stop right in front of him, the fire pops and crackles. Somewhere down the hall, music starts to play. Kate’s listening to carols.

The reminder of my best friend brings me crashing back down to earth, and I don’t do… well, whatever the hell I was going to do. Wrap my arms around that belly and crush my face to his chest, probably. Rub my cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt—then get kicked back out into the cold for crossing a line.

Kate has saved me from myself. So instead, I thrust out a hand.

“It’s good to see you, Mr Callahan.”

He pauses for a long moment. Way too long, until my hand sinks a few inches between us and I’m blushing for a whole new reason.

Then his big, meaty hand takes mine, swallowing me up completely into his palm. He bobs our joined hands once, then lets go.

My fingers tingle. His eyebrows lower.

“Enjoy your stay, Daphne.”

Mr Callahan turns back to his desk. It’s over. I’m dismissed. And I slink out of his office, heart aching to stay.