Apollo's 11 Read online

  “Ms. Cohen,” Apollo said.

  “Did you come here to scold me?” I asked, suddenly angry. “To say I can’t talk to you that way? To mock me for wanting to read about a human instead of a Batman wannabe? I read literature, Mr. Irons, not comic books.”

  Pure silence filled the apartment. A few seconds went by, with just the two of us staring icily at each other. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

  Did I really just say all that? To a six-foot-six stranger alone with me in my apartment? To the biggest potential interview of my career? Was I really stupid enough to burn this bridge, to insult one of the most powerful men in the city?

  He took a controlled step toward me, and another, his long strides closing the distance between us almost instantly. I thought about the self-defense lessons I took years ago and if they’d matter at all against someone so much bigger than me or if I even remembered how to put them into practice. He raised his arms, eyes still freezing me in place…or maybe it was my confidence keeping me upright—yeah, that must be it... Even though I was looking at his eyes, I could see his hands in my peripheral vision, closing in, nearing my neck. Oh, God…

  I tried to jerk my knee up into his groin, but my legs were rooted. It was like a nightmare where you wanted to run but you couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried.

  His thumbs brushed the sides of my neck, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. I was trembling. I could hear my teeth shaking against them. Slowly, he gathered my long, loose hair between his thumbs and forefingers. What the hell was he doing to me? Why wasn’t I fighting back?

  The two hands connected behind my neck, my hair locked between them.

  I never dreamed this was the way Apollo would wrap his arms around me.

  Chapter Four

  Callie

  Apollo had complete control.

  My hair pulled tautly—not roughly, not painfully, but enough for me to know he had me where he wanted me. He traded my hair into one hand, held in a ponytail with his fist resting just above my shoulder blades. He made an L with his other hand, backing away a little and looking at me the way a photographer might frame a model before pulling out the camera.

  He was frowning, studying every feature. My eyes, my cheeks, my ears, my hair, my chin, my neck… Up and down, like a painter’s brush, his eyes caressed me. I could feel my bottom lip trembling, so I held it in place with my teeth. Why did I feel like he was going to kiss me? Wishful thinking? A way to make up for the fear I should be feeling? I wanted to lift onto the tips of my toes and steady my shaking lips with his steady ones. Without thinking, I could feel my heels moving up, the weight on the balls of my feet, except… He was holding me down. Holding me still by my hair.

  I could hear him breathe, softly but quickening. He was excited. I was exciting him.

  The metallic rumble of a key entering a keyhole snapped me back to reality.

  Apollo released me, my hair slowly fanning out as the front door opened and Nick walked in.

  “Babe, you home?” He called. He could have seen my office door open and my chair empty, but a pillar in the kitchen area blocked his view of me.

  It was Apollo who answered first. He walked out around the pillar, hand extended, the same hand he used to hold me by my hair, and said, “Hello, there.”

  I could hear Nick gasp and swear in surprise.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” He stammered. “Get the fu—Apollo Irons?”

  “Calista let me in,” Apollo said.

  I guess that was my cue. I walked out from behind the pillar, stepping around Apollo, feeling that magnetic pull, before leaning in to kiss Nick on the cheek. “Hey, hon,” I said sheepishly. I noticed Apollo watched the brief kiss impassively.

  Nick looked at me with confusion painted all across his face before lifting his hand to shake with Apollo. Two sharp pumps, then Apollo let go, but Nick must have kept squeezing because he was pulled forward a step.

  Other than both being tall, the two of them were the exact opposites. Nick wore a red Zelda t-shirt with a blue hoodie and jeans with a cell phone crease on the thigh while Apollo had his crisp black suit, made endearing by the gray cat fur along the belly and sleeves. Nick was willowy while Apollo was solid oak. Nick had red hair and green eyes while Apollo had black hair and blue eyes. Frankly, it was a regular person next to a handsome billionaire, the kind of person who usually didn’t exist away from magazines and TV screens. Not very fair to Nick to compare them.

  And yet…

  “You work for the NeoRom startup,” Apollo said to Nick. “Engineer.”

  “Uh, you got it,” Nick said. He kept looking at me.

  “Keep it up. I was just talking to Calista about a book of mine. But we haven't finished with our conversation.”

  Apollo spoke volumes with brisk sentences. He wanted Nick out of the way, but was being polite and not making demands. A smart way to show power was to make the other party want to please you without asking them for anything. I mentally jotted that down. Surely BayCray would want to hear about this encounter.

  “Of course,” said Nick, feeling for his hoodie pockets, finding them, and hiding his hands. He was just as intimidated as I was when Apollo first arrived, even though Apollo wasn’t saying or doing anything. “I’ll just, uh, be on my laptop in the bedroom. Have to do a bit of remote work anyway.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Did I want to be alone with Apollo again after what just happened? I had stayed completely silent when he grabbed my hair. Sure, he wasn't rough exactly, but it was still a very odd thing to do to someone you didn’t know. Would I be silent if he did it again? Would he make me silent?

  Somehow, I didn’t think he would do something like that. He forced a fight or flight reaction simply with his presence. An alpha wolf in Armani. And there was Nick, in his red hoodie, retreating from the sight. Apollo didn’t need to show aggression. He had the unshaken confidence of someone who knew he could take on the whole world and win. To resist would be foolish.

  “Let me know if you need me,” Nick said. I was pretty sure he was talking to me, but he was still looking at Apollo. It was as if he was afraid to look away.

  “Will do,” I said, grabbing Nick’s small hand and squeezing it. He finally managed to look at me and give a slightly stupefied smile before lifting his laptop bag over his shoulder and walking to the bedroom.

  Nick was my anchor to the real world. With him in the room, I didn’t feel like I was in a dream anymore. When he disappeared from view, it was like I was in dreamland again. Meetings with celebrities didn’t happen to regular people. They just didn’t.

  “Why are you really here?” I couldn’t help asking. While I still had the tongue to speak, I said, a little quieter, “And what the hell was that with my hair?”

  Apollo slid his left sleeve up a couple inches and glanced at his silver watch. I didn’t quite see what kind it was, but I assumed it was a Rolex.

  “I’ve been here longer than expected,” he said, lowering his arm. “I have to go.”

  He walked seemingly right through me; once again shifting into a repelling polarity and making me dodge him. When he grabbed the doorknob, I reached for his arm and said, “Wait!”

  I felt the smooth fabric of his sleeve in my hand, and the tight muscle under it. Apollo looked at my hand, then over his shoulder at me.

  “I keep to a very strict schedule,” he said. A lock of his hair had escaped its windswept position and tumbled over his eye.

  “You came here for a reason,” I said. “I don’t want you to think you wasted your time.”

  Another staring contest. Have you ever just looked into someone’s eyes for more than a couple seconds without either of you speaking? It’s intense. It’s personal. You feel vulnerable for a moment, and then you feel more connected to the person than anyone in your life. If you have any hint of attraction to them, you may want to kiss them. God knows I wanted to kiss Apollo—and more, even with Nick a few feet away—but there was more to it. It wa
s like a battle of wills for Apollo. Most people would look away, show passivity, but Apollo had a way of making you keep staring. Looking away was an escape. You couldn’t escape Apollo. He held you with his gaze, trapped you, and appraised you for all your worth.

  He must have found me worthy because he let go of the doorknob and turned to face me straight-on.

  “My intention is to publish my autobiography under my name,” he said.

  Subconsciously, I picked up his suggestion. “I can ghostwrite it for you,” I said.

  I didn’t know why I offered. Apollo could afford the top writers in the world if he wanted help. Offering my barely-professional services just seemed desperate. Another idiot begging for Irons’ money. Another poor writer begging for a job, even without credit.

  “I don’t need it written. I already wrote it.”

  “You need it edited,” I said. Suddenly we were negotiating. “You may be surrounded by yes-men all day, but Amazon reviewers won’t give a shit how rich you are. If you thought I was tough on you, you have no idea what the anonymous mass of internet critics will do to you. Go ahead and try to publish a self-written puff piece. People will remember you as another arrogant rich guy. Talent is only impressive if you can be humble about it.”

  Apollo smiled. He had one of those cocky sideways smirks you saw on all the Hollywood actors. Sexy, but slightly infuriating when directed your way. I was amusing him.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  Apollo chewed on his answer. Then he asked, “Are you religious?”

  I blinked. What did my stance on religion have to do with anything? “I was raised as a Christian,” I said, “but I’m an atheist now. Why?”

  He shrugged, still smirking. “I always find it funny that, in an increasingly secular society, people put so much value on the virtue of humility. It’s a Christian concept. We get angry at people who think themselves as superior—especially when they are. The Greeks and Romans didn’t get so hung up on hating people for being better. They simply aspired to be like their mythical heroes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Their mythical heroes were perverts and murderers.”

  Apollo laughed for the first time that evening. His laughter was rich and powerful as a drum, yet somewhat boyish despite its bass. I couldn’t help but smile despite being neck-deep in a debate with him.

  “You’re not wrong,” he said. His raised cheeks seemed to light up his eyes. “And I’m not saying humility isn’t a virtue. Ben Franklin certainly thought so.”

  “And now he’s gracing our hundred-dollar bill. I’m sure you see him often.”

  I didn’t know what turned on my sass mode, but something did. I was treating the conversation like banter with my college friends.

  Apollo just chuckled this time, a twinkle in his eye. “Right again,” he said. “You know, Ms. Cohen…”

  “Call me Callie,” I said. “Not Ms. Cohen. And please not Calista.”

  His smile died. “Callie,” he said.

  Did I say something wrong? “If that’s… cool?”

  He pressed his lips together, raising his hands to just above his hips before stopping and slowly lowering them again. Was he going to grab my hair?

  “Callie it is,” he finally said. “You may be right.”

  “You already said I was.”

  He didn’t clarify. “I’d like to hire you to ghost-edit my manuscript.”

  My mouth popped open in a silent O. I couldn’t think of what to say. I didn’t think he’d actually agree.

  But wait… ghost-edit? As in, I wouldn’t be credited?

  “I don’t think ghost-editors are a thing,” I said. “You have ghostwriters, sure, but there’s no reason not to credit an editor.”

  Apollo reached into his coat and pulled out a business card. It reminded me vaguely of that scene in American Psycho when the yuppies circle-jerk over their cards. Eggshell, with Roman. Raised lettering, pale nimbus…

  He handed it over to me. It was all black, of course, with his name and phone number in white. No email, no social links, no business title. Just a name and a number.

  “I do have to go,” he said. “But call me at seven a.m. tomorrow, and we can discuss the details. Not a minute earlier. Not a minute later.”

  “You’d credit me, though, right?” I asked as he pulled the front door open and stepped through the threshold.

  He turned and looked at me silently. “I will create the book on my own,” he said. “You will accompany me on routine business to get a sense of it to help with the editing process. I will introduce you to my colleagues as a new personal assistant, and you will act the part. You will make improvements on the manuscript during this time. When I deem the book to be finished, you will be ‘fired’ as my assistant. Throughout our correspondence, I will compensate you for your time. But as far as anyone will know, the book will have been created wholly by me. You’ll sign a standard non-disclosure agreement, of course.”

  He wasn’t asking. He was telling me. Already his back was turned, and he was heading for the stairwell of the apartment.

  So he wouldn’t credit me. And I’d have to play the part of some secretary so people wouldn’t think I was involved with the book. And sign an NDA so I wouldn’t be able to tell my friends or future employers I had such a high-profile job. And worst of all, he just assumed I’d go for it. No one rejected Apollo Irons.

  Except me.

  I swung through the doorframe and shouted, “Find someone else to write your shitty book!” God, real professional, Callie…

  He didn’t turn. Instead, he raised his hand in a half-wave, and said, “Tomorrow. Seven a.m.” His voice echoed through the hallway. So did the sound of the stairwell door shutting behind him when he disappeared.

  Smug bastard.

  Chapter Five

  Apollo

  She looked so much like her. The uncanny resemblance took me by surprise.

  I could tell I had overstepped my boundaries when I reached out behind her and pulled all of her hair into my hands, but I couldn’t resist. She really had the same face as the painting in my house.

  Brown wavy hair falling past her shoulders, intelligent green eyes that heated up the more she stared at me and those luscious lips she kept biting as she clenched her fists and kept herself in check. She kept herself from acting on her desire. The perfect amount of hot and cold that made my breath catch the more I looked at her.

  “The Muse of Epic Poetry,” I murmured, shaking my head at the irony. Calliope. Calista. Even their names kind of sounded alike. And here I am, considering hiring her to ghost-edit my autobiography.

  She wasn’t keen on that idea. She wanted to be accredited for editing my work, but I’d rather everyone thought I did the whole thing. The purpose of an autobiography is to write about oneself, and as far as everyone was concerned, that’s exactly what they’ll think.

  The image of her answering the door in her underwear seared its way into my brain, and I chuckled. It was obvious she had forgotten she wasn’t wearing pants and when she realized it, she hightailed it out of the room, and I pretended I hadn’t notice, for her sake. Still, those long, creamy and shapely legs were a sight to behold, and I couldn’t help but imagine wrapping those legs around my waist as I took her against the wall and make her scream my name.

  That would’ve happened earlier had her boyfriend not arrived. I only recognized him as one of the engineers working in my company, but I never would’ve thought Calista would go for a guy like him. They don’t look like they belong together at all. He didn’t look like he could handle a woman like her. He wasn’t strong enough to take care of her and judging by how messy their place was, he wasn’t doing much at all to support her.

  Me, on the other hand…

  I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, and I fished it out, grimacing as I saw my brother’s name flashing on the screen. He was probably calling to talk about our sister again, but I didn’t have the energy or the frame of mind to deal with
it now. Helen had always been a wild child, and whatever trouble she managed to wind herself up again this time, she probably deserved it. It was high time she learned her lesson, and that hanging around with that Paris boy was more trouble that it was worth.

  I had better things to do with my time, and Perseus should do the same.

  I stilled, my fingers clutching at the steering wheel tightly as I willed myself to stop mid-thought. I couldn’t think of her like that. That visit was purely business, to talk about her review and to offer her a job. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing else would come of it.

  The image of her flushed face as I held her hair flashed in my mind once more, and my cock twitched in response. I shook my head vigorously.

  “Get your head together,” I growled at myself, glancing up and cursing as I almost missed the red light. I couldn’t let myself get distracted by a woman. I had other important matters to attend to. Thinking about Calista Cohen wasn’t worth my time.

  Chapter Six

  Callie

  Imagine this. A drop-dead handsome billionaire knocks on your door and offers you a job, but you’re not allowed to tell anyone about it. He also grabs you by the hair and hypnotizes your boyfriend into leaving you alone with him.

  To recap: Sexy billionaire, secret mission, pulls your hair and you don’t tell him, or want him, to stop.

  Heaven, right?

  So why did I turn him down?

  First of all, I had a boyfriend, who I loved, and who I was sure wouldn’t want me gallivanting around with that sexy billionaire. Second, I took pride in my work—as lame as it sometimes was—and I expected to be credited for it. Third, the hair thing was weird—I mean, come on. I didn’t even get a straight answer as to why he did it, let alone an apology.

  Other than the money, probably a lot of money, there was nothing good about the idea. I made the right choice to turn him down. Yep. I could get back to my life now, writing as a freelancer for a magazine with “cray” on the title. Or rather, its blog.