Page 14 of Hate the One You're With
“Ms. Langley,” he greets me with his usual warm and professional voice.
I nod, sliding into the back seat, barely acknowledging his greeting. My mind is still spinning from the whirlwind that is Caleb Cunningham—still infuriating, still emotionally unavailable, and still ridiculously hot.
As the car pulls away, I try to shake off the lingering tension. I know I should focus on something else, anything else, but my thoughts keep going back to him. Caleb with those piercing blue eyes and that fucking brooding intensity. The way he looked at me, like he was trying to decide whether to toss me out or drag me to the bedroom—it’s maddening. I can’t help but feel the tug of that old chemistry, the spark that never quite went away, even after all these years.
I try to focus on the passing scenery, anything to distractmyself, but it’s futile. His infuriating smirk, the way he always seems to leave me both rattled and intrigued.
As the buildings blur by, I remind myself of where I’m headed—away from him. We’re on our way to the Four Seasons, where I’ve already made a reservation.
The thought of sinking into the comfort of a quiet, luxurious room feels like a much-needed escape. But even as I anticipate the stay, I know deep down that I’m not really avoiding anything. Not Caleb, not the mess my life has become—just delaying the inevitable. Still, a little distance and a lot of room service can’t hurt, right?
When we arrive at the hotel, Logan opens the door with a courteous nod. “Your luggage is already in your room, Ms. Langley. The digital key is activated, and you’re in the penthouse—no need to stop by reception. If you need anything else, just give me a call or contact Jane.”
Jane, my assistant, deserves a raise—or at least a one-month paid vacation—for managing my demanding schedule and the constant family drama. I pause for a moment, offering Logan a genuine smile as I step out of the car. “Thank you, Logan. I really appreciate everything you do for me.”
As I walk, my legs are still a little shaky after that last encounter with Caleb. The Four Seasons looms ahead, its grand entrance gleaming in the afternoon light. The marble steps practically sparkle, clean and polished, as if inviting me to leave my worries behind. But the storm inside me refuses to calm, no matter how opulent the surroundings.
A doorman in a crisp uniform steps forward, his practiced smile welcoming me inside. “Good afternoon, Ms. Langley,” he greets me, his tone respectful and polished. I nod,attempting to return the smile, though I’m not sure I quite pull it off. My thoughts are still too jumbled, too preoccupied with everything that’s been happening.
Inside, the lobby is a world of elegance—soft lighting, plush seating, and the subtle scent of fresh flowers filling the air. It’s like stepping into a sanctuary, far removed from the current mayhem going through my head and my life. This is a good place to rest while I wait for Caleb to . . . Is he really going to take everything I own?
Well, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Less stuff means less to worry about, right? Who needs a sprawling estate when you can live a minimalist life with just a killer wardrobe and a fridge full of wine?
Sounds frivolous, but I’m really not afraid of change. I enjoy working and creating new things and the possibility of discovering something different. I could start my own business doing . . . Well, I have no idea what really. The possibilities are endless.
Okay, focus and be realistic,I tell myself, shaking off the thought. Maybe it’s time I look for a new job, reach out to a few headhunters, and find an apartment while I still have the money to cover the first month’s rent and deposit. I could even move my things into this place and pay for an entire year upfront, giving myself a head start. See, I’m already planning the next step—one that doesn’t involve the crushing responsibility of being a Langley.
I worked hard to earn that name, to serve not just the employees but also the people who relied on us. But maybe I could be just as happy—if not happier—somewhere else. A place where I’m not constantly judged for failing to be asperfect as my mom—but let’s be honest, she wasn’t. As poised as my grandmother—who, frankly, I never wanted to emulate. Or as business-savvy as my grandfather—though I’d like to think I’m still learning and someday I’ll be just as good.
Yet, not being enough and always being compared is soul-crushing in more ways than I care to admit.
I make my way to the elevator, the soft chime announcing its arrival as the polished doors slide open. The reflective gold surface gleams under the elegant chandelier hanging above, casting a warm, inviting glow. I step inside and press the button for the penthouse. As the doors close with a whisper, I lean back against the cool steel wall, the soft hum of the elevator rising as it ascends.
The ride feels both too quick and too long, my thoughts swirling with the past, the present, and what will happen in the next six months. When the doors open with a soft ding, I’m greeted by a hallway lined with rich wood paneling and softly lit sconces. The air here feels different—thicker, quieter, like the world’s affairs and the impending doom in my life can’t quite reach me up here.
As I approach the door to the suite, it swings open automatically, revealing a luxurious space that nearly takes my breath away. The suite is expansive, with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city skyline. The living area is awash in neutral tones, with plush sofas and armchairs artfully arranged around a sleek, modern fireplace. A grand chandelier dangles from the ceiling, casting a soft, warm glow over the entire space.
I walk farther inside, kicking off my shoes. I sigh as my feet sink into the thick, cream-colored carpet. I take in the details:the elegant art pieces adorning the walls, the perfectly arranged fresh flowers on the glass coffee table, and the subtle scent of lavender lingering in the air. Everything about this place screams luxury, but instead of feeling at home, there’s a strange disconnect, like I’m walking through someone else’s fantasy.
The bedroom is just as breathtaking. A king-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens dominates the room, flanked by nightstands with gold accents and topped with delicate crystal lamps. The drapes are drawn back, revealing another stunning view of the city below.
I wander over to the bed, my fingers trailing across the duvet. The fabric feels cool and smooth beneath my touch, a stark contrast to the chaos within me. Everything here is so cozy, so inviting, yet the weight of it all presses down on me—the uncertainty, the decisions I’ll have to make, and the looming reality that this beautiful place is where I’ll be waiting for Caleb to walk in and make a decision.
Sure, he said he’ll do it at a cost, but will he go through with it? Or was that just his way of getting rid of me? The thought nags at me, and I can’t help but wonder what exactly his lawyer is drafting. Caleb wants to leave me high and dry, and honestly, signing something like that feels utterly ridiculous. But if that’s what will get him to do this one thing, I suppose I’ll have to sign. At this point, I’ll do whatever needs to be done to save Langley Media.
I take a deep breath, allowing myself to savor this small moment of peace, even if it’s just a brief reprieve before the storm hits again. I sink into the comfort of the room, hoping it will be enough to steady me after our encounter. When Ifinally sit on the bed—it’s like a cloud, one I could lose myself in forever—my phone buzzes, yanking me back to reality.
“Ugh,” I groan, not exactly eager to answer. But, of course, I end up fishing my phone out of my purse anyway.
It’s Clarissa, one of my closest friends and . . . hissister.Of course, she’s calling—probably to get the scoop after he already fed her his side of the story. She’s going to give me grief for not telling her about my grandmother’s will. Honestly, I’m not ready to talk to her. Not until I’ve come to an agreement with her brother and make him promise that he won’t involve her.
Too late, Em. I bet he’s already filled her in, and she’s going to be pissed that I didn’t rush to ask for her help.I swear, the Cunningham siblings are a pain in the ass. At least I adore my bestie—him, not so much.
“Hey,” I answer as casually as I can.
“So, Trudy is once again trying to ruin your life, and this time from beyond the grave, huh?” Clarissa jumps straight to the point, skipping any formalities. She’s going right for the jugular, leaving me no time to think or change the subject.
“Hello to you too,” I say, trying to buy myself a moment. Quick, think of something witty. “Why don’t we talk in a couple of weeks when my life is less . . . on fire?” I say, realizing that if I end up moving in with her brother, life is going to be anything but calm.
