Ardent: Crossed, #2

By Samara Reed

Six months ago I made a mistake; I didn't pick the girl and it cost me everything.

Half way around the world, following the path my father laid out, I decide to take back control of my life. I'm going to go against him for the first time in my life. I'm going to go get Clary back.

Now all I have to do is convince her, the girl who hasn't taken my call in six months, that we're meant to be.

 

Taking place in present day and told by Bryant, Ardent is the sequel to Crossed.

 

Bryant flies back to win Clary's heart once more and heal his own in the process.

But Clary isn't intent to give her heart up again so easily, and she's grown in the time Bryant was away. Can she forgive his decision to succumb to his fears and let love lead her down his

familiar path? Or will she continue forward on the path she's forging as she blossoms into the woman she was meant to become?

 

Crossed and Ardent are companion books and should not be read as standalones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samara Reed
• Release date: Oct 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223150411

Samara Reed

Samara is a mom of two beautiful children, two big dogs, one little dog who thinks he's a big dog, and the wife of the husband she always dreamed she'd have. When she's not writing she has a camera or a book in her hands and loves to create anything she can in any medium she can. Ultimately, she's always dreamed she would be a writer, or a photographer, and is thrilled to be where she is, doing both. Quick facts: She loves chai tea lattes both hot and iced, she'll eat just about anything if it's covered in chocolate, she's infatuated with bees, owls, small dogs with pushed in snouts and grumpy faces and she doesn't like snow.

Book preview

Ardent

A Crossed Story

Samara Reed

Copyright 2023 Samara Reed

All rights reserved. This book and any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

All places, characters and situations are fictional. Any resemblance to actual places, persons or situations are coincidental.

www.AuthorSamaraReed.com

This book is dedicated to all of the people who continuously love and support me, even on the days that I certainly don’t feel like I deserve it.

May you always receive the kindness that you show and know how loved you are.

And a special shoutout to the amazing woman on the other side of the screen that I’m constantly ranting to and throwing screen shots at. You always help me work through my what ifs and I couldn’t be more grateful for you.

You know who you are.

––––––––

I pull at my necktie as I release another sigh; this speaker has droned on for hours already with no end in sight. Safety reports are important, but could we get a reprieve already? One bridge at a time seemed plenty enough for me.

I don’t want to be here. Not in this room, not in this city, and most definitely not in this damned tie. I don’t want to be an engineer. I want to paint. There’s a difference between the two, a big one. But my dad just said, Art is art. You want to draw, Bryant? Then design buildings and bridges and make an impressive living. You want to go to London? I got you an internship, and it’s paid. Go make something of yourself, before literally walking away from me at the airport, ticket in hand, with not even a goodbye.

I haven’t drawn or painted a single thing in the six months I’ve been here except bridges and buildings and repairs, and I haven't wanted to. If my dad’s plan in sending me here was to kill my passion, then he was getting it right. Especially after ensuring my internship was extended two months past the initial four months I was promised; causing me to miss the art tour I somehow managed to snag by the skin of my teeth. I bet he’d be thrilled to know it too. I would also be willing to bet my refusal to answer his nightly calls was dragging him down just as low as Clary’s refusal to answer mine dragged me down. She didn’t answer for her birthday, or my birthday, or any holidays. It’s been a constant empty conversation with her voicemail.

I can’t blame her. I didn’t want to leave her that way. To stand there like everything was okay, telling her to go so I didn’t have to watch her heart break when I told her I was leaving, too, several weeks ahead of schedule. I didn’t want to see the hurt in her eyes when I told her I wasn’t coming back, not for over four months, which turned quickly into six months. I was so afraid she wouldn’t get on her plane in an effort to spend even a few more days with me and I couldn’t allow her to defer her life the way mine was being railroaded. I love her too much to know that if she didn’t go on her weekend she would be struggling when she got to campus. So, I took the coward’s way out.

I told her I would be there when she got back. Then I drove back to her house, snuck through the window she always left open for me, left a note on her bed, and went back to the airport courtesy of my dad’s expensive car service. What a slap in the face. Not quite, I imagine, as big a slap as my never calling while she was gone. I couldn’t pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. And now she won’t take my calls. I suppose I deserve that, but it’s breaking everything in me. Worse yet, Anna’s calls don’t even click through, meaning she’s blocked me. I can’t even plead with her to convince Clary to have just one conversation with me.

I drag my hands through my hair and Nita kicks my foot under the table. What’s on your mind, Crossman?

She’s leaning into me; her perfume is too strong, and an obscenely bright red lip is tucked seductively between her teeth as she watches me from under her lashes, dragging the pendant on her necklace back and forth. I bet she’s usually bewitching. I almost found out once. But right now, my mind is on tightly wound curls and pale pink lips against sun kissed skin without a trace of make-up on it. Nita’s spell is useless against me.

Just hot in here, I mumble, turning away from her. And I asked you not to call me that.

Mr. Crossman echoes in my head, making my heart pick up speed and my pants strain. A sigh breezes through a memory of soft skin under my fingers, making the status of my missed call log all the more painful.

I pull my phone out under the table and click the screen on. Still no replies. Applause breaks out and I glance up. Mr. Long-winded is inclining his head in thanks and picking up his papers, finally.

We’ll break for lunch folks. My boss checks his watch. Let’s say ninety minutes? I’ll see you all back here in conference at two PM. We can get started on a strategy for the rebuild. Thank you.

Yeah, the rebuild. The one we’re all supposed to stay another three weeks for. I cannot fathom why, there’s so many of us that the list of assignments is incredibly short. Half the team could get the job done just as fast. Stretching out their decision of who to keep on is making everyone nervous.

Papers shuffle but I don’t bother properly packing anything, I just shut my folder and get up before Nita can follow me out the door. I’ve been having a harder time shaking her the longer I stay here. She somehow manages to run into me no matter how many times I change my routine. Her determination would be amusing if it weren’t for the fact I’ve expressed a dozen different ways that I’m not interested. She’s becoming unpredictable. Predictable I can handle; this is in a completely different territory.

Stepping out into the dim fog that passes for sun here on rainy days between snow fall, I take a huge breath and wake up my phone to check my messages again. It’s getting obsessive, but even a screw you reply at this point might ease this anxiety inside of me. I waited too long.

I walk up the block to a little coffee spot that none of the suits and ties seem to know about, or maybe they’re just too busy trying to one up each other on their lunch tabs to notice the exquisite smell and atmosphere that is Colloquially. The name told me all I needed to know the first time I decided to step foot into the cafe after passing it every day the first week I was here.

The smell hits me and settles the nerves causing the shake in my hand. I approach the counter and the blond behind it smiles broadly at me. Bryant! Leo greets me. Will you have the same as yesterday?

And all the days before, I reply.

Are you sure you don’t want to try a specialty drink? he asks, the same as every day.

Nope. Just drip with a splash of cream and three sugars please. I can’t help it. I’ve taken to drinking her favorite coffee.

Do you not like cafe drinks or are you just not adventurous? Leo beams a wide smile at me as he lets out a soft chuckle before turning around to grab my cup.

Just hung up, I say to his back. He sighs before he turns around, still stirring.

I know that one well my friend. I will give you some advice; try a new brew. Next time, I will make you my favorite. You don’t get to decline. You have to move forward so you can move forward. Move forward and maybe you will find a reason to smile at the sun.

I thank him and pay for my drink, pondering over what new coffee might do for my mood and if I want to chance a move forward or take two steps back. With love I mean, not with coffee. I stop at a corner cart and grab a sandwich before making my way back to the building and the expansive gardens behind it. I still have forty-five minutes. These lunch breaks are always so long. Great if you have somewhere to go, but I have little interest in forming any sort of bond with anyone. When my last two weeks are finally up, I’ll be gone, and I have no intention of looking back. Forget the extension, I didn’t sign up for any of this.

Lunch in the gardens today. I’m missing you.

I hope you can forgive me.

I snap a selfie to go with my message and press send before putting my phone away. I don’t expect a reply, but I hope she at least looks at my messages and knows how much I still care about her.

I hope. And hope is a fragile creature.

Early spring thaw blasts into the city swiftly, full of frosty mornings and cold rains in the afternoon. I bundle my coat around me tighter and curse the fact that I have a week left here.

I debated even answering the email from the art tour last night about coming on for their next tour in April. I was torn between getting back into my creative drive and getting back to the states so I could hop on another plane and book it across the country. Or just changing my flights altogether and skipping the in between. The suitcase I have here is plenty full of clothes and essentials, I don’t actually need anything I don’t already have, and since my father made sure this was a paid internship, I had plenty of money stashed to buy whatever I might need. I’d have to think about that more later.

After letting Leo make me a fancy coffee he called a flat white with a twist, I stomp through the door to the offices and jam my finger into the button for the elevator, all while sipping on the caramel and cinnamon flavor and wondering exactly what with a twist means for the inclusions in this cup. The longest part of my day always seems to be the thirteen floor elevator ride that stops on every floor as it goes up. The door dings and I file in, several others behind me. As the doors close again in front of me, I think on the answer I gave Leo when he asked what I thought of the beverage in my hand. I told him the drink was good, but so was the original, just like the girl, and thanked him for his effort.

We move up, stopping every floor, as always, until we hit ten. Several more suits force me back further into the wall. Then a hand sticks through the door as it’s closing and Nita presses herself between two men to come stand beside me. Her pinky brushes me, and she looks over slyly, trying to hook it into my hand. Going up, Crossman?

I pull my hands together in front of me and stare