Contractual Hearts

Ghosts of Summers Past

The sterile scent of the high-rise office gave way to a damp, earthy perfume of a Willow Creek summer night. Cicadas sang a frantic chorus from the centuries-old oak trees lining the back of the Rossi house. Ella, sixteen, pressed her back against the rough bark of the old willow tree, its trailing branches a veil separating her from witnessing what was happening on the porch.

Aiden, her brother two years older than her, was laughing, giving him a friendly slap on Liam Sterling's shoulder. With all the nonchalance that Ella could only wish for, at eighteen standing against the porch railing, a cheap bottle of beer dangling from his fingers, moonlight stroking the crescent of his smile, the very picture of young god in the realm of mortals.

"Seriously, man," Aiden was saying with a grin, giving Liam a friendly shove. "You gonna tell me who she is? The mysterious blonde from the lake house?"

Liam took a swig from the bottle, casually glancing toward the willow tree. Ella caught her breath and felt her heart race. He sees me. He knows I'm here. But his eyes drifted away, uninterested on the fireflies darting over the overgrown lawn. "Just someone passing through," came his lazy, deep drawl, now roughening into the very timber Ella would later associate with heartbreak. "Nothing serious."

Nothing serious. The words dripped with casual unconcern, settling like slugs in Ella's stomach. She had spent the entire summer following him in orbit, memorizing how sunlight caught the gold in his brown hair, the precise shade of blue in his eyes when he laughed, how his calloused hand felt when it accidentally grazed hers while passing her a soda; she had played witty retorts in the mirror and borrowed Aiden's best cologne, letting it scent her pillowcase in the hopes that some essence of him would linger. Fantasies, full of some very elaborate plots, had been woven where someday he would notice her, truly notice her, not as Aiden's annoying little kid sister.

The reckless bravado inspired by teenage hormones and her three illicit sips of Aiden's beer, she was poised to speak this night. A rehearsed hundred times: Liam, I... think you're amazing. I know I'm just Ella, but...

It crumbled at that instant, hearing him now dismiss the blonde from the lake house,-a girl he had kissed, as careless gossipping had it, according to Aiden-with such casual disdain. Not even a passing fling. Background noise. Furniture. Aiden's little sister.

Mrs. Rossi bellowed from inside for the boys to come in for dessert, her voice accompanied by the sudden slamming upstairs of the screen door. Liam hopped off the railing, following Aiden inside. For an unholy and heart-stopping moment, he hesitated at the threshold, his gaze sweeping the darkened yard. For one impossible heart-stopping moment, Ella thought he looked directly at her hiding spot. A wild hope seized Ella, and she froze, wishing the shadows would swallow her whole.

Then he turned and vanished inside the warm and welcoming embrace of the house, leaving her alone in the warm darkness. The fireflies mocked her. The song of cicadas turned suddenly coarse and grating. The taste of the stolen beer soured in her mouth. Hot tears seared her eyes, blurring her sights on the moon. She bit hard on her lower lip to keep them from falling. Nothing serious. The words scampered through her, ripping a spot on her already tender heart. That night under the weeping willow, Ella Rossi swore two things: she would never let Liam Sterling see her cry, and she would get as far away from Willow Creek – and the shadow of his indifference – as humanly possible.

Present Day

But up, neck and neck jerked an ably terrific ergonomic chair of an office brought by Sterling Dynamics. The hum of the far-off city replaced the cicadas. The scent of cut grass and teenager desperation hung around, now replaced by fresh carpet and ambition.

She pressed evening fingers to her throbbing temples. The Harrington strategy documents lay open on her screen, a blur of text and numbers. How can I focus? Liam's frigid presence suffocated the entire floor in itself: a harsh, permanent weight. Every time she shuts her lids, she sees the porch, the moonlight, and his devastating nonchalance in those eighteen-year-old eyes. As if nothing were serious.

Now, his impeccably manicured hands held her career in them, not much of a burn. The boy who hadn't seen her was now the man who could end her career at a whim. The humiliation was a live wire, sparking beneath her skin.

A sharp knock brought the memory to a halt. Janice stood with a tablet in the doorway. "Ms. Rossi? Mr. Sterling is calling you into Conference Room A. The Harrington initial meeting begins in five minutes."

Ella took a breath that would calm the nerves and then brushed the suit jacket over her chest. The ghost of the sixteen-year-old girl was ruthlessly shoved back into darkness: "Thanks, Janice. I will be right there."

She stood, squaring her shoulders, opening a few ruby Louboutins to anchor her in the moment. A thousand miles away, ten years ago. Yes, Liam Sterling is the CEO. Yet, Ella Rossi is not going to be that ghost again. She is a force. She has the strategy. She has the skill. She will go after the Harrington account, even if it means navigating through an emotional minefield of ghosts from the past and hostility from the present. Failure is not an option. Not with Liam Sterling watching, waiting for her slip. Picking up her tablet, her expression settled to that of cool, professional determination. The battlefield awaited.