(Not So) Mad About You (Moonshine Retreat #1)

Chapter One

T he only person Alli Williams counted on was herself. She certainly wasn’t about to count on a snot-nosed little barista with an attitude problem.

“Oat milk with an extra shot and a sprinkling of cinnamon,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the barista. “Sure you’ve got that?”

The barista smiled. “Not a problem, ma’am,” she said.

Alli glared at her but didn’t say anything. As much as she hated the stupid Americanisms that had seeped into her life over time, and as much as she hated the implications behind the word ‘ma’am’, the barista simply wasn’t worth her time.

Nor, Alli knew, was she in any way correct. Thirty-two was not ‘ma’am’ territory. Thirty-five, maybe. But definitely not thirty-two. And by thirty-five she’d be making so much money that she’d have her own damn barista and wouldn’t be patronizing coffee shops, no matter how upscale or trendy they might be.

“Your coffee, ma’am,” the barista said with a smile.

Alli took it with a muttered thanks and turned to leave, almost hitting a tall man in a dark suit as she did so.

“Watch where you’re going,” she growled, skipping a step backward. The last thing she needed was scuffs on her new Blahnik’s.

He smiled easily. “That could have been a disaster.”

“You’d have been paying the dry cleaning bills,” she said tartly before striding out of the coffee shop.

It took a minute for the irritation to die down. She wasn’t the type to take long deep breaths, and definitely not the type to take whatever poisons her doctor had prescribed to calm her down. Calm her down. As though she was an over-anxious labrador.

Calming, in Alli’s world, was not a good thing. Being eager, sharp, aggressive when necessary, all those were good qualities. All those were qualities that had put her firmly on Warren and Colman’s executive track. A track that one day would mean an office at the very top of the glass and steel building she was now walking into.

She pushed her way into the lift and pressed the button for thirty-two. Same age, same floor. It wasn’t quite the top floor, not yet, but it was some kind of sign, she was sure of that. She’d been working her backside off and this was her year, she could feel it. A vice president spot was opening up and it was going to be hers.

Which was definitely going to make the late nights and early mornings and skipped lunches and boozy dinners and all the rest of it all worth it.

Not that she had anything else to do with her time.

Pets, boyfriends, kids, they were all for suckers and Alli was no sucker. She was confident, skilled, and very happy alone, thank you very much.

“Morning, Ms. Williams,” chirped her assistant as she walked past.

Alli didn’t bother to reply. The girl would be gone within the month, they always were. There was no work ethic these days, that was the problem. People couldn’t just grit their teeth and get on with it. She dumped her bag on her chair and looked at her desk. And people definitely couldn’t follow instructions.

“You, in here,” she barked.

The assistant appeared in the doorway, looking like she was entering the dragon’s den. “Is there something I can do, ma’am?”

Fucking ma’am again. “Yes,” Alli said. “You can put my damn mail in the inbox where it’s supposed to go rather than splaying it across my desk like it’s a prize on a game show. Think you can handle that?”

With trembling hands, the assistant gathered up the post and slid the bundle into the tray beside Alli’s computer. “Yes, sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”

Probably because she’d be working for a crappy little bakery or baby toy company by this time next month, Alli thought. Some place that prided itself on being a family business, where the only hopes for advancement were an extra week of holiday. “Out,” she barked.

The assistant scurried off and Alli dumped her bag on the floor and was switching on her computer when there was a brief knock at the door. She looked up, ready to scowl, and switched to a smile when she saw a lanky, dark-haired man leaning on the doorframe.

“Scaring the peons off already?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Incompetent,” Alli said, leaning back in her chair.

“Terrified is more like it,” said Darren. “Which might work in the army, but it’s not the recommended management style in the corporate world.”

“I was never in the army,” said Alli. As if. All that marching around and shouting. Actually, put like that, maybe she should have considered it. She could shout. She could probably march, given different shoes. The pay would be awful though, she assumed.

“Shame,” said Darren, sliding into her office. “You’d make a cracking sergeant major.” He sat in the chair on the opposite side of her desk and eyed her. “What time did you get out of here last night? You look like death warmed up.”

“Is looking like cold death preferable?” asked Alli. “I mean, I suppose I could take another cold shower, if that’s what you’re after. But I didn’t realize we had a ‘not looking like warm death’ rule in the company handbook.”

“You know what I mean. And you didn’t answer the question. What time did you get out of here?”

“Gone midnight,” Alli said sharply. “But the Morgenstern report is finished and I’ll be meeting with Halen-Price after lunch.”

“Impressive,” Darren admitted. “Killer diligence, I suppose I shouldn’t complain about that.”

“Since when have I given you anything to complain about?” Alli asked.

He grinned at her. “You’re a go-getter, Al. And my best hire. I just don’t want you burning yourself out, that’s all. I don’t know what we’d do around here without you.”

“It’s called having a work ethic, and I won’t be burning out.” She took a gulp of her coffee and felt a twinge of sourness in her stomach as it went down.

“Alrighty then, I’ll leave you to it. Keep me updated on the Halen-Price meeting. I saw Jim Halen at the club last night, he won’t be coming in himself. He’ll send an underling to get the details, so no need to go over the top, just fill whoever it is in and let them go running back to report.”

Alli felt a bubbling of anger in her stomach. Underling. After all the work she’d put in, the man himself wasn’t even going to bother to turn up. “Right,” was all she said. After all, Darren was her boss.

He grinned at her again and disappeared out the door.

Her boss and perhaps her friend. If pushed, Alli would say that he was, if only because she couldn’t think of anyone else that could hold the title. Not that friends were important in her world. She’d have time for that stuff later if she ever decided she wanted some.

She took another mouthful of coffee, felt the same sour spike in her stomach, and ditched the half-full cup in the bin. Little Miss Assistant could clear that up. That stupid barista had probably forgotten to put oat milk in. The regular stuff always gave her a stomachache.

Alli’s attention went back to her computer and her day really started .

THE UNDERLING, AS Alli thought of him, was powerfully fragrant in a way that made her nose itch. He was impeccably dressed and shod, it was just the cologne that was letting him down. He may well have cracked the bottle open over his head and stood under it like a shower.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to imagine him in the shower, and came up cold. She tried every now and again, just to see if she could feel those hot, spiky feelings that you were supposed to feel. But she never did. There was probably something wrong with her, she knew that, but she’d never admit it. Never admit that even the thought of what was an objectively attractive man naked did nothing at all for her.

“What if we change the font?” he asked now, looking up from the screen.

“As I said, the font used has tested well with young audiences, which is what your firm is really looking to target.”

He looked back at his screen, considering this.

Seriously. This was supposed to be a big meeting. The kind of meeting that got contracts signed and her name on the right people’s lips. Not a nit-picking ‘we can’t decide on a font’ kind of meeting.

“And if we center these images?” he asked, pointing at the two images that graced the advertising materials.

“You’ll throw off the entire rest of the design,” Alli said, cooler now, trying to keep her patience like she was talking to a toddler.

“Yes, but I do think it would look better,” the Underling said.

Alli gritted her teeth. “It’s not possible.” His boss had already approved the ad material. She didn’t know what the hell was happening here now. She did know that her stomach was sour after lunch and she was starting to feel the familiar ache in the back of her neck and the warmth rising to her cheeks.

“I thought your job was to make these things possible,” Underling said, looking directly at her.

Which was really just about enough .

“My job is to get contracts signed,” Alli said through gritted teeth.

“Once your client is satisfied,” said Underling.

“My client, presumably your distant boss, was very satisfied at our last meeting.” Her blood was starting to boil, her teeth were hurting from being gritted.

“Yes, but—”

“Enough,” Alli said, getting up. “I’m happy to discuss details with people who are qualified to make decisions. I’m not sitting around talking about fonts with a glorified secretary. Tell Mr. Halen that I’ll set up a meeting with him directly and in the meantime I’ll have a copy of the marketing materials couriered over to him personally.”

The Underling’s face turned red and he was opening his mouth but it was too late. Alli was picking up her papers and sweeping out of the room.

Talk about people who weren’t worth her time.

She needed an antacid for her stomach and an aspirin for her head and some kind of vaccination against idiots. Failing all that, she could use a very large drink.

Her phone rang before she’d even got back to her office.