Strictly the Worst (The Salinger Brothers #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

TESSA

“I’m taking you off the project,” my boss tells me. He’s standing in the corner of his over-expansive office, holding a putter as he squints at the golf ball in front of him. He lightly swings it, gently murmuring to himself as though he’s having his own personal pep talk.

“I’m sorry?” I frown because my ears are ringing and it’s been almost impossible to hear anything for the past three days. I spent the weekend becoming close friends with a circular saw and even though I wore ear protection all I can hear is constant buzzing. It’s like a family of crickets has moved into my brain and thrown a party.

I wait for him to repeat his words. After he does, I’ll tell him what I thought he said and we’ll both laugh.

“You’re off the Exuma project.” He’s still glaring at the golf ball like it’s his nemesis. “A hundred and thirty-two,” he mutters. “I scored better than that when I was a beginner.” He finally looks up, his gaze meeting mine. “Did you know Salinger can score seventy without batting an eyelid? That’s professional level. Damn it, I’m never gonna beat him.”

My heart is slamming against my chest, not least because Roman Hampshire seems more interested in his golf score than the fact I’ve been working on the Exuma project for the past six months.

I swallow hard, trying not to hyperventilate. Because this project is the big one. It’s my first multimillion dollar budget, and my one chance to prove that I can create a PR plan for a huge client. And yes, there’s the sizable bonus that I’ll get at the end to consider, too.

I need that money. I’ve already spent it in my mind on a kitchen that actually has cupboards and a nice sink with faucets that don’t leak, along with a counter top that isn’t made of crates stacked on top of each other.

“We’re supposed to be doing the pitch in two weeks,” I say, as Roman taps the ball and it veers around the hole of his makeshift green in the corner. “I’ve been working on it for months. I’m all ready for it.”

He shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter that I’ve spent every waking hour I’m not demolishing my home making mock ups of brochures and social media campaigns. I can’t remember the last time I actually watched the television or read a book. I work and I renovate and I take care of my daughter.

“Is the client unhappy with my work?” I ask. Because the last time I spoke with the marketing team they loved the direction we were taking. He’s not the decision maker – that’s James Gold, the owner of Gold resorts. But the marketing director is a pretty big cheese.

“James is fine,” Roman says. “He just wants to take things in a different direction.”

“What kind of direction?” I’m already thinking of the printing budget I’ve spent and the draft contracts I’ve agreed to with influencers .

This is not good. Not good at all.

“He wants the pitch to be presented on Exuma itself.”

I blink. The presentation is supposed to take place at Gold Resorts’ head office on Fifth Avenue. I’ve already scoped out the room – thanks to a connection I have over there. In my head I’ve planned where everybody will sit. I enjoy planning. It’s my superpower. And though I know a lot about the Exumas – an archipelago of little islands in the Bahamas – what I don’t know is the audiovisual equipment they’ll have at the hotel.

I think I’m going to hyperventilate.

“Why would James want us to present the pitch on the island?” I ask.

“Because he thinks we need to experience the resort itself.” James shrugs. “I can’t say I disagree. You should have thought about that months ago.”

“You said you wanted me to keep within budget,” I say. “How could we do that and fly to Exuma?”

I’m shaking. I need to sit down. I can’t remember if I ate lunch today. I don’t think I did. I was too busy on a conference call during lunch. My assistant brought me a coffee at about two, and insisted I drank it. But apart from that…

There’s a knock at the door and Roman grabs his ball and club and puts them into the golf bag that’s leaning against the wall. “Don’t tell him I was practicing, okay? I don’t want him to know he’s gotten me riled up.”

“Who don’t you want me to tell?” I ask, completely confused.

A moment later my question is answered when Roman yells out for whoever is knocking to come in and the door opens wide. I turn around, my gaze taking in the sharply cut suit, the thick shoulders, and broad chest, tapering down to a slim waist.

“Salinger,” Roman calls out, beaming like Linc Salinger is his best friend and not another employee. “Come on in. I was just updating Tessa on our chat with James Gold on the course earlier.”

“You were playing golf with James Gold?” I ask. “Why didn’t you ask me to come along?”

“Do you play golf?” Roman asks. I’m aware of Salinger’s gaze on my face. He’s been working for Roman for the last year. His official title is Head of Client Relations but he’s basically Roman’s right-hand man. On paper, we’re equals – we both report to Roman.

But as far as everybody else here at Hampshire PR is concerned, Salinger and Roman are the head honchos around here.

“No,” I say tightly. “I don’t play golf.” I never had the chance to learn. I remember wanting to every Saturday morning when my ex-husband would head for the golf club, leaving me to nurse a baby with one arm and replying to emails with the other.

“That’s a shame,” Roman says.

Linc still hasn’t said anything. I turn to look at him and his dark blue gaze hits mine. “Carmichael,” he says softly, not moving his gaze at all. I swallow hard, because as much as I hate it, this man is stupidly attractive.

“Salinger.”

He’s not in the New York office very much, because his job requires him to fly to whatever client is threatening to leave at any given time. I’ve seen him in action. The man could smooth talk anybody. He has this way about him that makes everybody love him.

Everybody but me. Because, no, my insides aren’t tingling like they’ve just touched a frayed piece of electrical wire. Not at all. I’m not interested in this man with the sharp jaw and god-like charm.

And yes, part of that is professional jealousy. I’ve been working for Hampshire PR for the last nine years. Managed to claw my way up to Head of Social Media Marketing. And then Salinger sails in a year ago pretty much above my head and Roman thinks the sun shines out of his rather fine behind.

“Salinger agreed that he can give the pitch,” Roman tells me, smiling as though he’s doing me a favor. “You just need to meet with him to give him all the details. The videos and whatnot.”

And whatnot . I blew out a mouthful of air. There’s no point in explaining that whatnot involves many hours of my life. Or that I’ve fallen in love with this project.

“This isn’t fair,” I say, aware I sound like a kid who’s just been told to go to bed. “This is my project.”

Roman lifts a brow and I know I’ve spoken out of line.

But they can’t give Exuma to him. That’s just wrong.

“James specifically asked for Linc to take over,” Roman says. “He knows you’re not able to travel at short notice because…” he waves his hand, as though my reasons are unimportant.

As though Zoe is unimportant.

Linc still says nothing. I turn to look at him and he presses his lips together, his vivid blue eyes still trained on my face. I know he doesn’t like me much either. I also know that’s because he knows I don’t like him.

So why is the air sizzling between us like somebody’s just popped it into a Soda Stream?

It’s uncomfortable, because there’s not many people I dislike.

My ex-husband. Obviously.

His girlfriend. Who is also his boss’ daughter.

And Ryan Sharp from first grade who stole my favorite Peanuts pencil topper and threw it down the boy’s toilet.

That’s it. I like everybody else. Except him…

Linc Salinger is part of a very favored few. And from the way he’s looking at me, he knows it.

“Okay,” I say, because I need to get out of here. My throat is doing that weird ticklish thing it always does before I start to cry. And I’m not going to let Salinger know he’s upset me. “Is there anything else?”

Roman shrugs. “No, that’s it.”

I nod wordlessly and turn around, wrenching his door open and stepping outside.

“Sixty-eight,” Roman says. “How the heck do you score that?”

“Practice,” Salinger replies. “And a little bit of genius.”

“He can’t do that,” my assistant, Gina, whispers, horrified. She’s force feeding me a Snickers bar – king sized – and a mug of coffee. As soon as I walked into the large office full of desks she took one look at my pale face and forced me to sit down while she took care of me. So I’m in her chair while she’s perched on her desk in front of me, pointing half a candy bar at my mouth.

“Eat,” she says.

I shake my head. “I can’t eat any more.”

“Just one more bite,” she urges, like she’s talking to a child. “It will do you good.”

I appreciate her, I really do. But all I really want is to be alone. And maybe scream at the world, because it really isn’t fair.

She gives me the most sympathetic of smiles. “Maybe Roman will change his mind.”

“He won’t,” I say. “He’s already given it to Salinger.”

“Stupid dumbass nepo babies,” Gina mutters. And this is why I love her, because I know she doesn’t mean it. She likes Linc. Like most of the female employees at Hampshire PR, when he first arrived she had a crush on him.

Now it’s more of an admiration. And I know for a fact that she stalks him on Instagram. Because she insists on showing me all the beautiful women he dates in what seems like every city in the world.

That’s the beauty of his job. He flies wherever the business needs him. He can be in Paris one day, London the next, and then suddenly he’s on an airplane to Dubai. He rarely spends any time in New York, much to Gina’s – and everybody else’s – disappointment.

“I thought you liked him,” I say. Because she definitely runs to the bathroom to touch her lipstick up whenever he walks into the office.

“I don’t,” she tells me. “I just want to tear his clothes off and climb him like a tree.”

I’m not going to imagine him with his clothes off. I’m just not.

“So what do we do now?” she asks me. “Do you still get the account if they decide to give it to us?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. And that’s the most upsetting part of all. The Exuma project was supposed to be my opportunity to show Gold Leisure what I can do. With an aim to win all their PR and social media business across the US as well as Exuma.

It would guarantee me a job for life in Roman’s eyes. But now I don’t know if I’ll have one next week.

I take a deep breath. “We’re going to have to package everything we’ve worked on into a neat bow so we can pass it over to Salinger.”

Gina snaps her head to look at me. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I nod. Because yes, we’ve done all the work, but Salinger will take the glory.

“Maybe we should sabotage it,” she says, a wicked glint in her eye. “We could put subliminal messages in the videos.”

“What kind of subliminal messages?” I’m only humoring her, but right now I need something to make me smile. And if anybody can make me smile it's Gina.

She’s been my assistant for the last four years and nobody could ask for anybody better. She knows everything about me. She was there when I found out about my ex – Jared’s affair, and she was there when I filed for divorce.

When I need somebody to vent to, or a shoulder to cry on she’s always there. Gina is part of my very small circle of trust.

“I don’t know what messages, but I’ll think of something,” she promises.

I can’t tell if she’s kidding or not. Mary Beth, one of Salinger’s two assistants, walks past us and shoots us a look.

And I open my mouth to remind Gina that we’re better than that, and that we’re all supposed to be on the same team, but then my phone rings.

Zoe’s name lights up on the screen.

There aren’t many people that I rush to answer. I much prefer to write a message than talk on the phone. Unlike Linc Salinger, I’m not always great with a speedy answer. I need to think about things before I respond and messages help with that.

But this is my daughter. And at thirteen years old she calls a lot.

“I’ll just get this,” I tell Gina, leaving her to her evil plans for retaliation as I walk into my office. It’s small but perfectly formed. Gina’s desk is right outside – she pretty much acts as my gatekeeper. And my feeder, if the stash of candy bars in her drawer is anything to go by.

“Hey honey,” I say after closing the door and swiping the screen to accept Zoe’s call. “Is everything okay?” I glance at my watch. It’s almost five o’clock. This week she’s at her dad’s. We share custody. It’s supposed to be fifty-fifty, but it never is.

“Dad’s late,” she tells me. “And I can’t get ahold of him. He’s not answering my calls.”

I let out a long breath. I shouldn’t be surprised. This isn’t the first time he’s left her stranded, and it probably won’t be the last .

But today is Zoe’s orthodontist check up. The office is about a five-minute walk from her school, so she’d agreed with Jared to meet him there.

“Did you call his office?” I ask, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Yeah, they said he’s in surgery.”

“Now?” My voice lifts. Jared is a cosmetic surgeon. He can choose his hours. And he knows about this appointment because I reminded him four times.

“Yeah. So I called Melissa and she spoke to the orthodontist and he did the check up anyway. But she can’t come and get me. She’s at a salon on the other side of town.”

Melissa is Jared’s twenty-four year old girlfriend.

It’s kind of laughable that she’s more responsible than Jared is when it comes to our daughter. And I’m almost certain that the orthodontist has broken some kind of code by seeing Zoe without a parent being present. But I’ll work through that one later.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier?” I ask her. Even though I probably would have been in Roman’s office at the precise moment she called, I still would have answered. And I would have rushed to the orthodontist to be with her.

“Dad told me not to call you every time he’s late,” she says, her voice small, because she thinks it will piss me off.

“You can always call me,” I tell her. “Always. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, still sounding uncertain.

“I’m leaving now,” I tell her. “Hang tight and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“They’re closing up.”

“Let me talk to them,” I say. “Don’t leave the office without me, okay?” I’m already picking up my jacket and purse, and pulling open my office door.

“Hello?” a voice says down the phone. “This is Doctor Archer’s office. ”

“Hello, this is Tessa Carmichael. Zoe’s mom. I’m afraid there’s been a mix up. I’m heading over to pick her up now, but it’s going to take twenty minutes. Can you make sure she’s safe until I’m there to meet her?”

A huff comes down the line. “It’s very inconvenient.”

“Gotta go,” I mouth to Gina. She frowns and I gesture at the phone. “Zoe.”

She nods and I run down the corridor.

“I understand it’s inconvenient,” I say. “But it’s all I’ve got. Please just make sure my daughter isn’t left alone in the middle of the street.”

“Okay then. But you need to organize your children better,” the person says, and I immediately want to scream. But I need their help so I’ll save it for later.

Zoe comes back on the line and I promise her I’ll see her soon, right as I turn around the corner and stop short.

But not short enough. Because I barrel into the one man I’d like to avoid for the rest of my life.