The Love Audit

Chapter One Jasmine

CHAPTER ONE

Jasmine

Jasmine!” Cassie punctuated my name by slamming her open palm on the desk that I was nervously pacing in front of.

“What, Cassie?” I snapped, stopping short before turning to her and crossing my arms over my chest.

“You know wearing a hole in the floor of my rug is not going to make the clock move any faster, and I know your feet are killing you.” She laughed.

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes at her before resuming my mini marathon in her office.

She was right, of course. Everyone in the office has been on edge since our company was acquired by MasonCorp, a notoriously ruthless mega conglomerate, most well-known for gobbling up smaller companies like Pac-Man and making them insanely profitable.

This doesn’t sound like such a problem, unless you know that it drives profits by slashing personnel.

Everyone knows that when the higher-ups point their red pencils at the budget, public relations and advertising are the first on the chopping block.

One would think that managing a company’s public persona and driving sales would be the most important parts of a company, but nobody seems to remember that until an executive gets caught exposing themselves on a Zoom call. Suddenly, we’re gods.

In an effort to make the company more attractive to a prospective buyer, the advertising and PR departments were downsized and combined. Cassie and I were lucky enough to avoid the chopping block that time. This time, I didn’t feel so lucky.

“Who calls a meeting at 10:47 a.m.?” I huffed and flopped onto the couch that lined the wall, perfectly bisecting our shared office, before slipping off my stilettos and attempting to sooth the balls of my feet on Cassie’s sheepskin rug without her noticing.

“It feels like a power move.” She raised an eyebrow at my bare feet but didn’t say a word. “It’s like they’re scheduling these meetings back-to-back with just enough time to tell you to pack your stuff.”

“I cannot lose this job, Cas.” I jumped to my feet and began pacing again.

“Yes, you can.”

I stopped and stared at her, my head tilted in confusion.

“You are an Ivy League, trust fund debutante with parents who are richer than God.” She glared at me with a small smirk, daring me to contradict her. “You’ll be fine.”

“That’s not the point, Cassie.” I smirked at her. “And did you forget that you are also an Ivy League alumnus and that my rich parents are friends with your rich parents, Miss Fellow Trust Fund Debutante?”

“No,” she quipped and stood from her desk. “That’s how I know that we’re gonna be okay. C’mon, let’s get this over with.” She straightened her jacket, pushed the door open, and held it for me. “You’re gonna regret taking off those shoes.”

I was completely silent for the entire elevator ride to the sixty-seventh floor.

My work bestie was usually cool under pressure, but her silence spoke volumes.

She was nervous, too. My parents were wealthy and successful, but that didn’t matter to me.

I was determined to make a name for myself beyond being Jasmine Morgan, daughter of Celine and Jasper Morgan, legendary corporate titans.

Not to mention the nasty rumors, whispered about my parents since the dissolution of their first company.

I knew they weren’t true, but they didn’t help in the court of public opinion.

“Jasmine Morgan and Cassaundra West,” I addressed the receptionist on the sixty-seventh floor.

I knew everyone who worked at Westwood, but didn’t recognize her, so I assumed she must be from MasonCorp.

I briefly wondered which of my coworkers I’d be seeing for the last time as I refocused on her mild expression.

“We have a 10:47 a.m. meeting with Edward Mason.”

“Yes, of course, you’re from the PR/advertising division of Westwood.” Her eyes remained glued to her computer screen. “You’re a few minutes early, and Mr. Mason is running a few minutes behind schedule. You can have a seat, and I’ll let you know when he’s ready.”

I nodded and turned in the direction she’d gestured, still without looking up from her computer, and scanned the sparsely populated waiting room. I recognized some of the occupants from the office. Some were new to me, until my gaze fell on a face I hadn’t seen in almost fifteen years.

It was a face that I never thought I’d see again.

My heart stopped, and my impending meeting with the man who currently held my professional fate in his hands flew out of my head. He was as handsome as I remembered, but the near decade and a half since we’d seen each other had made him older and more distinguished.

I barely registered Cassie guiding me to an empty pair of chairs before I lowered myself into the seat next to hers, tearing my eyes away from him.

We sat in silence while we waited to be called.

I pulled out my phone and began to scroll in an effort to keep my thoughts on anything except the man in the expertly tailored suit and the wire-rimmed glasses seated across the room.

I wondered if he’d notice me or if he’d even remember who I was if he did.

I couldn’t risk making eye contact with him because I don’t know what he would do or say if I did, or worse, what I would do or say.

Either way, I couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Today was too important. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Here are the files from all the dead projects Mr. Mason asked for.” A young man in his early twenties dropped a stack of file folders on the receptionist’s desk, drawing my attention.

“Great. Are they all there?”

“They should be.” The man leaned over the desk and began flipping through the folders, reading off the names. “BetterTech, BioCorp, Leviathan, Miller’s Cove, Globeworks, Prime Motors, North Star Communications…” His voice drifted off.

“Cliff Enterprises & Radiant Intelligence?”

“Crap.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back.

” He left the stack on the desk before turning and hurrying toward the elevators.

The receptionist must have felt my gaze because she turned to me, raising a questioning eyebrow.

I pasted on a smile and quickly averted my eyes, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, only to lock eyes with him, the man I’d been actively trying to avoid.

My body felt immediately hot. I quickly searched his face for any recognition, and maybe any derision. His expression and lingering gaze were unreadable.

I couldn’t muster up a polite smile after all these years, so I dragged my attention to my phone screen.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait in the awkward tension for long since we were called into the conference room.

We rose and took a step toward the door before the receptionist called out, “Oh, just department heads.” She raised her eyebrow at Cassie, who responded with an annoyed tilt of the head. “Sorry for the confusion.”

Cassie retook her seat, shot me a wink, and whispered, “You got this,” before I disappeared into the conference room.

The meeting was just as short as it was terrifying.

Edward Mason cut an imposing figure, sitting at the head of the large black table, flanked by two men in suits who looked equally menacing.

He flipped open a file and scanned it for a long, heavy silence that dragged on for what felt like days before he spoke.

“Jasmine Morgan.” He called my name unnecessarily, since I could see he was glancing at an open file with my corporate headshot attached to it.

I nodded.

“You graduated in the top ten percent of your class at Columbia, recruited by Westwood, spent the last eight years in public relations, working your way up to the head of the department when you were only twenty-seven.” He paused and looked up at me.

“Yes, I did.” I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. Was I supposed to defend my position, sing for my supper?

“You’ve done some impressive work, and it’s clear that you’d be an asset to any corporation.”

“Thank you.”

“Unfortunately,” he continued, and my heart stopped again, “when one large company absorbs another, tough decisions need to be made. Do you understand, Jasmine?”

“I’m not sure I do,” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. It definitely sounded like I was being fired, but if Edward Mason was planning on firing me, the words would have to leave his lips. I wasn’t going to do the work for him.

“Your career achievements were exceptional for Westwood”—he closed the file and leaned forward—“but Westwood was a sinking ship. My first order of business is to toss the deadweight, and there’s a lot.

There’s waste in nearly every division. I need to know if you have what it takes to survive at MasonCorp.

I’m going to be watching your division very closely for the next thirty days.

If I like what I see, we can discuss your future at MasonCorp.

If you can’t show me that your division can be profitable…

” He didn’t need to say what would happen if he didn’t like what he saw, but he did anyway. “I hope you can swim.”

I exited the conference room feeling like there was a lead weight in my stomach. I calmly told Cassie that I had thirty days to perform a financial miracle in order to save our department.

“Mr. Mason will see you now,” the receptionist called into the waiting room.

My voice died away as Cassie and I watched the man I’d been trying and failing to avoid in the suit and wire-rimmed glasses cross the room and enter the conference room.

He didn’t look at us as he walked past, but an intoxicating scent that was a mixture of soap and cologne followed him through the room.

It was so faint that I had to restrain myself from leaning forward to make it last longer. My gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed.