Chapter 4
I turn aroundand nearly drop the coffee and the gum out of my mouth at the same time. “Kiera?!”
She squeals and runs over to me, hugging me awkwardly as I proceed to stand still as a statue, shocked and confused. “What the heck are you doing here?” she asks, looking me up and down. “Does Pete’s make deliveries now or something?”
I shake my head, feeling like my brain is working extra slow. “No, but someone forgot part of their order and… Hold on, you mean you work here?”
“Uh, yeah. Why else would I be here?”
Then the rest of the puzzle comes crashing down on me, nearly knocking me over. The last ten-ish minutes of rushing over here had me so flustered that I didn’t even have time to put together that Kiera’s older brother’s name is also Owen.
Her gaze slides down to the name on the coffee cup in my hands, then her eyes bug out as she apparently comes to the same conclusion I have. “Wait, wait, wait. My brother is yourMr. TDC?” I can practically hear the extra exclamation points at the end of her sentence.
“Conference room in less than five minutes, people!” comes a deep, commanding, and familiar voice that shoots straight to my core. I think it does something different to everyone else in the room though, because suddenly, they’re all scurrying around like terrified mice, heading to the opposite end of the room where another large, bright, open room sits waiting, along with a table full of coffees and pastries.
“How did we never put this together?” Kiera asks, shaking her head.
I’m currently wondering the same thing. I mean, we were only roommates for a year, and I’ve heard her mention her brother, Owen, but I’m positive we never met. I would have remembered a face that swoon-worthy. He never came to our apartment, and we certainly never went to his. When we were freshman, he was a senior, busy with life, preparing for graduation, etc. Did I ever see pictures though? Maybe from when they were younger?
“I have no idea, but, um, here.” I try to shove the coffee into her hands, but she won’t take it.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing, just, um, running away. Can you please take this to your brother?” I say, whispering the last word.
But she has zero pity on me. She grins, and mischief glitters in Kiera’s eyes as she takes me by the elbow, forcefully walking me through the room. Lots of eyes are on me now, and I do my best to keep my chin held high and remind myself I’m a woman of strength, dignity, and poise.
“Where are we going?” I whisper.
“To see Mr. Tall, Dark, and Caffeinated himself, of course.”
I immediately dig in my heels. “What? No! I can’t. Kiera, why don’t you take the coffee to him yourself?”
“Because I’m not his secretary. That’s something a secretary would do.”
“Okay, where’s his secretary then?”
“Doesn’t have one.”
“What?”
“The last one quit. Couldn’t stand staring at Mr. Ferguson’s juicy tush day after day and not taking a bite out of it.”
“Ew! Kiera, he’s your brother!”
“I know, right?” She shrugs. “Her words, not mine.”
Right. I’m going to kill Kiera. And Pete. And Marlee. Everyone shall feel my wrath.
But before I can go about my wrath rampage, Kiera shoves me unceremoniously through an open door and promptly disappears. I’m about to run when Mr. TDC—uh, that is, Mr. Ferguson, er, Owen, Mr. Ferguson!—lifts those dark eyebrows of his and notices me. He’s standing behind a big, cherry oak desk, leaning over a laptop, but as soon as he sees me, his eyes narrow and he straightens.
There is a long, excruciating moment when neither of us speaks. It’s just the two of us in this surprisingly cozy-looking office, staring at each other.
He opens his mouth, but there’s a glitch in my system and I speak first anyway.
“Coffee.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You forgot your coffee. But it wasn’t your fault. It was Marlee’s fault. Not that I’m throwing her under the bus or anything. I wouldn’t do that. But I thought you should probably get your coffee since you paid for it, and your office wasn’t far away so I brought it up, but I know you’re incredibly busy so I’ll leave this here and be on my way when I finally get my mouth to stop saying stuff.”
I clap my free hand over my lips.
“There,” I say through my fingers. “See? I’m done.”
Mr. Ferguson opens his mouth, but before I can find out what he was about to say, I hear the far off sound of the elevator dinging again. He looks past me, and his face pales a shade. Unable to help myself, I turn to see what he’s staring at.
A woman who is an entire VIBE steps out of the elevator. She’s wearing black everything, and her dark-brown hair is cut and shaped into a perfect, chic bob. There are some serious The Devil Wears Prada similarities. This woman clearly means business, and her low heel pumps punctuate this with each step. Every head in the office turns to watch her, and when she takes off her sunglasses and casts a glare across the room, the eyes avert.
I spy Kiera skittering away from the incoming threat, but I can only stand there, coffee still in hand, marveling at the warpath this woman must create in her corporate world.
“Don’t think I don’t see you running away from me, young lady,” the woman barks.
Kiera freezes, and I’m all kinds of confused. Shoulders hunched, my friend turns around and follows the woman into Owen’s office. Unsure what else to do, I tuck myself into a corner. Maybe the woman won’t see me and I can sneak back out the door. Only, I still have the coffee in my hand, and now the woman is effectively blocking the doorway. The room feels infinitely smaller.
Her eagle eyes survey the space, and then they land on me. Sweat literally beads on my back.
“I was bringing by the list of applicants you carelessly forgot at dinner last night, but I see you’ve decided to forgo my recommendations and took hiring a secretary into your own hands.”
I look around, trying to figure out who the woman is talking about. Kiera told me Owen has no secretary.
The woman’s eyes land on me, and that’s when I realize who she’s referencing. It’s me. I’m the secretary. Obviously, since I’m holding the coffee. My eyes widen and dart first to Kiera then to Owen. Kiera looks as surprised as I am, but Owen has a murderous scowl on his face.
“She’s a little too pretty for my taste,” the woman says with a calculating stare. The picture starts coming into clearer focus. This person must be Kiera and Owen’s mother, judging by the uncanny resemblance in the dark hair and brown eyes. “What are your qualifications?” she snaps.
“Um, excuse me?” I am dead.
“Your qualifications. Where you went to school, what you studied, where you’ve worked before, what are your qualifications?”
I swallow, waiting for someone, anyone, to correct her, tell her there’s been a misunderstanding, but no one does. They’re all staring at me, waiting.
“Mrs. Ferguson, I—”
“I am not Mrs. Ferguson, nor have I been Mrs. Ferguson for over a year. You may call me Ms. Burton. Now, your qualifications?”
Okay…I remember Kiera mentioning her parents were still in the middle of an ugly, drawn-out divorce. Apparently, her mom didn’t want to wait for everything to be official before changing her name.
“Well, uh, I went to the University of South Carolina where I majored in accounting and minored in English. I—I was a personal secretary for Mr. Browning at Browning and Sons. I worked at—”
Ms. Burton cuts me off with a wave of her hand. Too bad, because I was about to get to my stint at good old Mickey D’s. “I’ve heard enough. Go on, girl. Give him his coffee and get back to your desk.” She glares at me and nods toward a tall desk standing outside the office. I must have passed it without even realizing it.
Kiera’s eyes are big, and she nods discreetly behind her mother, also toward the desk. Owen, however, is glaring at me as if he wishes looks could kill. Or at least, make me disappear. He gives a slight shake of his head, but what else am I supposed to do?
Creeping forward, I deposit the coffee on the desk and slip out of the room, deciding it’s best not to make any more eye contact.
“Close the door on your way out,” Ms. Burton says.
I do, and then, like a good little girl, I sit behind the tall desk, feeling Mr. TDC’s icy glare the whole time.
At this point, the office has emptied. Everyone is enjoying Pete’s pastries and coffee in the big conference room with the door closed. For five whole minutes, I agonize about whether I should continue sitting here, or whether I should get while the gettin’s good. Would anyone blame me? I obviously don’t belong here. I do have secretary experience, but this isn’t my job. Mr. TDC looked like he wanted to kill me for even sitting in this spot.
But if he didn’t want me to, why didn’t he correct his mom?
A bigger question presents itself to me: how will I ever face Mr. TDC at the coffee shop after this? What will this mean for him? How often does his mom come check in on him like this?
These questions and many other anxiety-inducing things run around my head until the office door opens and Ms. Burton’s imposing form is framed by the doorway.
“Don’t forget,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks my way, sunglasses in hand. “Friday. I’ll text you the address.”
She stops in front of my desk. Behind her, I can see Kiera and Owen whispering to each other. What the heck are they talking about? Don’t they know their mother is eyeing me like a wolf eyes a lost lamb?
I wish I had something important-looking to do like answer a phone or type at the computer, but the computer at the desk is actually off, and by the looks of the phone, all calls are being routed elsewhere at the current moment, so there is literally nothing else for me to do.
She looks over the desk at me with those brown eyes that are so warm and welcoming on her daughter, sexy on her son, but somehow cold and severe on her. “The next time I come in here, I want to see more professional clothing from you,” she says, her eyes traveling to my coffee-stained white button up and black pants that are standard at Pete’s Perk Up. “You are the face of the company, and I expect you to dress as such. That also means no more gum. No one wants to see a secretary masticating while they’re speaking to her.” Then she leaves without so much as a goodbye or a wave.
Mr. TDC’s sigh could probably be heard all the way to England. He pinches the bridge of his nose at the same time Kiera practically hops over to my side, eyes squeezed shut she’s smiling so hard.
She gives me yet another hug—I think I’ve more than filled my quota for the day—and whispers, “Welcome to the team!” Then she skips away toward the conference room.
I’m wondering what she means and what the heck I should do next when a deep, disapproving voice makes me shiver in my swivel chair.
“Junie. My office. Now.”
“Um, about that. You see, Pete’s probably wondering where I am, so I should—”
“Junie.”
I jump up from my desk—no, not my desk, the desk—and scurry into Mr. Ferguson’s office. The tension in the room is palpable. Mr. Ferguson stands, and when he walks toward me, he reminds me of a jungle cat closing in on its prey. Is he angry at me? His mom? The situation?
I’m frozen to the floor when he moves behind me to close the door, and I swear every hair on my body lifts when his arm brushes mine.
“Excuse me,” he says coldly, because I am, of course, still frozen. My body is keeping him from being able to close the door all the way and trap me in here with him.
As much as I want to obey, I can’t. My nervous system is shot. This doesn’t seem to faze him, as if he’s used to women glitching around him on the regular. He grasps my arm just above my elbow and firmly but gently coaxes me over about six inches. I’m simultaneously thankful and cursing the fact that I chose to wear a long-sleeve blouse today. My skin probably wouldn’t have been able to take the direct contact, and I’d have likely burst into flame.
The door closes behind me with a soft click, and Mr. Ferguson lets go, returning to his seat behind his desk. My imagination must be working overtime on account of all the adrenaline rushing through my system, because I swear I almost see him do a little Mr. Darcy hand flex. He steeples his fingers in front of him. His eyes are closed, head bent, as if he’s deep in thought.
Finally he sighs. “This is quite a predicament we’re in.”
“Better to be in a predicament than a pickle.” The quip comes out of me before I can stop it. It was something my dad used to say to lighten an otherwise dark or gloomy mood. It always used to make me smile, imagining being stuck in a giant, real pickle. I don’t think Mr. Ferguson shares in the humor though.
“Junie,” he says in a warning voice. “Sit, please.”
I’m mildly impressed he managed to tack a “please” on to the end of that while still making it sound like an order. I take the chair across from him. He still hasn’t met my eyes, and I begin to wonder if he ever will again when he suddenly lifts his head and hits me with the full force of his bedroom eyes. Yes, even full of disapproval, his eyes are still bedroom-worthy.
I am a puddle on the floor.
How is anyone able to get any work done with those eyes around all the time? Well, not counting Kiera. That would be gross.
“We find ourselves in a unique situation,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
Oh, right. Almost forgot.
His gaze rakes over me. “Thanks to your untimely delivery, my mother thinks that you are, for all intents and purposes, my secretary.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I should have—”
He silences me with a hand slicing through the air. “As awkward as this situation seems, I can see it working out to both of our benefits.”
…Excusé moi?