Chapter 6
Charlotte
Tip #6: Sometimes the only thing more dangerous than office gossip is client gossip.
T he Warner Print cafeteria looked like an industrial chic wedding venue had a baby with a high-end, sophisticated bar. Polished cement floors gleamed under the warm glow of Edison bulbs dangling from exposed beams. Lush greenery softened the industrial edges, spilling from planters nestled between mid-century modern sofas and sleek wooden tables.
“Looks like we’ve got a record turnout this year.” I surveyed the sea of Warner Print’s most loyal clients mingling around us.
Isaac nodded, his eyes scanning the room with laser focus. “I think just about every one of Grandfather’s original clients showed up. Most of tonight will be nostalgia for the good old days, back before computers complicated things and drove Grandfather to retire.”
I stifled a laugh. “You should be thankful. I remember the year you were first made manager and your grandfather still worked at Warner Print. It was just before he retired, and he barged into your office whenever he liked.”
I smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from my gold evening gown, hyperaware of Isaac’s towering presence beside me. His black suit was tailored for his tall frame, and—as usual—his tie matched my dress, made of the same gold fabric. (Since Warner Print footed the bill for any dresses I bought to attend work events, Isaac usually ensured we wore coordinating colors so clients would know we went together in case they had any questions about Warner Print.)
“He broke into my office whenever he was bored,” Isaac corrected with a slight smile. “And because he’s nosy and wanted to see to it that his grandchildren were working and not messing around.”
“I think he was more worried that you, Samuel, and Logan would work yourselves into the ground rather than skip out.” I took a sip of my sparkling grape juice. I wouldn’t risk real champagne tonight even though the Warners were serving it by the bottleful. I needed to be clearheaded to chitchat with all the clients.
Tonight’s event marked the anniversary of Walter Warner’s retirement. In reality it was created years ago as a way to celebrate and thank Warner Print’s clients, who were excluded from the employee-only Warner Print founding anniversary party, a much bigger affair.
The sweet aroma of vanilla and berries wafted past as a waiter breezed by with a tray of mini cheesecakes.
“I assume you have a plan for tonight?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, I spoke with Miguel and had a short chat with your mother, grandfather, and aunt and uncle.” I gestured to Jamie and Charles Warner—Logan’s parents—who were laughing with another member of Warner Print’s legal team. (Miguel was Samuel’s executive assistant, who was also in attendance tonight with his bemused husband in tow.)
Isaac nodded, willing to let me take the lead, as I usually did when it came to socializing. (Isaac knew he wasn’t the friendliest sort, which was why we were social buddies.)
“We focus on the longtime clients, while Natalie and Samuel tackle the newer customers,” I said. “Your Uncle Charles has a list of clients he personally interacted with when he used to be the chief legal officer he’s going to talk to. In our conversations, we need to focus on personal touches and making genuine connections. The goal is to confirm that Warner Print isn’t just another faceless corporation and that we truly care despite our rapid growth and expansion.”
Isaac’s expression was as stoic as usual, but he snapped off a sharp nod. “Understood.”
I took another sip of my drink, hoping the bubbles would settle the sudden swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I was better at socializing than Isaac, but the first conversation was always nerve-racking until I got into the swing of it.
When I looked up, Isaac offered me his arm, one eyebrow raised in silent question. “Shall we?”
I placed my free hand in the crook of his elbow, the two of us easily settling into sync. “Lead the way. There isn’t any specific client we should start with, so we should try to speak to the ones who aren’t conversing with others.”
“Got it.” Isaac tugged me closer, moving me out of the pathway of a waiter carrying two bottles of what I’m sure was alcohol. I shifted my fingers on the stem of my champagne flute, then squeezed Isaac’s arm in silent thanks.
I snuck a glance up at Isaac, taking in the stark contrast between his gray eyes and dark hair, and was forced to admit that it wasn’t just Isaac’s impressive height that set him apart from the crowd. Not only was he attractive, but there was something about the way he carried himself. He had a silent confidence that was fascinating but also served as a wall that he used to keep most people at arm’s length.
Isaac must have felt my eyes on him. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No.” I shook my head and forced myself to focus on work.
It only took a moment before I spotted a longtime client whom I genuinely enjoyed talking to.
“I see Darius Carter, seated at a table off to your left,” I said.
Isaac nodded, steering us toward the older African American gentleman who was seated at a table and looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream. Or in this case, the raspberry meringue tart.
Mr. Carter owned several fine dining restaurants and was one of Walter Warner’s first clients. He was practically family at this point. His smile lines deepened when he caught sight of us, though I didn’t miss the flash of guilt that crossed his face.
“Charlotte! Isaac!” he boomed, setting his fork down on his dessert plate and pushing a second—already empty except for crumbs—plate away from him. “Don’t you two make a handsome pair tonight?”
Isaac glanced down at me. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Carter. Charlotte is always beautiful, but she does look particularly gorgeous tonight.” There was not an ounce of guile in his voice.
(Maybe it was a good thing Isaac wasn’t very social. He’d be a veritable slayer of hearts with his bold but sincerely meant compliments if he cared about more than a dozen people total.)
I ignored the warm feeling in my stomach—caused by Isaac’s compliment no doubt—and greeted our guest. “Mr. Carter, always a pleasure. I see you’ve found the desserts.”
Darius’s eyes darted to the half-eaten tart on his plate. “That I have, but could I plead with you two to refrain from tattling to my Margaret?” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “She’s got me on some kind of sugar detox. She said I could have one treat tonight, but….” He gestured helplessly at the plates.
I chuckled. Darius’s wife was a kind woman but a force to be reckoned with.
Isaac’s sharp expression had relaxed a little, so he looked more human and less like a perfectly sculpted statue. “We understand. Your secret’s safe with us, Mr. Carter.”
“It’s high time you two kids call me Darius; no more of this Mr. Carter stuff. I’ve known you both too long! And thank you,” Darius said. “I look forward to this party every year because of these little meringue tarts. Not that I’m not excited to celebrate your grandfather, Isaac, but the food?” Darius performed a chef’s kiss.
“I’ll be certain to pass your compliments on to our staff,” Isaac said.
I took a sip of my sparkling juice, but when I saw Darius’s confusion, I quickly swallowed so I could explain. “The Warner Print cafeteria staff make the food for this party—the raspberry meringue tarts included—in house. They actually make these tarts frequently for employees’ lunches in mid and late summer when raspberries are in season.”
Darius picked up his fork again. “Really? In that case I am incredibly impressed, and it’s a shame I know Walter as well as I do, or I might be tempted to try to hire your cooking staff out from under you!” He winked and chuckled to show he was kidding.
This, however, was the perfect time to elicit a personal touch, as I’d coached Isaac on earlier. “If you enjoy the tarts so much, I’d be happy to make a note in Isaac’s calendar. We could have a Warner Print employee reach out and invite you to the campus when raspberries are in season and the kitchen is making a batch of tarts.”
Darius’s face lit up. “Now that,” he said, pointing a fork at us, “is why Warner Print will always have my business. The whole company is so kind!”
As Darius dug into his tart with new enthusiasm, Isaac set his free hand on top of mine—still resting on his arm—and squeezed.
I looked up to find Isaac watching me, the smallest hint of a smile curving the corners of his mouth.
Isaac was happy with our work, which wasn’t unusual—that was why we teamed up for these events. But there was something about that slight smile of his that felt… different, even if I couldn’t quite tell how.
“I will look forward to hearing from you this summer, Charlotte,” Darius said, resuming the conversation after he finished another forkful of his dessert.
Isaac’s expression shifted back to that polished professional mask he wore so well. “Unfortunately, Mr. Carter,” he said, his voice smooth and even, “Charlotte won’t be working at Warner Print by then.”
I froze, my champagne flute raised halfway to my lips. What was he doing? We hadn’t discussed mentioning my resignation to clients tonight. (I hadn’t thought we needed to—discussions of longtime employee resignations were more likely to make clients upset!)
Darius’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “I told you, call me Darius! And is that so? Are you leaving, Charlotte?”
I frantically tried to cobble together a response that wouldn’t leave Warner Print looking bad and would imply the team would be just as strong without me. “I… have had a goal to….”
“Oh, congratulations!” Darius beamed, somehow interpreting my babble as proof my quitting was a positive thing.
I gratefully took a sip of my drink, but Darius continued. “Does this mean you two are finally starting a family?”
The fizzy juice went down the wrong pipe. I coughed, eyes watering, as Isaac went stock-still beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I wheezed, “what did you just say?”
Darius looked between us, confusion creasing his brow. “Sorry, even if we’re close, that might have been presumptuous. It was rude of me even if you’ve been married for years now.”
I gaped at him, my brain short-circuiting. Beside me, Isaac’s usually impassive face had morphed into an expression of utter bewilderment, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Darius’s gaze bounced between us like a Ping-Pong ball. “That… isn’t the case?”
Heat creeped up my neck, threatening to set my carefully arranged French twist on fire.
Isaac cleared his throat, his voice taking on that polished, professional tone he used when addressing the board. “No, Mr. Carter. Charlotte and I are coworkers.”
I nodded emphatically, grateful for Isaac’s unshakable composure.
Darius’s brow furrowed deeper. “Coworkers? But you two have been permanent dates to every Warner event I’ve attended.”
Before I could even ponder a reply, Isaac spoke, the sharp edges of his voice warming just enough that it almost sounded soft. “I didn’t mean to imply we’re not close. Charlotte is also my trusted, irreplaceable friend. I’m thankful for her support over the years. I wouldn’t be the CFO I am today without her.”
Our gazes locked, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the sparkling juice. I smiled at him and once again squeezed his arm in a silent communication of gratitude that I knew Isaac would understand.
Isaac relaxed enough to smile at me, the usual hard lines of his posture softening.
Darius’s chuckle broke our moment. He scooped up another forkful of his contraband tart. “Are you sure you two aren’t married? Because it certainly seems like it.”
I forced out a laugh. “You are too funny, Darius,” I said, using his first name in hopes of buttering him up.
A mischievous glint sparkled in the older man’s eye. “Maybe, but do you know Walter has referred to you as his granddaughter multiple times? I just assumed you two eloped years ago.”
My heart swelled at the thought of Mr. Warner’s inclusion, but it also made me worry how many other people the Warner patriarch had accidentally misled. “Mr. Warner is too kind to me. The whole Warner family is warm and welcoming to everyone. That’s probably why he said such a thing.”
Darius’s lips quirked into a sly smile. “Sure. Absolutely.” His tone suggested he didn’t believe me.
This was ridiculous. I’d handled screaming clients, printing catastrophes, missing computer files, and tipsy employees. How come I couldn’t get the better of this joke of a conversation?
Baffled, I took another drink, which fizzed on my tongue but did nothing to inspire social finesse.
Isaac, attuned to my emotional state, swooped in to my rescue. “I believe I see Mrs. Carter approaching,” he announced, his voice a perfect blend of polite professionalism and utter detachment.
Darius’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he whispered, glancing down at his mostly eaten tart and the second plate that had crumbs—evidence of his splurge. “You two wouldn’t mind distracting her for me, would you? Just until I finish this little slice of heaven?”
I beamed, grateful for the distraction. “Of course, Darius. We would be happy to.”
“Enjoy your dessert and the rest of the party,” Isaac added.
As we walked away, still arm in arm, I couldn’t shake the absurdity of the situation. “Can you believe Darius thought we were married?”
I caught a hint of amusement in Isaac’s eyes. “It is certainly unexpected.”
I fiddled with my nearly empty champagne flute. “You don’t think… I mean, surely other clients don’t think that, do they?”
Before Isaac could answer, we were swept up in another round of greetings and small talk. The party buzzed around us, a whirlwind of clinking glasses, laughter, and the soft strains of the jazz band the Warners had hired for the occasion.
Two hours later, my feet were aching and I was starting to feel a little hot, but I was deeply enjoying my interaction with Peggy Higgins, a Warner Print client and Fox Creek local.
Peggy looked like she’d stepped out of a 1950s’ magazine cover: a baby blue retro dress and her hair in victory rolls. Tonight, her walker was white, adorned with 1950s’ decals to match the look.
“You’re quitting? How sad for Warner Print, but I expect you are moving on to bigger and better things, eh?” Peggy said. (Isaac had once again mentioned I was planning to leave Warner Print.)
I smiled. “Thank you, Peggy. It’s a big change, but I’m excited about new opportunities.”
Now that Peggy knew, it was likely all of Fox Creek would soon know. News traveled fast in this small town.
Peggy turned her attention to Isaac, her expression softening. “And what about you, Isaac? How will you manage without your spouse?”
I froze, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. Isaac didn’t miss a beat. “Charlotte and I aren’t married, Peggy,” he said calmly.
Peggy’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Girlfriend, then?”
“We’re not dating either,” I managed to say.
Peggy looked between us, skeptical. “Now you’re just pulling my leg.”
I shook my head and wondered how this rumor had started.
This night was quickly becoming a comedy of errors.
“No way,” Peggy insisted, leaning on her walker. “I’ve only ever seen Isaac out and about with you or his family. You two have been partners for years!”
I cleared my throat. “We’re just coworkers and good friends, Peggy. Really.”
Peggy’s face fell. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. That’ll teach me to assume.”
Isaac, who had been watching our exchange with an unreadable expression, spoke up. “Don’t feel bad, Peggy. You’re the fifth person tonight who’s made that same assumption.”
Peggy relaxed. “Fifth, hmm? At least I’m not alone, though it does seem rather odd so many of us had the same thought, doesn’t it?”
I laughed nervously, acutely aware of Isaac’s presence beside me. “We’re professionals, Peggy. Nothing more.”
Peggy didn’t look convinced, but thankfully, she spotted Natalie chatting with Walter Warner across the room. “Oh, there’s Natalie! I’m second cousins with her mom, you know. I should go say hello.” She winked at us. “Wonderful party, you two. Thanks for the chat!”
As Peggy’s walker squeaked softly, the wheels working to keep traction on the polished floor, I turned to Isaac with a bemused smile. “Well, that was….”
“Enlightening?” Isaac supplied.
I shook my head. “I was going to say mortifying, but sure, let’s go with enlightening.” I tapped my fingers on my thigh and half wished I hadn’t played it safe and had gone for the champagne earlier in the evening. “I had no idea people thought we were an item.”
Isaac furrowed his brow. “I find it odd considering you don’t even wear a ring on your left hand. What kind of partner did they think I was that I wouldn’t give you an engagement ring or wedding band?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Huang said they assumed I didn’t wear one for professionalism’s sake,” I said, naming the client couple I’d spoken with earlier.
Isaac nodded. “I suppose the way our employees talk about us doesn’t help either. They treat you like you are a handler to a rare and dangerous animal.”
I laughed, the tension in my shoulders easing. “Well, there are worse things the clients could be saying about us.”
Isaac’s eyebrow arched, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “Does it bother you? The assumption that we are involved, I mean.”
“No,” I said. “If anything, I take it as a compliment about our working relationship.”
Isaac’s lips twitched. “More likely a compliment to you. They probably assume it takes a woman in love to put up with my… unique personality.”
I shook my head. “You’re selling yourself short. Everyone knows you’re the financial genius behind Warner Print.”
“Thank you for the praise,” he said, his tone dry but sincere. “But even I must acknowledge I can be… difficult to work with at times. Hence why Theo and Lola have taken to calling me the Overlord.”
I studied his face, searching for any sign of offense, but found only wry amusement. “You know about that?” I asked.
“Of course. I have ears everywhere,” he deadpanned.
“Well, if they knew you were aware, they’d probably throw themselves at your feet and beg for forgiveness.”
Isaac’s lips twitched. “Unnecessary. The fact that they feel comfortable enough to joke speaks volumes. They know I’m not actually a tyrant who’d fire them for harmless fun.”
“True,” I agreed. “Plus, they’re too skilled at number crunching for you to let them go over a silly nickname.”
“Precisely.”
I laughed at what others might see as Isaac’s amusingly skewed priorities. But I knew better. The whole Warner family was like this, valuing their employees and taking immense pride in their work.
A pang of regret hit me then, sharp and unexpected. Was I making a mistake by leaving? I’d been so sure it was a good idea, but now….
Isaac’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting sick of socializing. Shall we hit the dessert bar?” He once again offered me his arm. “We can see if Darius left any raspberry tarts behind. I know they’re your favorite too.”
I blinked, surprised and touched that he remembered such a small detail. How many bosses would notice something like that? I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, savoring the warmth of his arm through his suit jacket.
“I’d be delighted,” I said. “Though I’m shocked you’d risk being seen fraternizing with the desserts, Mr. Warner. What will that do to your tyrannical reputation?”
Isaac’s lips quirked up in that barely there smile of his. “I’m sure someone will be scandalized. But for you, Ms. Fisher, I’m willing to risk my reputation.”