All I Want (Brighton Bay #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Marley

Dancing was never supposed to be my job, just the thing that saved me.

By the time I was four, I was shoulder-shimmying around the coffee table, and my mom swore she just knew. We didn’t have much growing up, but the one good thing she ever did was find a ballet studio that offered scholarships.

What started as a distraction turned into an obsession, and that obsession turned into a full-blown passion.

Unfortunately, passion doesn’t pay the rent. Not in Brighton Bay, at least.

Which is how I ended up here: sandwiched between a man with a comb-over and a woman who could be my grandmother.

Sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable metal chair is doing nothing for my nerves.

The unforgiving material of my pencil skirt is making the back of my legs slick with sweat.

Everyone’s eyes drift toward me, surely wondering why someone like me is sitting here waiting for an interview.

Their resumes are probably extensive, flaunting their fancy degrees and qualifying terms like spearheaded and cultivated.

The only reason I’ve been invited to interview is because my cousin, Noah, is the Vice President of Marketing.

He swears this administrative assistant position pays far more than I’d need to get by in the city.

And while the CEO seems like a bit of a prick, he wouldn’t be the first prick I’ve had to deal with.

“Marley James?” the receptionist calls.

I stand, wiping my palms down the front of my black skirt.

This is a bad idea. I’m not cut out for this. All I know is a studio. Sprung floors, full-length mirrors, and the wings of a stage. Not a stuffy office, with skyscraper views, and people who’d rather see me dead.

Feeling the judgmental glares and frowns of the other interviewees around me, I stand up straight, pushing my shoulders back, and chin tipped up.

This can be like any of my other performances. All I’ve got to do is fake it ’til I make it.

Following the blonde receptionist down the maze of hallways, she gestures to the door on our right. I step into the shiny glass room and stare down at the sleek conference room table that has got to be longer than my tiny apartment.

Three faces seated at the table turn to look at me. Already assessing if I’m cut out for this job at one of the top investment firms in Brighton Bay.

Spoiler alert: I’m not.

I take a seat and say hello, paying careful attention to look each one of them in the eyes.

Furthest across the table is a man that looks like he’s been electrocuted awake with the intensity of his recent face-lift.

Beside him sits a woman with kind eyes, and a pantsuit that screams all business.

And then Noah, my cousin. The only face I know in the room.

Goofily grinning at me and giving me a thumbs up that’s the equivalent to a pep talk.

He’s the biggest goofball who somehow holds a prestigious suit-and-tie job. It has yet to make sense to me how someone like him could have landed a position where he oversees an entire team of people.

They ask me a list of generic enough interview questions, which, luckily, I practiced so much I could recite my answers while asleep with convincing ease.

The panel seems to be eating out of the palm of my hand, and by the end, I have all three of them laughing.

I’m astonished I actually pulled that off.

Most people initially look at me and assume I’m young and dumb.

Little do they know, I am young and dumb, but with the charm of someone who can make it work anyway.

When you’re poor and dealt a bad hand from the day you were born, you have to figure out a way to make it through life. It’s survival.

I’m a people person through and through.

I can pinpoint the exact moment they doubt my abilities and I throw in an anecdote of perseverance.

The second they grow bored of some expected bullshit answer, I flip the script with something unexpected, something real, and suddenly I’ve got their attention all over again.

By the end, I’ve nailed it surprisingly well. Not bad for someone with half a community college degree in liberal arts and zero business being here.

Face-lift man clears his throat. “So, Marley, is there anything else you’d like us to know?”

I give them my best warm smile that I’ve flashed to rich theater donors throughout the years.

“I know I may not be as qualified as everyone else that you’ve had apply.

But I am absolutely confident in my learning abilities and am able to memorize information the first time it’s told.

Nothing scares me. And I know, without a doubt, that I’d excel at this position.

So thank you for letting me get this far, based on my limited resume.

I promise if you hire me, you won’t regret it. ”

They nod. My cousin flashing me another thumbs up and signature cheeseball grin. Electrocution face looks only slightly perturbed now, while the pantsuit lady gives me an impressed look. Two out of three isn’t bad, even if Noah would be impressed by a golden retriever interviewing.

Exiting the conference room alone, my legs feel like gelatin as I stride out with my head held high.

Stopping at a desk near the exit, I see it’s empty, the worker most likely already at lunch.

An enormous crystal candy dish the size of my head sits atop the ledge.

It’s full of individually wrapped butter mints.

They bring back a memory of the same colorful ones my late-grandma used to have at her house in a much dustier jar.

Looking over my shoulder in both directions, I take a large handful, grabbing as many as I can and depositing them into the large pocket of my purse. Carefully pulling the zipper closed as quietly as possible, I jump when I hear a man clear his voice from behind me.

“Are you … stealing mints?” he asks.

Craning my head up in slow motion, I make eye contact with the one person I was hoping I wouldn’t see today.

Theo Prescott.

CEO of Prescott Investment Corporation.

The man who loathed me from the very instant he saw me at Noah’s wedding this last summer. The man who has the potential to be my future boss. And the man who has now caught me taking a dozen butter mints.

I pull my shoulders back and don’t break eye contact—a tactic I once read for when you encounter a wild animal. “Is it technically considered stealing? They’re out here on display for everyone to enjoy.”

“Not everyone. For people who work here. Last I checked, you don’t.”

“Sorry. Didn’t realize the mint police were out and about today.” I rip on the zipper of my purse and fish most of the mints out. Looking him straight in the eye, I slowly tip my hand sideways and drop them back into their home of the crystal dish.

“Happy?” I remark. “Or am I under arrest?”

“The thought of calling security did cross my mind.”

My jaw drops. Being carried out by security for taking candy was not on today’s job interview bingo card. A gut feeling tells me he doesn’t mean it though. The better, more mature half of myself wants to be civil. The other, less mature, and way more fun side wants to call his bluff.

“Do it then. Call security. Even if they escort me out, you know all they’ll be thinking is what a dick you are for trying to throw someone out for taking a few mints.”

The muscle in his perfect, square jaw ticks. “Don’t count on a callback for a second interview.”

He walks away slowly, like he’s savoring the last word. But not before shooting me a look over his annoyingly perfect nose, like he’s already won.

I hope he can feel the arrows from the glare I’m giving him right between his shoulder blades. How dare he be that goddamn handsome and have the personality of one of those old crotchety men that yell at everyone from their front porch.

I’ve never stolen anything in my life, god knows I wouldn’t last a day or even an hour in jail. All I wanted was to show my mom these stupid little mints from my childhood. The same ones that her mom used to always have. I thought it’d be the catapult to get her out of bed today.

The office is still silent, with Theo now long gone, having crawled back from whatever dark cave he had previously emerged from. Checking once more for good measure, I scoop up a handful of mints back into my purse and exchange them with a dollar to repay whoever the mint sharer is.

See. I’m not a thief.

I’m also most definitely not getting this job.

Especially after this and what I told him at Noah’s wedding.