8. Trent
8
TRENT
“ Y ou’re going to be late,” Pam said. She stood in the doorway of my office, one hand on her hip, tapping her foot like I was some delinquent high schooler about to be late for an important exam.
“I’m the CEO,” I reminded her. “I think they’ll wait for me.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, giving me the look . It probably made her teenage sons tremble. All it did was make me feel a little nostalgic, remembering when Jimmy and I used to make forts in Papa Davis’s office. Nana Dee would settle us with that same kind of stare for scuffing up the good furniture after she’d deliberately told us not to. “Sheila’s already called up to make sure you’re on your way.”
“Since when do I have a meeting with marketing?” I asked, double checking my schedule. “This wasn’t on my calendar yesterday.” I knew that because I’d blocked out a few hours for myself to catch up on admin. for our international operations.
“Since they asked so nicely for one,” she said.
“That’s all it takes to get past you, huh?”
Pam smirked. “Sheila also brought me banana bread.”
“Taking bribes now, are you? How much do you want to get me out of this meeting?”
Pam went back to her desk. “I already know you can’t cook worth a damn. I’d hate to see your baking.”
I scoffed. “Says who?”
Pam cackled from her desk. “Dee.”
I grumbled something about employees who had no respect, and grandmothers who were all too willing to gossip about ancient history. I hadn’t started a fire in the kitchen in at least five years.
“Do you want me to call down and tell them you’re running behind?” Pam called.
I stood, making a mental note of where to pick up in the email I was sending back to one of our contacts in Singapore. “No, I’m heading down right now.” I darted into the hall. “Did they say what it was about?”
“Nope,” Pam said without looking up from her computer screen.
“Probably the sustainable line,” I said, getting into the elevator. Now that I’d hired Natasha, the team had hit the ground running with designs, so it would make sense that marketing would be ready to start putting things together on their side. I’d had it on my to-do list to link up with them in a couple weeks, but I supposed today was as good as any.
The elevator stopped on the next floor, the door rolling open to reveal Natasha. She was chatting with the CAD designers.
“Girl, I’m telling you,” Shay said. “Literally the best thing I’ve ever put into my mouth.” Shay held her hand up to Erik’s face. “Hold whatever lewd comment that sprang to life in your mind.”
Erik smirked.
“We have to go sometime,” Bonnie said to Natasha. “After payday? Dumplings always taste better after payday.”
Natasha nodded. “Count me in. Gotta go—we’ll chat later.” She stepped into the elevator next to me. Her black slacks clung to her in a way that had my gaze dropping to take in every curve as the door closed again.
“Hi,” she said.
“Ms. Dryer.”
“Ugh, please. Not the last name.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Makes you sound pretentious.”
“Pretentious?” I scowled at her. “Would you rather I called you Hellcat?”
“Natasha works just fine. But if you’d prefer Hellcat, I can dust off Coffeezilla.”
She smirked as I turned away. Why was this elevator so damn slow? “On your way to lunch?” I asked. We hadn’t spoken much since we’d had dinner together. Well, me, her, and all my friends.
“No, I’m actually on my way to marketing,” she said. “Last-minute meeting.”
Well, that made sense if the meeting was about the new line. Of course they’d want Natasha there. “That’s where I’m heading too.”
“Oh, right,” Natasha said, startled for a second before nodding. “I’m happy to keep you and marketing looped in on our progress.”
“Great. How’s the design team?” I asked. “Other than making plans to get dumplings?”
“Good.”
“Care to expand on that?” I pressed.
“Which part?” She sounded cagey, which sent up warning flares for me.
The CAD designers were warming up to her, but what I really wanted to know was how the rest of the team was treating her. That first day, I’d felt the tension in the room. I could partially understand the reluctance from some of our long-term staff, but Saunders Furniture didn’t hire just anybody. They should have known better to question a decision that not only came from me but was fully endorsed by Dee. “The part where you let me know what it’s like working with the team. Is everyone being respectful?”
The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirked. “Everyone’s been great. You heard. We’re getting dumplings.”
The elevator door opened, and we stepped out onto the marketing floor. I held my hand out for Natasha, directing her down the hall. I pulled the door to the conference room open, admitting Natasha and myself.
The entire marketing team was assembled at the table around a plate of banana bread, with Sheila at the helm. She beamed at us, eyeballing Natasha and me in a way that was unnerving.
“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I realize everyone is very busy.”
“Pam didn’t leave me much choice,” I said, only half joking. I took the seat next to Sheila, and Natasha sat next to me. “I presume you want an update on the new line?”
“Yes,” she said. “That would be great. We can do that after.”
“After?” Natasha said, frowning as she glanced around the table. “Is that not what this meeting is about? Was I supposed to meet someone else?” She half rose out of her seat. Sheila waved off her concern.
“Not at all. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Next to Trent.” She held her hands up, squaring the two of us off like we were a portrait. “Looking picture perfect.”
“What’s going on?” I asked her, a spark of irritation flaring to life. I didn’t like the way her smile broadened a little too much like a Bond villain. Sheila waved her hand, and one of her interns started up a PowerPoint presentation. An image of my grandparents appeared on the screen—Nana Dee and Papa Davis. They were so young. Probably in their early thirties, back when they’d just started the business. It was a lovely photo and stirred up all kinds of memories for me, but I didn’t have time for a walk down memory lane.
“Sheila, I’m in the middle of dealing with our international markets. Is there a reason I’m here?” I asked pointedly.
“Yes,” she said. “We have an idea to float by you. So, the team and I have been talking…”
“Yes,” I muttered, suspecting I wasn’t going to like whatever came next.
“And we want to run a promotion announcing your relationship with Natasha to the public.”
Natasha stomped on my foot under the table. I could practically hear what she was silently screaming from her seat. Fake relationship! This is one thousand percent not real.
I glanced at her, silently commanding her not to out me in front of the entire marketing team. It would spread through the building like wildfire and get back to Dee in no time. Dee would be so disappointed, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that look on her face. She’d had such a pep in her step since Natasha had become my “girlfriend.”
“I’m not sure I’m following,” Natasha said. “Why would the public care about our relationship?”
“It’s a huge part of the history of Saunders Furniture to have a strong couple at the helm,” Sheila explained. “It’s all about the way the company is perceived. We want to instill a sense of confidence in our buyers ahead of the introduction of the sustainability line. We want them to think, ‘Yes, I trust those guys. I believe those guys know what they’re doing. And I will buy their products because of that, even if it’s a new line that’s going in a different direction.’ These people aren’t just buying furniture, Trent. They’re buying you.”
I rubbed the space between my eyebrows. What in the ever-loving fuck…I swear to god, if I found out Pam had any idea what this meeting was about and still put it in my schedule, she was never going to hear the end of it.
“What do you think?” Sheila asked.
I climbed to my feet. This was absolutely not happening, and I was going to make that abundantly clear so we never needed to have this conversation again. “This isn’t going to be a PR campaign,” I announced, making eye contact with every member of the marketing team so they could get the full impact of my glare. “Get back to what matters: the furniture.”
Most of the marketing team looked appropriately cowed, but Sheila—damn her—was made of sterner stuff. “Trent, it’s not all about the furniture.”
“It should be!” I growled.
“Dee trusted me,” Sheila said. “You should too.”
Bringing Dee into this conversation wasn’t going to sway me. I ran the company now. “First of all, we sell furniture, not relationships. Second of all, Natasha wouldn’t enjoy this kind of campaign. She doesn’t like the public attention.” Even when the guys had asked her questions at dinner, she’d seemed anxious, changing the subject to her friend Stacy the moment she could. If that was enough to make her uncomfortable, I didn’t want to put her through this kind of nonsense. Being grilled by marketing was a nightmare. Hell, it was the last thing I wanted to do, especially considering this was all a giant sham.
“The promo gets easier with practice,” Sheila was quick to point out. She leaned around me to look at Natasha. “I promise.”
I shook my head. “Don’t you remember how things ended with the last couple that ran Saunders?”
The room grew quiet, uneasy. Sure, it was great to throw Nana Dee and Papa Davis up on the screen as an example of the good old days, and even my parents had some good years at first—for the company, anyway—but by the time their marriage came to an end, they’d almost managed to drive Saunders Furniture into the ground. I’d had to step in and take over.
“Point taken,” Sheila said, drumming her fingers against the table. I could tell I’d finally gotten through to her.
“Good,” I snapped, glancing around at the team. “Are we done here?”
“We’re done,” Sheila said.
Without a word, the team split off, scurrying back to their desks. I caught Natasha by the elbow as she made for the door, guiding her to the side of the room. “I need a word.”
“Do I have a choice?” she asked, glancing down where my hand wrapped around her arm.
I released her. She immediately crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes as she looked at me. The stare was icy. What the hell was her problem? Was she really that upset I’d shot down the idea of the marketing campaign? I’d have thought she’d be thrilled to be let off the hook. Whatever—if she wanted to be in a snit about it, that was her business. My business was to let her know my plans. “I have somewhere to take you after work.”
Natasha bristled. “Oh, gee, sounds fun and not weirdly cryptic at all.”
I huffed. “This is work related.”
“In what way?”
“That’s what you’ll find out when we get there.”
“Sounds like you just like ordering me around.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” I said simply, daring her to push back. I didn’t mind her speaking her mind. After all, it was part of why I’d hired her. But at the end of the day, I was still the boss. She could accept that…or she could leave.
“Fine.”
“Should I be concerned about the fact you just drove me through an overgrown field, and we’ve now stopped next to an abandoned church?” Natasha asked. “Do you plan to kill me and bury my body here?”
“Too obvious,” I said.
She shot me a glare from the passenger seat. I’d had many passengers in my Lambo, but I had to admit Natasha looked damn good over there, even with the glare. It was like her curves had been made to ride in something so sleek and smooth and luxurious?—
Christ ! I needed to stop thinking right now.
“This is definitely how crime documentaries start,” she muttered.
“The documentary comes after the crime,” I pointed out. “So you don’t have to worry.”
“Whatever.” She huffed. “What are we doing here, Trent?”
I arched my brow. “Come inside and I’ll show you.”
I didn’t wait for her response, opening the door and climbing out. “Come on,” I called back into the car, “before we lose the sun.”
Natasha finally exited the car as well, following me up the chipped concrete steps overgrown with weeds and wildflowers.
I pushed on the door, which did creak like something out of a horror movie, the sound echoing through the abandoned church. I half expected it to startle birds out of the rafters.
“Wow,” Natasha said as she walked in behind me, her tone making it clear she meant anything but wow. She ran her finger along one of the pews, flicking the dust from her fingertips. “This place is…well, it’s definitely a church.”
“I know it looks rough, but to be fair, it hasn’t been used in over a year.” Even still, the space had some beautiful elements. I glanced up to where the sunlight spilled in through the stained glass windows, shooting rainbow colors along the wall. Most of the windows were still in good shape. There were also numerous hand-carved details on the wooden pews and decorative wall displays all made from quality materials.
“Okay,” Natasha said. “You got me all the way down here. Now are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”
“The building was going to be torn down,” I said. “So I bought it.” She puckered her lips, leaning one of those curvy hips against a pew. Judging by her face, she clearly didn’t understand. “I didn’t buy the land,” I explained, “just the building, to harvest the materials before someone could put a wrecking ball through it. I thought you could use these materials to make Dee’s furniture. And whatever’s left is yours to use as you please for your own projects.”
Natasha blinked at me, then she turned on the spot, taking the space in again with new eyes.
“I know we never actually talked about what your payment would be the day you came to Dee’s house.” We’d gotten distracted by the whole fake-girlfriend situation and then by me offering her a job with the company. “But I hope you’ll consider the materials a fair payment.”
“It’s more than a fair payment,” she breathed, a little stunned. “Holy shit. It’s so much more than fair. Are you…Are you sure? The materials are worth a fortune. Way more than I would have charged you.”
I snorted. Her concern over the price of the materials was cute.
“Oh right,” she said, giving me a tiny smile. “I forgot I’m talking to the Coffeezilla billionaire.”
“Anyway,” I grumbled, choosing to ignore the inane nickname. “I’ve hired a team to deconstruct the church and warehouse all the materials. Once that’s finished, you can go through the warehouse and pick whatever you want. I just wanted you to see it all whole and together first in case that helps with your creative process.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Natasha said, holding her hand up to her face. She was staring at the stained glass, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“I do.” But instead of elaborating, she threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. My hands automatically found her waist, then shifted around to the small of her back as she squeezed me in a hug.
“Thank you,” she whispered, taking a small step back while staying in the circle of my arms. “These materials…” Her voice was thick. “I can’t wait to get started.”
I glanced down at her, at her lips, at the way they parted ever so slightly, and for a moment it felt like Natasha might just press up on her toes and kiss me. To my shock, I wanted her to close the distance. Or should I just do it myself?
Then she released me, stepping back. “You’re buzzing.”
“I—oh…” My phone rang in my pocket. There had never been a worse moment for a call, but I fished it out in case it was Nana Dee. The shadows made it hard to see the screen, so I tilted it more toward Natasha to get some better light, finally able to see that it was only my mom. I frowned down at it as I swept the call away, sending her straight to voicemail, as usual.
“You could have gotten that.”
“It’s fine.” When I looked up at Natasha again, the warmth from moments ago had disappeared, leaving a steely ice queen in its place. What the hell had happened?
“I should get going,” she said abruptly. “It’ll be a long trip back to Queens for me.” She headed for the door, shoving it open. “You think you can drop me at the LIRR station?”
I stayed frozen for a second, still stuck on how the moment had gone sour so quickly. But I pulled it together, following after her and catching up with her on the steps. “No.”
She turned on her heel. “No?”
I almost collided with her. “I meant that you don’t have to take the train. I can just drive you home. I’m going that way anyway.”
“I don’t need you to drive me,” she said, turning away from me again. “I’m perfectly capable of taking the train.”
“I never said you weren’t. But I insist.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
We got back in the car, and I pulled away from the church, grimacing at the tension that filled the car.
I cleared my throat, determined to get the conversation back on track. Maybe she’d just gotten embarrassed over the hug and wanted some distance between us. That would be the smart choice anyway. Faking a relationship for Nana Dee was one thing, but we didn’t need to start confusing ourselves too. This was a business relationship and nothing more. But there was no reason why we couldn’t get along—in a businesslike way, of course.
“Thank you for coming with me,” I said, hoping a show of manners might smooth things out. “I know you’ll be late getting home, but I hope it sparked some ideas for Dee’s pieces. Or even other pieces.”
Natasha sighed, looking over at me. “I’m actually wondering how much stained glass is too much to put in a piece.”
I laughed. “Dee would say such a thing doesn’t exist.”
Natasha’s lips fought a smile. It was reluctant, but it was progress. And as I drove back toward Queens, the iciness melted, but she made no move to touch me again. I told myself that was for the best—and I tried to believe it.