45. Now
FORTY-FIVE
now
Maggie
how was the date with Parker?
Ella
Bad.
It was bad.
Maggie
bad like food poisoning in the movie theater bathroom or bad like he couldn’t find your clit?
Ella
Bad like I burst into tears ten minutes into the movie and literally couldn’t stop sobbing
Maggie
oh
my
god
Ella
Yeah…
Maggie
what the hell did you tell him???
Ella
…that our dog died?
Maggie
WE DON’T HAVE A DOG!
Ella!
Ella
I know, I know! I panicked!
Maggie
…
what was our dog’s name?
Ella
Waffles.
Maggie
RIP Waffles.
I expect to slink to my desk under a gray drizzle of mortification. Instead, I walk into a tornado of panic.
The entire floor flurries. Other secretaries spin this way and that. Ad execs holler to each other from their pods. Off to the side, I spot two of our company’s owners, along with our entire PR team.
Drat . If I’d known every important executive would be on my floor, I would have attempted more than throwing on the same dress I wore the last week and working my hair into a braid.
I probably wouldn’t have succeeded , considering my fingers trembled with every twist and barely managed to smear mascara over my lashes… but still.
And then—because the universe has apparently decided to devolve my life into a never-ending comedy of errors—Parker darts right into my path. I jerk back, halting him on the spot.
“I’m so sor—” he starts, but the words die when he recognizes me. He draws himself upright, letting the handful of files clutched in his left fist fall to his side.
“Ella. Hi.”
Shame sticks in my throat, squeezing my voice up an octave. “Hi. Good morning.” Unable to bear the pity in his hazel eyes, I drop my gaze to the documents he’s holding. “Anything I can help you with?”
He actually grimaces . “No. Thank you. You better get over to Marjorie.”
Sufficiently chastened, I hang my head and start off toward my pod. I only make it four steps before he speaks to my back.
“But, Ella? I need to talk to you later. Okay?”
Oh, Lord . I wish I could tell him that isn’t necessary. I hear his rejection loud and clear. And I totally understand. He doesn’t need to explain himself for my sake.
Instead, I simply wave my hand as nonchalantly as possible. “You got it!”
You got it? Ugh .
Hating myself, I shuffle away even faster than before.
I never should have agreed to go out with him in the first place. I knew it was a bad idea. How can I even try to have feelings for another man while Grayson Stryker walks the earth, let alone the streets of Midtown Manhattan? So stupid ? —
My internal criticism stutters to a stop when I reach my desk and find Marjorie pacing her office with concerning vigor.
Wait . My head swivels, taking in her obvious anxiety and the climate surrounding us. Something is wrong .
My boss’s outfit is another giveaway. She calls it her Power Suit. An electric pink pantsuit that she always pairs with sky-high black Alexander McQueen heels covered in vicious gold spikes. She reserves the ensemble for closing major deals.
“Marjorie?” I ask, slipping into her office. “What’s going on?”
Before replying, she pitches a packet of papers over to me. “Start reading. We have eighteen minutes.” Her sharp almond eyes snap over to me. “And, for God's sake, fix your hair, Callahan.”
Thrown, I glance down at the document.
Proposed Marketing Roll-Out for Gold Street Development—Stryker & Sons.
“Holy fuck.”
The curse hisses out from my numb lips before I can stop it. Marjorie suddenly stops, whipping her head to stare at me. “What was that?”
Hands vibrating, I blink blurry eyes at the title again and again, hoping it will magically change. Acid rises up my esophagus.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I only meant…”
No, that’s exactly what I meant . Holy fuck.
For the first time ever, Marjorie laughs . “Holy fuck,” she finishes for me. “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. This account is worth two hundred-million-dollars. That’s a two hundred thousand dollar commission, Ella. We got word midday yesterday that Stryker himself is personally coming in to hear our pitches. Every junior exec made one.”
“C-coming in?” I stammer. “ Today ?”
Marjorie gives a single nod. “Like I said. Eighteen minutes. We’re all meeting in the conference room.”
Black spots dance along the edges of my vision. “Y-you said Stryker himself is personally coming?” Dread wells in my middle. “Which Stryker?”
There are four, after all… and only one I need to avoid at all costs.
Marjorie seems impressed. She pauses, raising her brows. “There’s more than one?”
My weak stomach clenches. “Yes. There’s Mason Stryker, the former CEO, who’s in the process of retiring. And t-then, there’s his brother and his nephew.” I swallow my stammering with a mouthful of bile. “And then, of course, the current CEO…”
“Grayson Stryker,” she finishes, reading the name from her own stack of papers. “Yeah. He’s all over the tabloids. Supposed to be a real swinging dick.”
My brain automatically conjures images of that dick. Amazingly clear images, considering how long it’s been since I saw it…
My cheeks and neck flame.
“Wait.” Marjorie’s narrow eyes turn to slits. “You know him?”
I don’t have time to explain. I need to know if I have to flee the building. “Is he the one coming to the meeting?”
My boss crosses her arms, casting me a severe look. “Yes. And so are you.”