3. Natalie
3
NATALIE
I slammed the door to my apartment way louder than I meant to, but it felt really fucking good to take out my anger on something . I felt tight as a bowstring after the interaction with Mr. Bossman, ready to send a flaming arrow in the general direction of Branson Designs.
“ Yikes ,” my roommate Stephanie’s voice echoed down the hallway. “I’m in the family room. With wine.”
I’d called her with a quick rundown on my way home and warned her that I was a hot mess, and she’d promised to calm me down with bottomless Merlot.
I kicked off my shoes and groaned in relief. They were comfortable enough, but after twelve hours on my feet, I wanted to toss them in a bonfire. I padded down the narrow hall, trying to ignore the way James Branson kept invading my brain.
Because I didn’t like the way my stomach fluttered every time it happened.
“Here,” Stephanie said, holding out an overfilled glass. “Tell me everything about how you sang your way out of a job.”
The lights were dim in our small family room, which made my tension headache ratchet down a few notches. Our combined decorating aesthetic was yard sale chic, with mismatched furniture and walls filled with cast-off art from thrift shops, but we made it work. Stephanie patted the couch and gave me an encouraging smile. My roommate was in full cozy mode, wearing leggings and a tank top, with her dark pixie cut sticking out in different directions. She still looked gorgeous without a smidge of makeup, but naturally beautiful personal trainers tended to have that annoying ability. No doubt my SOS text had dragged her out of bed, but she looked totally willing to sit beside me, drinking wine and commiserating for as long as I needed. That’s the type of friendship we had. We’d always looked out for each other. After a childhood like mine, I treasured my found family.
I let out a strangled groan of frustration as I threw myself on the couch next to her. “He’s the worst ! Beyond pompous. A first-class asshole!”
Stephanie’s mouth went into an exaggerated frown. “Seriously? Like, abusive?”
I took a gulp of wine as I considered the question. “No. Not like that. He didn’t touch me, and he didn’t really raise his voice. He was just so condescending . Ugh, it was disgusting. And he’s very ‘my way or the highway.’”
“Well, he is the big boss,” Stephanie offered in a quiet voice, like she knew she was on thin ice by even suggesting that James had a right to be a jackass. “And you can be a little, uh, direct when you don’t like someone. Maybe he’s not used to an employee calling him out like that.”
“It was his fault, though!” I scowled, staring at my glass. “He could’ve avoided all the drama if he’d told me who he was right off the bat and politely asked me to turn down my music. Instead, he lied and insulted me.”
“Okay, okay, fair point,” Stephanie said with a nod. “What does he look like? I’m guessing old money country club vibes, right?”
I thought about the man I’d just met and realized that there was no way to describe him without coming out and admitting that James Branson was sex on a stick.
I rolled my eyes. “Tall, light brown hair, and handsome. Like, the kind of good-looking that’s an insult to any other guys in the general vicinity. Perfect body, a mix of linebacker and swimmer, so he’s got those shoulders.” I gestured to help her envision how absolutely distracting the man’s physique was. “Bone structure of the gods. Picture one of those marble statues and that’s him. And he’s got this way of staring that is so distracting. It felt like he was scrutinizing me the whole time!”
Stephanie gave me a naughty grin over the lip of her wineglass. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” I demanded, frowning at her.
She paused, still smiling like she knew a secret. “Sounds like someone’s down for a hate-fuck.”
I wondered if my neighbors could hear her laughing and begging for mercy as I battered her with a throw pillow for even thinking it.
B ack at the scene of the crime at the crack of dawn. I clutched my thin vintage army jacket across my chest, cursing the fact that March was feeling much more “lion” than “lamb” this morning.
I dodged the early morning crowds on the Manhattan sidewalk on the way to the front door of Branson Designs with my head held high, because Stephanie and I had come to the conclusion that since he hadn’t said the words, I hadn’t actually been fired. If I could just keep my head down and keep doing my job, maybe the whole thing would blow over. It wasn’t like I did anything that bad, anyway.
Okay, maybe I was a tiny bit sassy with the boss man. And then there was the mop-to-the-face stuff. But still. He was the one who started the whole thing by not coming clean about his true identity and being an absolute jackass to me. If anyone had an HR issue, it was probably me. Wasn’t faking an identity a crime?
I fished my key card out of my purse under the light of a streetlamp. I was used to being the first one there. I liked the time alone to collect myself, so I could work on my designs for school when I could catch a spare minute. I’d always struggled to try to scrape together the money for classes, and now that I was deep in the middle of my BFA, I wasn’t about to give up. No one would ever call me a quitter.
For now, my life was all daydreams and hustle, and the hope that one day they’d both come together and I’d get a lucky break.
Because I sure as hell needed one.
I stifled a yawn as I touched the key card to the pad by the door. The little yellow dot went off, signaling that I hadn’t held it in place for long enough. Typical. I was always in a rush to get inside. I held the plastic card against the pad for a few seconds longer.
Yellow light again ?
I rubbed the key card off on the front of my blouse, assuming that something in my purse had spilled and was obscuring the sensor, then touched it to the pad for a third time.
Whoa. Hold on. A red light?!
Then it hit me. Branson had actually gone and done it. The asshole had fired me! That was the only explanation for why my card wasn’t working. He probably called HR right after I’d left the night before! Maybe the threat of bodily harm with a stinky mop really had been a bit too much?
I threw the card on the ground and paced in a circle, feeling my face go hot with anger. How dare he? What right did he have to fire me for something so insignificant? Maybe I could sue him? Yeah, I could hit him in the wallet for wrongful termination!
I paused. It wasn’t as if a puny lawsuit like mine would have any impact on him. The guy was a freaking billionaire, after all. A snap of his fingers and he’d set his hellhound lawyers after me. I’d be left with nothing—less than nothing, because I’d have to pay a lawyer. As much as I hated the thought of letting him get away with being such an irredeemable asshole, I was going to have to just let this go no matter how unfair and wrong it was.
I was busy gnawing on the inside of my cheek when I heard footsteps behind me. Was it Dave again, this time coming to throw me off the premises? I spun around, an explanation on my lips, then froze.
“Good morning, Miss Reynolds.”
It was him . The bosshole. And he had the actual nerve to be smiling at me!
Damn it, why did he have to look like that? I dug my nails into my palms as he scanned me from head to toe, because the man actually made me feel a little woozy, and I needed a tiny jolt of pain to restabilize myself. It wasn’t fair that he was stinking rich and stupid hot. But then again, he was both of those things, plus a gigantic dickwad, which totally canceled out the hotness.
Okay, not totally , because I wasn’t blind. But the little quiver-y feeling in my chest was merely because of my white-hot anger, not because he was close enough to me that I could detect his surprising soapy clean scent. It was so fresh that I wanted to go up on my tiptoes and inhale at the base of his neck.
Then I remembered what he’d done.
“Are you fucking kidding right now?” I stomped even closer to him. “You fired me? For singing?”
It came out as a screech but I didn’t care. I could feel my hands curling into fists. If he didn’t wipe that cocky grin off his face I’d do it for him.
“Sure, that’s it exactly, Miss Reynolds. We just instituted a strict no singing policy here at Branson Designs, and your off-key howling last night was a direct violation of it. And let’s not forget the assault with a deadly mop.”
There was that smile again. In another life I’d be mesmerized by it, because it was sexy as hell. A little crooked on one side, like he had a secret. And his bright blue eyes…they were taking me in like he was one of those carnival guys who could guess your age and weight just by looking at you.
But of course he probably already had that information on me. Billionaires could get whatever they wanted, right? I shuddered, imagining him gaining access to my phone and scrolling through my audiobook collection, because more than half of them were books with cover models that looked a little like him. Okay, a lot like him.
I had a thing for chiseled heroes, who didn’t?
But right now that didn’t matter, because James Branson was about to get an earful of Natalie Reynolds. Now that I was terminated, the gloves were really coming off.
“Do you have any idea how much I despise you?” I fumed at him. “First, you lie to me and make me feel unsafe at work, and then you go and fire me for sticking up for myself?”
“No, it was the singing, remember?” he replied with a smirk. “And if I want to get technical, you weren’t exactly working efficiently. Trust me, I checked the security footage. You’re incredibly slow.”
“See? That’s stalker behavior!” I let out a rage-y noise, not caring that the people passing by turned to look at me. “Oh my god, you are the literal worst! I’m glad you fired me, because there is no way I’d ever want to work for someone as annoying as you! You don’t deserve me.”
“You might be right,” he admitted, looking like it pained him to say it.
I snapped my mouth shut. “Excuse me?”
He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a tattered blue spiral sketchbook.
My sketchbook. My heart dropped to my feet. Not only did it contain my pie-in-the-sky design concepts, I also used it for my to-do lists (oh my god, did he see that I needed to restock my tampon supply?), snippets of songs that inspired me, random doodles (yes, there were a few nudes), and most embarrassing, occasional journal entries. Like last night. That mess would eventually get a page or two dedicated to it, but after killing the better part of a bottle of wine with Stephanie, I hadn’t felt up to writing anything last night, so I hadn’t even noticed it was gone. Stupid, stupid . I’d been in such a rush to get out the door of the shop last night, I’d left it behind without even noticing.
“What are you doing with that?” I asked, moving closer to snatch it away from him.
James pulled it just out of reach, like he was playing with a puppy. “So it is yours.”
“Yeah, that’s everything I’ve been working on for the past year.” I held my hand out to him. “Longer, even. And it’s private . Not to mention, it’s none of your business, No-Longer-My-Bossman. Give it.”
“Careless, to leave something so precious just lying about,” he replied, flipping the cover back. “But that seems to be your M.O., yes? Careless, impulsive, reactionary, and to top it off, a mouth that doesn’t know when to remain shut.”
His eyes dropped to my lips and lingered for a second longer than necessary. I couldn’t catch my breath, because what was essentially my diary was cracked open in his massive hands. I wanted to jump out of my skin as he skimmed the first few pages. No one got to look at my sketches until I felt like they were ready, and even though these were getting close, I still felt like I needed time to perfect them. But if I was honest with myself, I never felt like they were truly ready. That not-so-little voice of doubt was always right there, telling me that I’d never be good enough. And James Branson looking at my work was the equivalent of him looking through my dirty laundry basket. I felt exposed, like his hands were sifting through my lacy thongs.
I braced myself for the insults he was about to hurl my way.
“ But ,” he added, his tone shifting, “I was wrong to say last night that you don’t have talent. These are good.” He paused on a sketch of a gown that happened to be my favorite, then met my gaze. “Really good. I would like to buy these designs from you.”
I cleared my throat, unable to find words for a second. How was it possible that the man who’d done nothing but insult me since I’d met him was actually saying something nice?
“Hello?” James frowned and waved his hand in front of my face. “Do you need an etiquette lesson? I just told you that I’d like to buy your work. One typically replies with something like ‘Yes, thank you.’”
He sounded so condescending, like he was talking to a child, and it set me off, compliment or not.
“Why should I thank you for a statement of fact? I know I’m talented,” I snarked back at him.
He shook his head and chuckled. “And no shortage of confidence, clearly.”
“Whatever,” I said. ““I’m not interested in selling my designs. I want a job where I can create and grow, not just hand over my work.”
I took a step closer to James and held my hand out.
“I’m thinking… no .” He brought my notebook to his chest and folded his arms over it.
“But you can’t…that’s my property! I’m going to report…” I sputtered in shock, panic rising in my chest. Maybe it actually did belong to him since I’d occasionally stolen a few minutes at work to adjust a sketch or two?
“Miss Reynolds, would you please pipe down and listen to me for a moment?” He waited for me to stop freaking out and face him. “I’m trying to move Branson Designs in a new direction, and based on your sketches I think you might be the way to make it happen.”
All I cared about was getting my precious sketchbook back now , so whatever he was saying to me wasn’t registering. Could I grab the thing from his hands and take off running? The sidewalk was slowly filling with people who just finished up their graveyard shifts, or were clocking in for a long day ahead, which meant I could blend in within a block or two. Maybe his gigantic-ness would slow him down? My brain spun out in dirt bike circles as I imagined trying to recreate my work if the asshole decided to keep it. No, that would be impossible. Catastrophic. I felt a little lightheaded and couldn’t focus, because damn he seemed to be taking forever to get to his point.
“Miss Reynolds, I’d like to offer you a promotion—out of the shop and into the design studio.”
My jaw fell open. That I heard.
“You mean you’re un-firing me?”
He tilted his head and squinted at me. “I don’t recall ever saying that you were fired. That was all you. In fact, you seemed quite eager to see yourself let go.”
“But…” I pointed to my key card on the ground a few feet behind me. “It doesn’t work.”
He pulled his out of his jacket pocket. “Mine doesn’t either. Company-wide systems glitch. It’ll be fixed in an hour. If you’d given me a minute to explain, we could’ve avoided much of the confusion, as well as you telling me how much you despise me.”
I felt my cheeks go hot.
“So let’s try this again,” James said, still clutching my notebook to his chest.
I blinked a few times, trying hard to follow him because nothing was making sense right now. I mean, Bossman was right, I had just told him that I despised him. Maybe this was another way for him to fuck with me? Say he wanted to promote me, then laugh at me when I actually believed the offer?
“Miss Reynolds,” James continued, still staring at me in that unblinkingly intense way. I forced myself to stare back with an unreadable poker face. “Can you put your hatred aside and consider discussing a new position working alongside me?”
He drummed his fingers on my precious notebook while he waited for me to respond.
Something toggled in my chest, and it felt a lot like hope. Maybe he wasn’t playing with me, and he was about to give me the break I was so desperate for?
I was about to work up the courage to say yes when he continued.
“One condition, though.”
“And that is…?” I replied slowly, not even hiding my suspicion.
He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and headed for the front doors. “Don’t you ever, ever sing in my presence again. Got it?”
He unlocked the door and slipped inside in one smooth motion, leaving me stewing on the sidewalk with the knowledge that while I would happily take the position, I would never not despise this man.