5. Natasha
NATASHA
Monday had to be the worst of all the days to start a new job.
It was generally the worst day of the week, but on this particularly important Monday, I’d accidentally set my alarm for six p.m. instead of a.m., woke up a half hour later by the sheer grace of God, spilled coffee on my blouse as I ran to make the transfer from the subway to the Long Island Railroad to get to Saunders Furniture’s Long Island office, and forgotten to put my charging cable in my purse, which meant my phone would be dead by the afternoon.
I hated Mondays.
I hated starting new jobs.
I especially hated that I’d taken this job from the same man who’d gotten me fired.
But how could I possibly turn down one job that would pay me about three times what I’d been making from my multitude of part-time jobs?
Stacy’s eyes had almost bugged out of her head when I’d told her that the Mr. Moneybags who’d wanted to buy furniture for his grandmother was actually Mr. Coffeezilla from the café, and he’d given me a job, but she agreed I’d made the only possible choice.
I glanced down at the map on my phone again, then stuffed it in the pocket of my dress pants as the office building came into view.
The headquarters for Saunders Furniture was housed in a rectangular, six-story building with a frameless glass facade.
A bundle of nerves exploded inside me as I made my way past a courtyard decorated with trimmed hedges, wooden benches, and an ornate fountain.
I pressed my hand to my belly, willing the nerves to settle.
Keep it together. You just sold your soul to work for a grumpy, furniture-empire owning, Coffeezilla billionaire. No big deal.
I didn’t know why I was so nervous anyway.
It’s not like I’d gotten this job under false pretenses.
Trent and his grandmother had both looked at my designs and knew what I had to offer.
They were the ones who wanted me for the role.
I hadn’t been looking for anything from them.
But now that I had this job, I desperately didn’t want to lose it.
Even if it meant working for that infuriating man.
At least his grandmother was sweet.
I sucked in a sharp breath as I reached the door, straightening my blazer in the reflection before tucking my curls behind my ears. I pulled the heavy glass door open and marched into the lobby.
My jaw immediately dropped. A massive reception desk greeted me, walnut with brass inlays.
The large glass windows flooded the space with light to highlight the curated furniture displays.
The lobby was a luxury showroom with some of Saunders Furniture’s best pieces mounted on prop stages.
I drew closer to one of the displays, realizing that the hand-carved coffee table was one of the very first pieces Saunders Furniture ever produced.
According to the small placard that accompanied the piece, it had been built by Trent’s grandfather, Davis Saunders.
I’d seen pictures of it in my textbooks, but seeing it in person was amazing.
“Can I help you?” a voice called.
I turned to the young woman behind the reception desk. The Saunders Furniture logo was mounted on the wall behind her, dusted in brushed gold and set against a backdrop of rich purple textured fabric. Purple and gold—the colors of royalty. I was in the presence of furniture-making royalty.
Excitement ate through some of my nerves. “Uh, yes,” I said. “I’m here for my orientation.”
The woman picked up a clipboard. “That would make you…Natasha Dryer?”
I smiled and nodded.
“Perfect,” she said, climbing to her feet. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you down to HR.”
I followed her into a small room where I went through a company orientation and a whole slew of onboarding paperwork with a man named Hunter. By the time we were done, I had my IT system access, an ID badge with my photo, and a signed copy of my contract.
“That’s it for me,” Hunter said as we reached another office. “I’ll leave you in Carin’s capable hands.”
A pretty woman with a short French bob swept out of the room. “Thanks, Hunter,” she said as he took off. “Natasha.” She shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I glanced at her name plate on the door. She’d taped a pronunciation guide beneath it. Car-in. It made me smile.
“You wouldn’t believe how many people see my name and call me Karen,” she explained. “And I’m just not one of those.”
I chuckled, her sense of humor immediately putting me at ease.
“So, I’m here to give you the official office tour,” she said, leading me through the building. I’d already seen the HR department, but as the elevator ascended, we toured through Marketing and Sales, Customer Experience, Supply Chain and Logistics, Retail Operations, and Legal.
“And this is where you’ll be working,” she said, leading me down a hallway on a floor labeled Design and Product Development.
Offices shot off in every direction, people hunched over drawing tablets or working away in design programs on their computers.
I caught sight of a couple screens with furniture specs, and my excitement doubled.
I’d forgotten what it was like to work with a full design team.
Having the creative freedom to build my own designs and live off the income would always be my dream, but there was something to be said about being able to put your head together with a bunch of like-minded individuals and watch a project evolve from an idea to a tangible product.
Carin walked through an open door, leading me into a conference room of sorts. More offices jutted off from this room. “Good morning!” she called.
Heads popped out of doorways briefly. Then a group of people gathered in the room, staring at me. My stomach lurched.
“Everyone,” Carin announced. “This is Natasha Dryer. We’d like to welcome her to the team.”
“Hi,” I said and was greeted by an uncomfortable silence in return. I mean, it was a Monday, and I didn’t expect anyone to raise any enthusiasm at this time in the morning. Still, the silence was unnerving, making me want to squirm in my faux designer boots.
Carin carried on, unbothered. “Natasha, these are your direct reports. You’ve got Talia Rhzanova. Head of upholstery design.”
“Hello,” the woman said. She pushed her rectangular glasses up her nose, giving me a swift look up and down. I wondered what she saw. Scratch that. I could sort of guess by the way her smile thinned. Young. Too young. I’m taking orders from this girl?
“Nice to meet you,” I replied, channeling every molecule of polite, competent energy I could muster. I smiled until my cheeks hurt.
“And Brian Wilcox,” Carin continued. “Head of case goods.” That covered any furniture designed for storage. I shook his hand.
Carin moved down the line. “This is Bronwen. One of your CAD designers.”
“Ugh, Bonnie is fine,” she said. “Only my mother calls me Bronwen.”
A couple more people joined us.
“Ah, here are Erik and Shay, your other CAD designers,” Carin said.
“Sorry,” Erik apologized, giving me a little wave. “We were just finishing up a call.”
“And last but not least,” Carin said. “This is Javi Garcia. He’s in charge of displays.”
“Merchandising and showrooms, mostly,” Javi cut in.
“Do we have displays in the US design centers?” I asked.
Javi nodded. “Pacific Design Center and Laguna Nigel in California, and then in the Design Center of the Americas in Miami. Internationally, we’ve got Hong Kong, Thailand, and Singapore in Asia, and Dubai and Jeddah in the Middle East.”
“What about Europe?” I asked.
His eyebrows drew together, his gaze skittering to Talia for a beat. “We have less of a presence there,” he said. “Since American design is obviously less popular in Europe.”
Obviously, I thought. Stupid question. Javi shot Talia another look. One that probably said This is who we have to answer to now? It was these damn nerves ricocheting around my chest. I needed to stop making comments before I made an even bigger fool of myself.
Despite Carin’s presence, the warmth in the room had been extinguished the moment she’d started introducing me to the team.
Sure, they’d all smiled and nodded during the introductions, but I could tell by the way some of them now looked at me that they were suspicious—I wouldn’t exactly call it hostile, but there was an imaginary line being drawn between us.
I was an interloper, and they wanted to know what the hell I was doing here.
Umm…your boss is a total grumpy asshole, got me fired, then offered me a job.
I didn’t think bringing that up was going to instill any kind of confidence in them.
And I supposed I could understand. I hadn’t worked for a company as prestigious as Saunders Furniture before, no one here was familiar with my work, and now I was suddenly the one in charge?
If roles were reversed, I’d probably give me the stink eye too.
But none of that made me feel any better. As far as first impressions went, I was clearly making an abysmal one. I glanced back at the door, plotting to escape and pretend I’d never crossed paths with Trent Saunders. If I just slipped through it now, I’d never have to see any of these people again.
Unfortunately, Trent chose that exact moment to walk in. “Sorry I’m late,” he announced, looking like he’d just stepped off a photoshoot. His fitted suit hugged him like a glove. “There was an accident on the expressway,” he said, irritation clear in his voice, “and traffic was backed up.”
His eyes found mine across the room. My breath caught in my throat.
He was the definition of alluring, that dark gaze promising a delicious kind of danger that was hard to look away from.
Why did he have to be this damn attractive?
Why did I have to be attracted to him? He was a walking reminder that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex, and I hated that for myself.