Sassy Love (Love #1)

Chapter 1

CARLIE

“For fuck’s sake.”

Acid twists in my stomach and anxiety peaks through my veins with every thunderous heartbeat. How the hell did this happen? Same old bullshit, different idiot at the wheel. My hands are creeping through my hair, my stilettos pinching my feet at the wee hour of eight a.m.

Letting my eyes fall shut, I block out my own reflection along with the city view from the foyer outside the corner office I worked years to finally inhabit. The brown eyes staring back at me may be mine, but I can’t bear the penetrating stare of my own stupidity.

Papers shuffle behind me, a tentative throat clearing. “This wasn’t your fault, love. I am sure the board will understand?” Her voice is too high. She doesn’t believe a word she said.

I have known her long enough to know her tells. The slightly elevated pitch of that saccharine statement is a dead giveaway.

Sorry, Millie.

Exhaling, I spin to face her, the heel of my stiletto grinding into the luxury carpet.

Millicent DeLuca hands me my morning coffee, as she’s done for the last seven years, and settles into the one piece of furniture she requested in her office that marks the barrier between the rest of the company and my own office.

Her late father’s polished chair creaks with her descent, and she closes her eyes, taking the first sip.

I lean against her desk and sip my coffee. The heat scorches my tongue. Caramel latte with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon.

She never forgets.

“How did this simple account turn into such a shitstorm? I mean, how hard is it to attend a press conference and not screw it up! The one time I wasn’t there.

Christ, Mills, the board is going to have a field day with this.

They were unimpressed I took the week off for personal leave as it was, and then this happens—with one of our biggest clients. I am so done for.”

“You cannot be responsible for the actions of a grown man, my girl. Surely, they will see that?”

I shake my head and return my gaze to the floor-to-ceiling windows that surround both our offices.

If I lose my job, so does Millie.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to squash the sick feeling curling its way up my insides. Millie is here because she was living in poverty for years before anyone found out. After her husband passed, her ingrate children sold her house, and she moved to a condo. Not rent controlled.

She lived on food stamps and a government pension to pay the utilities . . . until that ran out, too. When we met, she was living out of a bus shelter.

At the spritely age of seventy-five, she is one hell of a secretary, taking no slack from those asshole board members.

Apparently, public relations remains submissive to finance and every other department who thinks their gender gives them precedence over my agenda and priorities.

But Mills hands out reality checks to each one of them daily.

And I love her for it.

The phone rings and we both jump, exchanging a wary look. Millie moves to her desk and picks up the receiver.

“Miss Lamont’s office, Millicent speaking.”

Always so formal, Mills.

“Ah, yes sir, she will be there in a few minutes.”

The phone returns to the cradle with a clunk, and her face tightens.

I run a hand through my hair. “That was Cole, wasn’t it.”

No need to panic. The head of the board summons people on a regular basis, right? I tighten my grip on the cardboard cup in my hands.

“Whatever happens, you stand your ground. If they were so worried about client behavior, they should have sent a replacement to that event for you.”

She’s right. This isn’t all on me.

I down the last of my coffee and duck into my office to grab my tablet and phone.

The screen lights up. One hundred and seventy-nine emails.

Urgh. I suppress the urge to toss it out the open window I don’t have, instead straightening my navy pencil skirt and checking my red silk blouse in my mirror behind the door before reapplying my lipstick.

Never hurts to look your best, especially if you’re about to have your cage rattled. At least I can save face, somewhat, by keeping up appearances. Something my mother taught me after Dad walked out on us when I was eight.

The one and only thing my mother bothered to give me—a tough outer shell.

Millie holds the door for me, giving me a reassuring smile. I inhale, nod, and stalk my way down the hallway to the elevator. Two floors up, I step out onto marbled floors. As if even the floor is more superior up here.

“Mr. Carlson is waiting for you, Carlie,” Nerada says. At least she is always kind. But her gaze darts away quickly and she busies herself with shuffling items on her desk.

Shit.

Outside his door, I shove my shoulders back and swallow past the lump in my throat. I knock lighter than I intend to.

“Come.” The older man’s voice is brusque and low.

I open the door and walk toward his . . . gigantic marble desk. I guess the furniture was jealous of the floor.

Every inch of my body vibrates as I hold Cole’s gaze. His grey eyes—flanked by sun-kissed, creased skin—burn into mine. His mouth is a thin line as he smooths down his tie. He nods to the chair in front of his desk, and I sit.

A heartbeat later, the door opens behind me, and three suits walk in. Damage control in the form of legal and finance, I suppose.

“What the hell exactly were you thinking letting your highest-paying client fend for himself in the biggest press release of his career, Miss Lamont?” Carlson snaps.

Not trusting myself to respond right away, I try to channel my inner Millie. “With all due respect, Cole, my leave was cleared by HR, and my client is a grown man. His actions are his own responsibility.”

“I was anticipating that answer. Yet we assure our clients when they sign up with our firm that we will be there to guide them in situations like this, so that they are not left to fend off the paparazzi wolves alone.”

“Why wasn’t someone sent in my place?”

“That, we are not sure of. Perhaps a lapse in your planning?” a low voice says as I turn to find the guy from legal, his smug over-round face puckering as if just being in the same room has him sour.

The other two suits stand on either side of him.

Finance and . . . HR?

I snap my gaze back to Carlson.

“My planning was and is adequate. One of the other PR reps had been assigned to cover my clients for the short time I took leave.”

“You are blaming this on a junior?” the next guy says. Obviously from finance with that shiny silver tie and gelled-down parted blond hair that looks like his mother’s been styling it since he was in diapers.

“No, I—”

“It appears clients of this caliber are above your head, Miss Lamont. Effective immediately, you are demoted to smaller accounts, nothing over the monetary value of two hundred thousand. You will report to the department below yours tomorrow morning for a rundown and allocation of accounts. If this isn’t going to work for you, we will require your resignation in no more than two weeks.

Is that understood?” Carlson’s grey eyes have darkened.

I open my mouth to reply but words slam against the rock blocking my airways.

I look at the three men in the room, still standing.

Ambush.

This was a fucking ambush. Fire seeps through my limbs, flooding my neck and face. The third man in the room hasn’t taken his focus off me the entire time. Conflict laces his dark blue eyes, his jaw tight. I think I saw his picture in a monthly blast. The new HR guy.

He hasn’t say a single word.

This was an ambush, and a premeditated one, by the looks of it. I turn back to face Cole. If I lose my job, so does Millie. So it’s a no-brainer; I have to stay.

“That will be fine, Mr. Carlson. I won’t let you down again.”

HR guy flinches a little and drops his gaze to the marble floor.

I rise and hold my tablet and phone to my chest. “I will start clearing out my office.” I make for the door faster than stilettos are meant to travel.

“Oh, and Miss Lamont,” Cole grunts.

I turn back.

“You won’t be requiring your secretary. You will be letting that old fossil go. That’s not negotiable and effective immediately.”

The gasp that leaves my mouth sends a prickle behind my eyes. I straighten and meet the HR guy’s gaze. His face is now stone, the dark hair that was neat before is now slightly tussled. He must have run a hand through it as I was walking out.

I stalk to Carlson’s desk and press my fists, one almost cracking the screens of my devices, to the edge. I lean closer as I grind out, “I quit.”

My palms turn sweaty while I extricate myself from the ambush, making a beeline for the rest room. I slam my tablet and phone on the vanity, head lighter than a hot fart in Alaska. I lose my stomach to the sink, knuckles white around the porcelain.

God, how am I supposed to tell Millie she doesn’t have a job?

I rise, leaning closer to the mirror, and grab paper towel to fix my smudged lipstick and drool-lined chin. Mostly respectable, I push through the restroom door and make my way to the elevator.

The finance and legal guys wait in front of it.

Just fucking great.

I walk to where they stand and force a smile. The guy from legal runs an eye from my stilettos to my gaze and smirks as the elevator dings and the doors swing open. He swaggers into the small space, and I screw up my face at his back. The finance guy catches the gesture and his brows lower.

I wait for the doors to close before hitting the button for my floor, then tapping my tablet to wake it up. Scrolling through emails so I have somewhere other to look than their arrogant faces, my gaze snags on an email from Millie.

You okay?

M.

She never texts, but email is okay with her. I smile at her sweet ways, swiping the app closed before my conscience has the chance to respond and tell her she is jobless and it’s all my fault.

“Guess someone more deserving will get that big office of yours now, Carla?” legal guy says, victory twisting his stupid mouth into a smirk.

Ass.

His pale, sweaty hands cling to his laptop and notepad at his waist. The guy from finance gives him a sideways look. If I am not mistaken, it’s a warning. One that goes unnoticed.

“I suppose.” I shrug. That is the least of my worries right now.

“You didn’t really think you could worm your way to the top by looking pretty and wearing those spikes, did you?” he says.

Finance guy shifts on his feet, fixing his gaze to the opposite wall.

“Oh, I don’t know, they have worked pretty well so far. But I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, since the last titty you sucked was your mother’s.”

His jaw drops, eyes tight with something like horror scrambled with embarrassment.

Finance guy struggles to hold a straight face, his shoulders wobbling. Legal guy’s face turns red.

The elevator slows and stops, binging over muffled laughter.

“See you around, Mary,” I say, pinning legal guy with a glare, and step out.

“Mary?” he chokes.

Finance guy clears his throat. “She just called you a virgin.”

The doors close and howls of laughter fade below the floor as the elevator descends. Finance guy, at least, has a sense of humor. I walk down the corridor toward my office. The blurred vision of Millie pacing in front of her desk through the opaque glass stops me short before the door.

Closing my eyes, I draw in a long, ragged breath. The door swishes open, and I open my eyes to see a frantic Millie, wringing her hands at her chest, eyes wide.

I shake my head. “I’m so sorry, Mills.”