Chapter Two It’s Okay to Not Be Okay
Chapter Two
It’s Okay to Not Be Okay
Hayes
It’s late on Friday, and I should be deep into the workload waiting for me, but the headache that’s been building at the base of my skull threatens to derail my entire afternoon. My laptop is open to a presentation titled “Risk Mitigation,” but I’m unfocused, my mind stuck elsewhere.
My work in my family’s office isn’t brain surgery, but it is important to me. Being born into great wealth sometimes feels like living in a gilded bubble—everything is available, but the expectations and scrutiny can be suffocating. I’ve learned to manage the pressure—but only barely.
A knock on the door snaps me back to reality.
“Come in.”
My assistant, Greta, enters, carrying a stack of documents. “Your conference call with the legal team is in two hours. Do you need any last-minute changes?”
I shake my head. “No, no changes. Just . . . Can you make sure everything’s set up for the videoconference with the West Coast team?”
“Absolutely. Everything will be ready. And I wanted to let you know that your one o’clock is here early. I’ve placed her in the sitting room.”
“Thanks.” For once a potential hire is on time. I’ve had a hard time filling this role for a junior accountant with someone capable. But given her résumé, Francesca Anderson is more than qualified.
I finish typing the email and click Send before rising from my desk. As I head down the hall toward the front sitting room, I can hear Greta chatting with the candidate. Greta can be a bit socially awkward, but I appreciate her attempts at being cordial.
“My nephew turns ten tonight, and we’re going out for arcade games and pizza,” Greta says.
“Every birthday should include pizza. It’s practically a law,” I hear the candidate answer, her voice warm and friendly.
Greta chuckles a little too enthusiastically. “Exactly.”
I round the corner and stop dead in my tracks, because apparently the junior accountant candidate, Francesca Anderson, is the psychopath I met a few days ago by the vending machine downtown.
She gives me a shaky smile, clearly recognizing me as well.
I decide the only way to get through this is to be all business. That way, I won’t notice her full lips . . . or the fact that I’m suddenly paying far too much attention to a junior accountant’s button-up top.
Plus, remembering what a disaster she was quells any interest from my misplaced libido.
“Miss Anderson? I’m Hayes Winters.” She rises to her feet and gives my outstretched hand a firm, efficient shake.
“You can call me Frankie, everyone does,” she says, much calmer and more composed than she was the last time I saw her.
“Great, and I’ll leave you two. You’re in good hands, Frankie,” Greta says. “Hayes is fantastic at making difficult things look easy.”
I nod my gratitude to Greta, who’s blissfully unaware of the awkward tension stirring between me and the monster in the cream-colored suit.
“You can follow me to my office,” I say, turning for the door as soon as Frankie grabs her purple sparkly portfolio covered in a barrage of stickers.
That’s a . . . bold choice.
“Thanks for coming in today. Take a seat.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk. “Before we dig in, did you have any questions?”
She slides into the chair in front of my desk, placing her hands in her lap. “I have to admit, the whole family-office concept was new for me. This wouldn’t be a personal assistant position, would it? Because with my background, I would really prefer to stay in accounting.”
“No, we have a team who handles lifestyle management.”
“Lifestyle management?” She blinks at me. “What does that entail?”
“Handling personal affairs of the family, like real estate purchases, managing yachts and private jets, arranging logistics for travel, personal security, things like that.”
“Wow. I mean, I’ve seen the show Succession, but I guess I didn’t think people actually lived like this.” She grins nervously, clearly out of her element.
She’s acting so normal now, it’s almost a shame I have to do this.
“I’m sorry, but can we just cut to the chase and address the elephant in the room?”
“By all means.” Her smile softens and then fades, as if she senses where I’m headed.
Maybe she was hoping I wouldn’t have the balls to mention it. But it’s not in my personality to sidestep things that are uncomfortable—I’m more of a bulldoze-my-way-straight-through kind of guy.
I lean forward, placing my elbows on the desk. “First, what kind of person assaults a vending machine? Truly. I’d like to know.”
She frowns. “Is that one of your standard interview questions?”
“It is.”
She pauses to straighten her shoulders. “I was having a bad day, in case you didn’t notice.”
I did notice, which was why I stopped to offer my help.
She looked tired, pale. A little sad. And while I don’t deal with emotional women well, I wanted to lend a hand.
And then she all but bit my head off. We run things very drama-free around here, and based on what I saw, Francesca Anderson is a loose cannon.
“I figured as much, but it still speaks to your character—I can’t exactly have an employee who might have a bad day and go off the rails on a potential investor. We all have bad days sometimes.”
She makes a noise that I can only describe as an annoyed huff.
She’s annoyed at me? That’s rich.
“I think we can both agree this is going nowhere,” I say calmly, folding my hands on the desk in front of me. “I might as well save us both the time. This interview is over.”
“You’re an ass.” Frankie grabs her sparkly portfolio and rises to her feet.
I press my lips together. Most people don’t speak to me this way, so her response is a little unexpected.
My great-uncle Charles chooses that moment to peek his head inside my office. “Hazey?” His gaze moves from me to Francesca. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s okay, Uncle Charles,” I say, rising to my feet. The last thing I want him to do is worry. His health has been on a steady decline lately. The man is eighty-two. Why he hasn’t retired by now is beyond me. “Frankie here was just leaving.”
“You bet your butt I’m leaving,” Frankie snarks. “Your nephew is a giant man-baby who can’t look past something I did when I was hangry. I could do this job in my sleep, but whatever, it’s your loss, dude.”
“Huh?” Uncle Charles says, scratching his temple, failing to catch on.
“Exactly,” I mutter.
Frankie moves past the desk and toward Uncle Charles. He takes a step closer, blocking her path.
“What position were you interviewing for?” He looks genuinely curious, his gray bushy eyebrows raised.
The sooner I can get her out of my office, the better. I have no idea why my uncle is meddling. Read the room, I silently plead.
She blinks at him. “I’m an accountant, and I love it. But I know I wouldn’t be happy working for someone like that.” She jerks her thumb toward me with disdain.
I release a slow breath and count backward from ten. You’re Hayes Winters, you finished undergrad in three years, you’ve negotiated eight-figure deals, you climbed Machu Picchu. You can survive one annoyingly attractive junior accountant.
“I see,” he says, sliding his glasses into the front pocket of his cardigan. “I like your spunk, Frankie. I’ve never seen someone stand up to Hayes the way you did. We should talk.”
What the . . .
Uncle Charles hands her his business card, which she annoyingly waves at me with a fake smile before tucking it into her hideous purple portfolio.
Holy plot twist, Batman.
I’m hunched over my desk later when Malachi strolls into my office without so much as a knock, his energy a stark contrast to my somber mood. He’s all smiles and mischief, typical Malachi.
“I’ve got good news. We’re going to Palm Springs for a guys’ golf weekend. Jet’s all set. We depart Friday after lunch,” he announces with a grin that I’ve come to know means trouble.
I lean back, rubbing my temples as I eye him warily. “The last time I agreed to one of your ‘harmless’ weekends, I ended up in a holding cell with a souvenir armadillo and a very awkward phone call to my lawyer.”
He chuckles, the sound echoing in my too-serious office. “Ah, but what’s life without a little adventure? Besides, you need this. You’ve been all work and no play. It’s not healthy.”
Malachi is one of my closest friends, and he’s right; we haven’t hung out in ages. Still, I can’t help but smirk at his concern, knowing full well that Malachi’s idea of fun usually involves some level of debauchery that I’m not sure I have the stamina or the bail money for at the moment.
“Your version of stress relief tends to add more stress in the aftermath,” I remind him. “And besides, I’ve promised my sister she could stay with me this weekend.”
He waves off my concerns with a flick of his wrist. “I’m sure you could reschedule. Besides, it’s golf.” He enunciates the word. “How wild can it get?”
I raise an eyebrow, knowing full well that with him, even a game of golf could turn into an international incident.
He leans one hip against my desk, his expression softening. “Look, I know you’ve been under a ton of pressure lately. Between running point on the sale of the media division, and . . .”
I hold up one hand, stopping him. “Can we just not?”
He releases a slow breath. “Fine. Have fun babysitting all weekend.”