Chapter 6
Spencer
O n my first day of work, Charlie came through for me.
She was up early—dressed for school, teeth and hair brushed.
Opting for cereal, to save me the trouble of making breakfast, she even rinsed her bowl before putting it in the dishwasher.
If she keeps up this behavior, I’ll buy her a whole freaking guinea pig farm.
Claire invited Charlie to sit at the “cool table” and get pizza for lunch.
Grade-school politics haven’t changed. You still have to be invited to plant your ass on a particular cafeteria seat, but Charlie seems excited, so I’ll call it a win.
The school serves Domino’s pizza at four dollars for a slice and a canned soda.
I handed her a ten-dollar bill this morning just in case.
Sweet as pie, Charlie asked me if I had enough cash left over for my lunch.
I showed her my diet-friendly strawberry protein drink and told her I was all set, ignoring her look of concern.
My morning continued to sparkle from there.
To my surprised delight, I have my own parking spot.
There’s a row of spots right by the elevator for all the executive assistants.
I’ve worked for the CEO of a billion-dollar company before, but I never got my own parking spot.
It’s probably so we can be quick about errands, but still, it feels pretty glamorous parking my company car in a dedicated spot.
Maybe Las Vegas is actually an upgrade, not just an escape.
I literally whistled a happy tune in the elevator ride from the garage to the lobby of Brickstone Property Ventures. Overcome with first day nerves, I was really expecting a disaster this morning, but it’s all smooth sailing as I enter the front lobby of the massive headquarters.
I weave through a cluster of businessmen all wearing suits and ties.
I wore my most impressive black business dress with the cap sleeves, smart collar, and a gold-colored buckle in the front.
There’s something about how gold shines against black, making me look far more sophisticated than I am. Hell, I actually seem to fit right in.
“Good morning,” I say as I reach the receptionist who is seated behind a large, wall-to-wall concierge desk. It looks more like a marble slab bunker than a work desk. “I’m Spencer Riley-Brenner. It’s my first day working for Mr. James Hatcher.”
She smiles and winks. “We all work for Mr. Hatcher, honey.” I’m not sure if she’s old enough to be calling me “honey.” She barely looks thirty.
Do I really look like a baby to everybody except Charlie?
“Are you with the sales and customer service new hire class? Because orientation is in Meeting Hall A on the second floor. Let me grab you a map of the building.” She swivels around in her chair, rummaging through pamphlets.
“I’m not in sales or service. I’m Mr. Hatcher’s new executive assistant.”
She spins back around, slowly. Her face is wrinkled with suspicion. “Who told you that? Because Dawn Pryce is Mr. Hatcher’s assistant and has been for the past fifteen years.”
Bile bubbles up in the back of my throat as I take in her perplexed look.
We are in the midst of a huge misunderstanding, and I pray I’m not the one who’s confused.
I already got the company car and apartment, but I don’t get my salary advance until thirty days into employment.
If I don’t have a job, I am so screwed. I emptied what was left of my checking account and put all the moving expenses and groceries on a credit card until I got paid.
This entire move was a major, desperate leap of faith.
“The recruiter told me I needed to report to Mr. Hatcher at eight o’clock in the morning today. I already filled out all my employment paperwork online. I don’t understand.”
“One moment please.” The receptionist flashes me an overly compensating smile before zeroing in on her computer.
She types furiously, and after multiple rounds of pings that must be intercompany instant messages, she finally meets my gaze again.
Except now her expression has gone from confused to worried.
“Everything okay?”
“Well, I figured out the problem. Rest assured, you do have a job here, and Dawn is on her way down now to take you to the other Mr. Hatcher.”
“The other Mr. Hatcher?” I parrot back as if the words didn’t quite permeate.
“Mr. James Hatcher’s son, Nathan. James is the managing partner of Brickstone Ventures, which is a major property investment firm for a variety of industries. Nathan is in charge of commercial real estate investments, most of which are here in Vegas.”
“Oh, well, that’s fine. I’ll work for whoever. I’m just relieved I have a job.”
She grimaces as she shrugs. “That’s one way to look at it.”
I mean to ask for clarification because I don’t like the way she’s blinking at me, like I’m a mouse about to crawl into a cougar’s mouth, but the sound of stilettos hitting the marble floor pulls my attention from her.
A beautiful, middle-aged woman with a bright red bob approaches me in a direct path, like a rook on a chessboard.
Our outfits are almost matching. Her dress is navy, mine is black, but they have a similar style.
Although, judging by the red soles of her heels, noticeable every time she takes a step, I’m convinced her business dress is designer, whereas mine is most definitely from Nordstrom Rack.
“You’re Spencer?” the woman asks as she nears me.
“Yes, ma’am.” I hold my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”
“Dawn.” She shakes my hand firmly before releasing it. “Good grief, little girl. Who the hell did you piss off to end up with this job?”
My mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”
“Dawn,” the receptionist hisses. “Don’t scare her.”
Consider me scared.
“Chelsea, I’m not scaring her. I’m preparing her.” Dawn curls her fingers, beckoning me forward. “Come on. I’ll show you to your desk and see if I can run a little interference in case Nathan’s on the warpath.”
“Warpath?” I squawk.
The women ignore me, talking right through me.
“He’s been extra edgy since James dropped the news about his engagement,” Dawn explains.
“Speaking of which,” she tells Chelsea, “Julia will be here with a potential wedding planner at noon. If we’re still in the earnings meeting, please escort them right up to James’s office. Make sure she doesn’t run into Nathan.”
“Roger that,” Chelsea confirms. “God, what’re you going to do about the wedding? Nathan can’t avoid his new stepmom forever.”
Dawn covers her forehead, her middle finger and thumb pressed tightly against each temple. “If you value your job here, Chelsea, never use ‘Julia’ and ‘stepmom’ in the same sentence around Nathan.” Dawn’s bright green eyes snap toward me. “That goes for you too.”
They both stare at me expectantly. “Um, I’m still kind of hung up on ‘warpath,’ so if we could just go over that briefly because the way you two keep exchanging glances makes me feel like I just signed an employment contract to work for Darth Vader.”
Chelsea smiles. “Apt nickname for Nathan.”
“Stop helping,” Dawn bites out. “Come on, Spencer. You don’t want to be late on your first day. He doesn’t need any more ammo to hate you.”
Dammit, I got too comfortable. I had such a good morning, I should’ve known I was skipping and whistling straight into a shitstorm. Dawn’s already at the elevator bay, tapping the up arrow furiously. I’m midstride to obediently join her but Chelsea stops me.
“Spencer?”
“Yes?”
She smooths the top of her long, blond hair which is tied into a low ponytail. “Word of advice? Don’t take anything personally. When in doubt, it’s not about you.”
I wet my lips. “Okay, that’s the most grim send-off anyone has ever given me, but…thank you?”
She laughs. “If you’re still here by one o’clock, I’ll be really impressed. Stop by the front desk. I’ll buy you lunch.”
The elevator dings before the heavy metal doors peel open. “Spencer,” Dawn calls out while snapping her fingers. “Come on, quick like a bunny.”
I move toward the elevator with heavy steps. My high heels click off the marble tile but I’m treading so slowly, the floor may as well be wet concrete. I am that reluctant to meet my fate.
That’s the bar Chelsea set? Not thirty days, not even a week.
She’ll be impressed if I make it until lunch ?
Fuck.