Chapter 2
A bright smile pushes Mandy’s tear-streaked cheeks upward. “Wow—that feels amazing, actually.” She giggles. “I quit!”
A few heads around the shipping department turn.
The cell phone that she just chucked into the wastebasket starts to ring.
“Brock Benson can answer his own freaking phone,” Mandy proclaims, a new lightness in her tone. “I am done. Done taking messages from his annoying sister, whom he never calls back, by the way. Done documenting receipts for the ridiculously overpriced sneakers he buys and wears one time before tossing them to the back of his closet. Done setting up actual appointments with his parents—not visits, mind you, he calls them appointments.”
Her smile grows. “I’m done fielding texts from his stupid, macho, self-centered, gym-rat friends. I’m done scheduling his massages and getting him in with the woman who trims his beard and waxes his eyebrows. Want to know the really annoying thing about Brock? He doesn’t want me to ask him any questions about his schedule. He always says the same thing.”
She tucks her chin and furrows her brow, apparently trying to look like our boss. “You have access to my calendar, Amanda,” she intones, her voice low. “Check it instead of bothering me. This is what I pay you for.”
I might find her impression of Brock amusing, except my brain’s still hung up on that bit of gossip she dropped about how he gets his eyebrows waxed.
Really?
I imagine my burly, gorgeous boss tipped back in a chair, wincing as the strips get pulled off.
Mandy laughs giddily and then sighs with relief. “Man, this feels good. I am done shipping out his ditzy date’s thong bikinis and arranging his flights to Palm Springs so he can mingle on white-sand beaches while I am buried—buried—in the tasks he leaves me in his absence. I feel totally great! There is no amount of money in the world that could make working for that man for one minute longer anything but a soul-crushing experience for me. It’s time to take my life back for my own sake.”
She sweeps her arms wide, then swoops down over me. “Thank you, Gwen. You are the best listener, and you totally steered me in the right direction. Life is too short. Seriously. I am going to finally pursue opening a bakery like I’ve always wanted to do.”
Behind her, Lizzy arches both eyebrows.
I catch Lizzy’s eye as Mandy squeezes me, and give a shrug with the shoulder Mandy isn’t pinning down.
Mandy strides toward the double glass doors. Morning sun streams through them. October in our little New Hampshire town is typically glorious as far as weather goes, and today is no exception. The golden sunlight lights up the butter-yellow leaves on the birch trees outside. “I am going to chase my own freaking dreams, guys! Good luck to all of you, and I hope to see you around Windsor!”
Scattered applause goes up around the department. Mandy’s swallowed up by the autumn sunlight as she steps outside.
Around me, heads return to the glow of computer screens on desks and wide, black tables.
Regardless of the drama, it’s still Monday morning. We all have work to do. The hush feels more pronounced than it did earlier, thanks to the monologue that just ended.
“Did you…” Lizzy whispers to me.
“Tell her to quit?” I whisper back. “No. I mentioned she should have some honest words with Brock about her workload, and that was it. She twisted that to fit what she wanted.”
“She has a dramatic streak, that one.”
“I guess we should be happy for her.” I gaze toward the sunny doors.
What would it feel like to walk out into the fall sunshine and never come back to this office?
To feel the cool, crisp morning air kiss my cheeks? To look up at the azure sky and feel a whole day ahead of me… a day of freedom. No shipping forms. No customer complains. No computer glitches, emails, or boring afternoon meetings…
I’ve spent the better part of six years sitting at this desk.
“You’re having a daydream,” Lizzy muses while shuffling papers. “But I’m telling you, this is one of the best gigs in town, at least as far as pay goes.”
“I know.” I sigh. She’s right again. Brock pays his employees way more than other businesses in town. Daydreaming about abandoning my desk may be fun, but it’s not a reality. I need the paycheck, especially now that house-flipping-related debt is piling up.
I feel like I’m drowning in credit card bills lately, and it’s a struggle just to keep my head above water. Then there’s the personal loan I took out on top of maxing my credit cards. And still, more expenses keep popping up. Expenses that I can’t manage. It’s not like I can call on my little brother for help.
How am I going to pay that roofer?
Beside my desk, the little trashcan erupts in a shrill ring.
Right.
The cell phone.
I use two pincher fingers to retrieve the tablet. Then I pick the cell phone up off the crumpled papers it landed on. I clean the surface and the sparkly pink case with a cleansing wipe from my desk.
Once the call from “Vanessa” goes to voicemail, I see that the cell phone screen’s background is a photo of Mandy cheek-to-cheek with her daughter.
An incoming text then lights up the screen, covering the photo.
Vanessa:Hey, Amanda, Brock said to contact you about the Dior bikini bottoms I left at his place. It’s hunter green, with gold beads on the hips. I really wanted that suit for my trip to Cabo, so please overnight it to me. And, when you see Brock, tell him I had an awesome time on Saturday night. Those cocktails he whipped up were killer.
The text ends with kissy-lip emojis.
Three, in a row.
Did she really have to describe the bikini bottom’s color and style? Surely, there aren’t multiple bikini bottoms floating around Brock’s home estate…
Then again, for all I know, maybe there are.
He does have a reputation as a ladies’ man.
“One of us should probably go find Brock and tell him his assistant quit.” I set the phone carefully on the side of my desk as if it were a ticking time bomb and eye it warily. The tablet is equally problematic. Neither of these devices should be here in Shipping.
The cell phone seems to erupt in that awful ring about every five minutes, and I’m already dreading the next incoming call.
“Not it.” Lizzy touches a hot pink nail to the top of her nose.
“Is that professional?”
“Who said anything about being professional?” she teases.
“This is an office. You’re wearing a blazer.”
“And we are friends in addition to coworkers, and friends honor the not-it code.”
“So, I have to go deliver the bad news?”
She eyes the devices, her distaste curling her lips into a frown. “It’s either that or get an earful when he finds out his calls, texts, and emails have been unanswered all morning… and that we knew what was going on and didn’t address the problem. You know how he is about inter-department communication. He will figure out she’s gone eventually. He’ll look for her, find these here, and realize we didn’t take action. He’s all about action.”
I bow my head into my hands and rest it there, squeezing the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. It feels good to block out the too-bright office. Maybe this darkness will help me think.
My mind churns through possible ways to get out of going to my boss’ office.
Maybe I haven’t had enough coffee. I can’t think of any possible way to dodge this.
“Ugh,” I groan. “This is not the Monday I hoped for. Really, it isn’t. I wanted to lay low, fly under the radar, get through the day, and then go home.”
“Gwen…”
I figure she’s going to give me some mother-hen advice about heading straight to Brock’s office, and I’m not up for hearing her practical advice. I want to wallow for a minute.
“I have never even been to his office, Lizzy,” I moan, palms still over my eyes, head low. “No, it’s worse. I have never talked to him. Not in person. And honestly, I’m fine with that. He’s ignored me for six straight years, and I’d rather keep it that way.”
“Gwen…” I can tell she’s talking through her teeth.
She’s probably as unhappy about the twist in our morning as I am.
I go on. “Mandy said it: he’s a monster, Lizzy. A stylishly dressed monster, sure, and maybe he has that great smile, but?—”
“A monster?” The deep, rich voice sweeps through my core.
I freeze.
That. Was. Not. Lizzy.
That sounded an awful lot like my boss.
I keep my face buried in my hands and try to think. Brock Benson is here, at my desk. This was supposed to be chit-chat between two friends, but he heard everything I just said. Which was…
I try to recall my exact words.
I called him a monster.
Ack!
I also called him stylishly dressed, at least. Didn’t I say something about his smile, too?
Maybe he’ll appreciate the compliments.
Slowly, with cheeks burning, I lift my head from my hands. I keep my gaze pinned down at first. His leather boots greet me, laces only halfway up, tongues poking out.
I slowly let my eyes crawl up, dreading every second of it.
Tapered black pants.
Black T-shirt.
There’s the long necklace over his muscular chest.
Flannel shirt, collar popped.
Chiseled jawline. He’s not smiling. Nope. That is a scowl on his perfect lips. His eyebrows—nicely shaped, I see—are lowered with displeasure.
Good lord, make this day end.
He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest and drills his brown-eyed gaze into me like twin laser beams. His look is sharp, lively, and?—
Is that…
Wait.
Could it be?
I think there’s the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. That could be wishful thinking on my part, though. For the most part, he looks stern and… well, terrifying.
The sparkly pink cell phone on the edge of my desk rings again.
Lizzy nudges my side. I know what the nudge means: Answer it.
She’s right, in that motherly way she has. That HR, capable, practical, sensible mode of operating that she has impresses me. I wish I had some of her common sense. I really do. But most of my life is spent in moments exactly like this. Me, floundering. Me, making mistakes. Me, wishing for a do-over.
I dread taking the call with my boss looming over me like this.
But I have to.
Brock is the founder of this company, and he pays me. He also drills into all of us employees that we are a team and help one another out. So what if this is the executive assistant’s phone? I am an employee of this company, and a phone is ringing.
I snatch up the pink-cased cell and hold it to my ear. “Hello, Epic Elevate, this is Gwen Temple speaking. How can I help you?”
I see Lizzy release her breath out of the corner of my eye. She nods at me, and I can tell that the subtle gesture is meant to be encouraging.
Inside, though, I’m still freaking out.
Monster…
Yep. Definitely just called my cool, hip boss a monster, pretty much to his handsome face.
“Where’s Mandy?” the twenty-ish-sounding male on the other end of the line asks.
“She—uh—she stepped out. What can I do for you?”
“Hunh. Really? She texted me like ten minutes ago, and I have to talk to her about Leo Stanley’s travel plans. I’m Leo’s PA.”
“Wait…” I search my brain. Please, work. Even though I’m running on a mere four hours of sleep, the name surfaces. “Are you Tate?”
“That’s me.” He sounds relieved. “You said you’re…?”
“Gwen. Gwen Temple. I’m in Shipping and Customer Care here, covering for Mandy for a sec. This is about the March trip to Florida, correct?”
“That’s right. I’m checking out that flight for Leo, but first class is booked. I wish Mandy had gotten me the itinerary earlier. The best I can think of right now is to get them both on the one p.m. departure. It’d put them down in Florida two hours later, but at least they’d travel together.”
“The one o’clock? Okay, I think—er…”
Why me? Why is this happening to me?
I swallow down fear as Brock’s eyes drill into me.
“I think I could… um…” My cheeks burn. My palms feel sweaty. I am not flying under any radars at this moment.
I am front and center, and I hate it.
Luckily, I remember what Mandy said about how Brock dislikes being asked about his schedule. I gulp down a lump of anxiety and bite my lip. “Hang on, Tate, let me check his schedule and see if that might work. Then I can call the airline and have his flight changed.”
My fingertips tremble as I swipe through the tablet’s clutter of apps, looking for Brock’s schedule. When I find it, I scroll down to March to make sure the later departure would work, and then I talk with Tate for another moment. The airline is one I’m familiar with, and I feel pretty sure they’ll be okay with the change.
When I hang up, I jot down the new flight number on a Post-it, along with a reminder to call the airline.
I’m stalling.
I don’t want to look at Brock.
I have to, though. I have to explain the situation.
Please, don’t fire me for calling you a monster,I pray. “Um… Mr. Benson?” I offer. My eyes are still glued to the pink Post-it note that I’m smooshing to the side of my computer.
These are the first words I’ve ever spoken to Brock.
And now I’m about to hear his first words to me.
After six whole years.
He parts his lips. The words come out in a low, simmering, frustrated rumble from deep in his core. “Who are you, and where is Amanda Lackey?”