4. Rosay
Chapter four
Rosay
Two weeks later
I ncompetent, micromanaging, stupid , I mutter as I exit the conference room with a stack of folders weighing down my arm. Heels clack behind me, a cadence that matches my drumming heart. Mindy’s long blonde hair comes into my periphery, and her soft grasp on my arm slows my stride.
“He didn’t mean it,” she says, struggling for breath after hustling to catch up to me.
Fire sparks inside my chest, pushing up and out of my mouth like an angry dragon.
“He didn’t mean it?” I screech, fist balled at my side.
“Our team lost two clients this month because their fields caught on fire after some asshole threw a lit cigarette butt out the window, yet it’s somehow my fault Thompson is in the red again?
” I huff, shoulders lifting to my ears as tension rides my neck.
Mindy opens her mouth to respond, but I’m on a roll.
“My team is the only one that has produced any new clients in the last year. Why isn’t he breathing down one of the other VPs’ necks to get their shit together?
And why am I the one who has to manage portfolios instead of taking meetings for clients? ”
Graham may have a beautiful face, but it’s nothing but a facade.
The hubristic man is the tall version of a Napoleon complex, overcompensating for his lack of personality and social awareness.
How anyone could think he has the golden touch is beyond me.
He’s pricklier than a startled porcupine, and unfortunately, I keep getting stabbed by his quills.
“Please don’t quit,” Mindy pleads as we reach my office. “I already lost Stella, and everyone else is boring. I can’t lose you too.”
My resolve softens at her mention of my best friend.
Stella was a force to be reckoned with, the yin to my yang when it came to tag team investments.
She always handled the real estate and tech startup portfolios, whereas I took over the agriculture and oil tycoons because they needed someone who was bilingual. We were the perfect team.
Now she’s graduated with her MBA and is working with her fiancé to take over the art investments world while I’m stuck in purgatory with Hades breathing down my neck.
Mindy follows me into my office.
“I’m not gonna leave you.” I drop the folders onto my desk with a thud and let out a heavy sigh.
As much as I’d love to quit, I won’t. Not only do I not have another career to fall back on, but my dad’s friend also got me this job right out of college.
I’ve invested my entire adult life in this place.
It also helps that I love my clients and the work I do, and I make damn good money doing it.
I’m the best—and that’s not me being boastful.
I literally have the highest grossing portfolio.
Though, I can’t deny that something is…missing.
“Oh, thank god,” she breathes out, slumping into the doorway. “I thought I was going to have to poison Hottie McCrabbypants just to keep you.”
I snort out a laugh at her apt description of our boss. “No felonies today, please.”
One is enough for me .
My cell chimes in my purse, and I frown when I see Kieran’s name scroll across the screen.
It’s his third call this week. The first two voicemails I deleted, sure he only wanted to give me the same spiel about leaving Thompson to come work for the family winery, as if he actually wanted me there and wasn’t just trying to appease Winnie’s delusion that we could all be one big, happy family.
That ship sailed the minute I was sent to live with my abuela.
I swipe to ignore the call, placing the phone face down on my desk.
Mindy stays to chat for a few minutes before she goes back to her office, leaving me in complete silence.
My eye twitches as I stare at the stack of old client portfolios Graham wants me to digitize, the ones Mr. Weston had tucked into his secret filing cabinet.
Part of me wants to rage at him, to tell him that he’s going to lose money by not having me take potential client meetings, but there’s another part that welcomes the reprieve of the mind-numbing task.
I’ve been hustling for years, making the name Rosay Wilmington one to look out for in the finance community.
Sure, I’m not a venture capitalist like Graham used to be, helping new companies build their wealth, but I’ve done a stellar job of assisting old clients to secure their wealth for future generations while still growing.
A sense of wistfulness seeps inside my chest as I think about what I’d be doing if my life didn’t take a turn down juvenile lane, if I hadn’t let my mom’s death make me spiral into one bad decision after another. I’d probably be teaching kids instead of simply tutoring them in my free time.
I inhale a deep breath, expelling the heaviness settled on my chest.
Quick vibrations along the desk draw my attention to my phone. I lift it up and see Winnie’s name. A smile pulls at my cheek. Talking to my sister usually brings up my mood .
I slip off my sandals and prop my feet on the desk, wiggling my persimmon-colored toes. “Hey sis.”
“We’re getting married next weekend!”
I cough, sputtering coffee over the dusty folders. “Next weekend? As in one week from today?”
Her laugh is tinny in my ear. “Yes. Well, today is Monday, so technically it’s like two weeks away, but you know what I mean. We’re just going to do something small with like fifty guests here at the winery. Point is, will you be my maid of honor?”
Her request has my throat in a vice grip, and I rub my hand on my chest to stem the emotions squeezing my lungs. Once upon a time, I thought I’d be asking her this same question.
“Of course,” I choke out, blinking away tears. “I’d be honored to stand beside you. You just tell me when and where you need me to be.”
My eardrums are at risk with how much she has squealed this entire phone call, but I can’t deny how simply hearing her happiness through the phone floods me with warmth. My cheeks stretch with a wide smile, elated for my sister.
“We’re going to start the festivities on Thursday with an early family dinner, then dual bachelor/bachelorette paintball on Friday, getting the wedding set up on Saturday, then the actual wedding on Sunday evening. I have your dress and just need your measurements for the seamstress.”
I chuckle. “Wow, you’ve got everything sorted out already.” If anyone can organize a wedding in two weeks, it’d be Winnie. Being a wedding planner herself, I’m sure she has connections that can help her pull off the perfect wedding in a short amount of time.
“I’ve waited ten years for this day. Of course, I’m ready.
” There’s a tinge of exasperation in her voice, which I understand with how long she’s been waiting for Jordan to pop the question.
“And that just means I’ll be ready to help you start planning your wedding to Graham, who I’m so excited to finally meet.
You still haven’t sent me a picture of your ring. ”
A golf ball lodges in my throat, and heat rises to my chest, stealing all the oxygen inside my lungs. How the hell did I forget I told them I was engaged?
Fuck . What should I say?
I lied because I was embarrassed that I’m still single. Oh, I was just playing around. You misheard me. The ring is getting sized.
I’m suspended in this moment where I can either come clean and look like an ass or lie again to save face. At least if I tell Winnie, she won’t judge me as harshly as the others, and she’d be the one most likely to help me explain what happened.
Searching for a fake fiancé is the last thing I need when my focus should be on attending a finance conference.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the truth rolling off my tongue. “Actually, I’m not—”
“Oh, hold that thought. Kieran wants to talk to you.” Through the phone, I can hear him mutter, “She answers your calls but not mine?”
I curse under my breath and knock my fist against my head for answering in the first place.
“Hey Rosie Posie,” Kieran’s smooth voice comes through the line.
My heart warms at his use of the nickname he bestowed on me in middle school.
Once upon a time, me and Kieran were two kids in the same school and Wendy was just my favorite English teacher.
It wasn’t until after my mom’s death that she changed to the villain in my teenage mind when she started dating my dad.
“Hey Kieran. What’s up? ”
“I need your big brain.” He chuckles, and I can imagine the way he’s probably rubbing along his blond beard, a nervous habit he developed in college. It’s not often he, or any of my family, come to me when they need something, so curiosity overrides my desire to get off the phone.
“Isn’t your brain big enough?” I ask playfully. “What do you need mine for?”
His loud sigh comes through the speaker. “I want to acquire another patch of land to expand the winery fields, but I’m having trouble understanding some of the P&L statements from last quarter and the projected growth from the owner.”
“Send them my way,” I say, welcoming the elation of being needed.
Dad and Kieran are whizzes when it comes to talking about wine and getting customers to buy, but it was my mom who ran the actual business side of the winery.
They’ve managed it well since her passing, but Kieran isn’t ashamed to ask my opinion on the finances.
“Do you have a firm date on when you need them?”
With my current workload plus what Graham just dumped on me, I might need to reschedule some of my tutoring clients this weekend to help.
“I can wait until you come next weekend for the wedding.” My shoulders relax at his deadline, thankful I don’t need to cancel on any clients. “You can run me through the numbers while I grill your fiancé over wine facts. He does drink wine, right?”
“No,” I reply, voice shaky. “I’m no—”
“It’s okay. We won’t be too harsh.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”