by Evie Claire
“Absolutely.” Phebe smiled broadly at everyone, took her cue, and passed the binders around the table. Reluctantly, the board retook their seats and started thumbing through the folders. “If you will recall, there was concern over a runoff issue for a nearby stream with this project. What you will see here are the structural plans we intend to incorporate in our project to address that. This drainage system will run under the proposed infrastructure to redirect both rainwater and runoff into the underground sewage systems. The grates of which BHI will upgrade, not just along our project site, but down the entire block. At our cost. In addition to this, I had my engineer resurvey the hundred-year floodplain for Peachtree Creek and our property, and it is less than one one-thousandth of a developed acre that will fall within the floodplain. Basically three inches of one parking space.” Phebe finished the speech she’d planned for days and held her breath.
A few board members nodded as they read. That was good. The chairman of the board—and Maddie’s boss—narrowed his eyes as he studied the final page. That wasn’t good.
“Thank you, Ms. Stark. We’ll certainly take this under advisement and give you our answer when we meet next month.” He tapped the folder on the table and then handed it to Maddie. Maddie’s face fell. Phebe’s did as well. But only for a second.
“Thank you for hearing me out this morning. I greatly appreciate your time. But if you recall, this is the fourth change you’ve asked for. We’ve all got deadlines and if I have to wait another month to move forward on this, I’m going to miss mine. Is there any way we could make this happen sooner?” Phebe held the chairman’s gaze, hoping her eyes pled the case if her words couldn’t.
“Couldn’t we offer a temporary approval?” a member piped up. Phebe’s heart leaped into her throat. Was that even a thing?
“That’s a great idea. That way she could at least get the ball rolling for the next steps and still meet her deadline.” Maddie nodded encouragingly at her boss’s side. “I’m willing to personally vouch for Phebe. Her work is always first class. You can look up her past projects, if you like.” Maddie placed the binder back in her boss’s hand. He scanned it again.
Nodding, he looked to the board members. “Does anyone have a problem with granting temporary approval?” Not a peep. Everyone, it seemed, was in agreement. Maddie handed him a pen and he signed off on a form she produced from thin air. “Congratulations, Ms. Stark. You can expect the documentation you need to continue in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” she questioned.
“Well, yes. Paperwork has to be completed on our end. I can’t ask our secretary to drop everything just to get your form filled out.”
Phebe looked to Maddie and could tell from the half frown on her face that she was not the one who handled that kind of paperwork. Phebe frowned, too, then she had another idea.
“But that signature ensures the plans have temporary approval and once your secretary gets around to it, I will be able to move forward?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” Phebe smiled and breathed deeply. “Thank you all for your time. I hope you have a wonderful Monday.”
* * *
—
Thirty minutes later Phebe stepped out of the secretary’s office, official temporary commercial zoning approval in hand and the sneakers from her gym bag on her feet. Turns out she and her new best friend, Sherie, wore the same size Ferragamo patent leather platform pump with a bow. Honestly, it was the smallest price she’d ever paid for such success.
By her estimation, the rezoning process was the trickiest part of her entire project. With that now solved, she was on to step two. She had one month to get the building plans approved by the Downtown Development Authority, and then six months to build a thirty-five-story building. It was the tightest building time line she’d ever managed, but she’d get it done. She always did.
She relished the victory, mentally celebrating with a balloon-confetti drop party for one, when the moment was hopelessly derailed.
In the best way possible.
Her bag vibrated against her side. Grabbing her phone, she found something else deserving of a little celebration. For a Monday morning, she was on a roll.
BRODY: I had the naughtiest dream last night. Do you have a conference table in your office?
Phebe’s eyes grew wider as she read, and an involuntary giggle escaped with her reply.
PHEBE: of course…???
Before she could think of something fun or flirty to add to it, his next came zinging in.
BRODY: how big?
Whoa. How to reply to that one? Phebe tapped her phone against her chin, thinking. She wanted to sound as sexy and tempting as Brody did. Even though she felt far from either of those things. But still, he made her want to. That was new. She was lost in thought when her name echoed down the hallway.
“Phebe Stark?” A man’s voice, one full of authority, cut clearly through the building’s early morning bustle.
The gleaming glass building in the heart of downtown that housed the Zoning Department was a busy place on a Monday morning. Fifteen floors above where she stood was the mayor’s office. The floors in between held every significant administrative office for a city of over five million. Today, it was crushed with people trying to get their week started. Phebe’s mind was focused on other things and in no mood for an interruption.
“What?” she answered without looking up, carefully tucking her phone away to hide the flirtation on its screen. The interruption was annoying. With her approval in hand, there was very little on her morning’s agenda that was more important than sexting with the guy who had given her some serious morning dew a few hours earlier. Yes, she’d Googled it. It was a legit thing.
“Joel Stewart, JMS Capital.” An outstretched hand popped into her periphery, waiting to be shaken. The name crashed into Phebe like a wrecking ball. Okay, something could be more important than sexting, and she’d just brushed him off like dandruff.
Fuck. She froze, quickly searching for an excuse for her rudeness.
Joel Stewart, as in the Joel Stewart? Phebe looked up to see a face she recognized only from the cover of trade publications. He was a god in their industry. A CEO with a Midas touch. BHI was great and all, but at the end of the day, there wasn’t a depth to which they wouldn’t stoop to chase the almighty dollar. JMS had found a way to make gazillions and outclass the competition in the process. It was like comparing a Camry to a Mercedes C-Class. Both were workhorses that got the job done. One just made the ride a hell of a lot cooler.
“Mr. Stewart, I’m so sorry.” Phebe dropped the phone into her bag and accepted the hand, giving it an overzealous pump to make up for her lack of manners and the sneakers that were suddenly burning her feet. “It’s an honor to meet you.” The man’s eyes were dark, deeply set into a thin face, making him look both studious and sincere. Behind him, two colleagues turned to their phones to allow a measure of privacy.
“No apologies, Ms. Stark. I’ve heard about you. If you’re outside the zoning department at eight o’clock on a Monday morning—in sneakers, no less—I can only assume I’m interrupting important business and should be the one apologizing to you,” he said with an eager glint in his eye—one that Phebe recognized. She stepped farther into his handshake. The man’s energy was addictive. The fact that someone of his caliber knew her was shocking.
She followed his gaze. It fell straight to the sneakers peeking out from under her suit pants and he smiled in a knowing way.
“Another day, another hurdle. Good thing I know how to jump,” Phebe quipped, with the trademark determination that guided her career.
“That’s exactly what I’ve heard about you.” Mr. Stewart pulled a small leather folio embossed with his initials from a coat pocket. “I’ve heard something else about you, too.”
“Oh,
yeah?” Phebe crossed her arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall, trying to look all relaxed, because inside she felt anything but.
“I’ve heard I might be able to steal you away from BHI if the situation was right.” He reached into another pocket for a pen without making eye contact, because he seemed to instinctively know the effect his last comment would have on her. He was exactly right. Phebe managed to collect herself before he looked back. “Is that true?” he asked.
“Business is all about numbers, Mr. Stewart.” Phebe heard the words come out of her mouth, sounding as if they were being shouted down a hundred-foot tunnel. What strange and unanticipated detour was her life taking?
“Yes, it is,” he agreed with an appreciative chuckle. “This is the number I’d like to start at.” He handed her a business card with something scribbled on the back. “We’ve got big things happening. We could certainly use you. If you’re interested, I’m having lunch at the Capital City Club today. Come see me.”
Phebe took the card, palming it instead of looking at it, and automatically accepted the hand he extended again.
“Either way, I’m a fan of your work, Ms. Stark. Our industry needs more people who can jump as well as you.” With that, he turned and continued down the hallway in the direction of the mayor’s private elevator.
Phebe was left trembling on the inside, rigid on the outside, and damn near floating on a euphoric cloud that was as good as any drug could ever be. She turned over the card in her palm. An involuntary sound lodged in her throat. There were two commas in the number scrawled across the back.
Two. Fucking. Commas.
* * *
—
Phebe sank into an office chair and stared at the black computer screen before her. With the door closed, her office was eerily silent. It was two in the afternoon, and the gleaming wooden desk had yet to witness a single second of work. That never happened. There were a million things she should be doing, but her brain was too busy digesting the latest fork in her road. It was a good fork, but one that must be traversed as delicately as possible.
It had been strange walking into an office that looked so familiar but suddenly felt utterly foreign. BHI was all she’d ever known. For the most part, she loved her job. In a month, she’d be gone. Those were the terms she’d negotiated with Mr. Stewart. Because JMS Capital was her future.
Accepting a multimillion-dollar dream job offer hadn’t been on her schedule that day. But there were some times in life even she had to let go of the reins.
What was even sweeter was that, respecting her desire to remain professional and get her current projects ready to hand over to someone else, Mr. Stewart agreed to give her the month to do just that. He was smart. He realized how huge her Auburn Oaks Project was. And how good it would look for him to have stolen her away from BHI once she had everything approved. Building was the easy part.
In a month’s time, she would transition to her coveted C-Suite role as the chief operations officer for Stewart Capital’s southeastern division. It was everything she wanted. Her mind still couldn’t grasp how quickly it had unfolded. It’d been only a week since she’d casually mentioned to a classmate that she would leave BHI. A week since that awful encounter with her supervisor and the day she’d found her way to Brody’s barstool.
She had an overwhelming urge to text Brody the good news. After all, he was the one who’d first put the idea of finding another job in her head. She stopped herself because she realized she was being ridiculous. Why would he care? Sure, they’d had some fun last night, but it wasn’t like they were dating. It’d be weird if she sent him a text like that, right? She ran a fingernail around the edge of her phone’s case to clean away the dust as she thought about him for the second time that day.
Her office door flew open without a knock. She startled at the intrusion and looked up to see her asshole supervisor standing in the doorway. Judging by the mix of disgust and scorn on his face, one thing was clear—he knew about her lunch with Joel Stewart. The question was, how much more did he know?
“You had lunch with Joel Stewart?” His tone was so condescending it made the statement ninety-nine percent accusation and one percent question.
This was a conversation Phebe knew she was going to have to have. And while she’d hoped for at least a week to get her ducks in a row and prepare for the inevitable fireworks show her supervisor would surely turn it into, that wasn’t going to happen. She took a deep breath and fiddled with her phone, stalling while she thought about what to say.
“Yes, Steve, I did.” She always called him by his first name. Respect was a hard thing for Phebe to give someone who so blatantly didn’t repay the favor. “If you’ll sit down, I’d like to discuss some things with you.”
“Did he offer you a job?” Steve asked, stepping into the office and closing the door behind him. He chose to remain on the far side of the room, leaning against the doorframe instead of accepting the seat Phebe had offered.
“Yes.” Phebe slid her phone across the desk, out of reach, and leaned back in her chair.
“Did you take it?”
“I insisted on time to get the Auburn Oaks Project ready to hand off. Mr. Stewart agreed. Once we get everything approved by the city, I will leave BHI.” Using the word we disgusted Phebe. Steve hadn’t lifted a finger, but she was trying to play nice. Why, she wasn’t sure.
“What’s the position?”
“Chief operations officer for Stewart Capital’s southeastern division.” It was the first time Phebe had uttered the new title out loud, and she couldn’t hide the swell of her chest and automatic smile tugging at her lips.
Steve’s nose twitched the way it did when he tried to disguise the involuntary snarl that overtook his face when he got bad news. It seemed a daily occurrence when he was around Phebe. One less thing to miss about her current job. Steve snorted and walked over to Phebe’s window, looking down the forty-one stories to the bustling pavement.
Sensing a fight was coming simply by the way he carried his shoulders—high and tight and ready to throw their weight behind something—Phebe stood, moving purposefully to put the mahogany desk between them. She wasn’t stupid; this wasn’t going to end well.
“You have the day to pack your shit, Ms. Stark.” He turned quickly, making zero eye contact, and bent to rip her hard drive from under the desk. “I’ll notify security. In forty-eight hours, you are banned from all Burton Holiday properties.” Next he took her BHI-issued cellphone—the one that sat on the same side table as her hard drive—and put it in his pocket, holding out his hand when he was done. “Laptop?” Numbly, Phebe fumbled through her briefcase and placed it within his reach. “HR will be in contact shortly.”
“Wait, what?” Phebe snatched it from his grasp, the cylinders of her brain finally clicking into place. She was ready to fight. “I’m doing you a huge favor here. This deal won’t close without me.” She made her way around the desk. Steve was practically running for the door.
“You’re colluding with the competition, Ms. Stark. That’s expressly forbidden in our noncompete agreements.” His hand was on the doorknob, yet he didn’t open it. He knew better than to let the office hear the way he spoke to her.
“I never signed a noncompete. You have zero cause to fire me,” Phebe argued.
“I have authority to fire at will. Pack your shit and get out.” With that he slipped out the door, slamming it as hard as he could in her face. Phebe stared at the cold black wood, laptop hugged to her chest like a shield, her world going all dreamy and surreal for the second time that day.
Breath was hard to come by. Had she just been fired? Her, Phebe Stark, the hardest-working woman in the whole damn company? She stumbled backward, landing on the couch beside her door and clutching the tablet in her hands. With every ounce of strength her fingers possessed, they dug into its case, wishing it were some par
t of Steve. BHI’s logo shone like a bull’s-eye on the top. It didn’t matter whose hands held it. With one keystroke, its memory would be remotely wiped. Along with everything she’d done for the company in her five years. A single second. A single keystroke. A single asshole boss. An entire career gone.
She was shaking, a mix of anger, hate, and pure adrenaline coursing through her veins. The breath that had been difficult started coming too quickly, too heavily. Her head throbbed. The office walls pulsed. Sweat prickled at the nape of her neck. She knew what was coming, and it wasn’t the time or place for a full-scale meltdown. She needed out, and there was only one place she wanted to go.
But first, she had to do something she’d been putting off for way too long. Because if that asshole would treat her like this—someone who obviously wasn’t a damn doormat—he’d do it to anyone. She grabbed her personal phone off the desk and started a group text to Marie and Brent.
PHEBE: That asshole just harassed me for the last time. I’m ready to play hardball.
Chapter 8
Brody
“Rockin’ in Atlanta at Tattletales
(with those)
Girls, girls, girls.”
Revving motorcycles and Mötley Crüe blared in the background, cranked up and pumping through Brody’s office door with every womp of Tommy Lee’s bass drum. It was the only way to get work out of Drew in the middle of the afternoon. With classic rock thumping, he’d polish every glass in the place until they damn near glowed.
Brody could work through the intrusion. Music was good. Music was distracting. Something he desperately needed. In his hand he held a bill he hadn’t seen coming. The kind with a bottom line that made him throw up in his mouth a little bit. How in the hell could property taxes increase thirty percent in one year?
