by T L Swan
“I already had it.”
My face falls again. “What? When?”
“Wednesday, in New York.”
I stare at him. “How did you do this without me knowing?”
“Caught the train. Anyway, I didn’t think I had a chance after Monday and the way we met.”
I screw up my face in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It’s with Miles Media.”
“You got an internship with Miles Media?” I gasp.
“Yep.” He smiles proudly. “Tristan Miles is my new boss.”
My eyes widen in horror. “What? No,” I snap. “You can’t work with him.” I throw the next towel on the pile with force. “Forget it.”
“Mom, they’re the best media company in the world. It’s a big deal for me to get this. They had over four thousand applicants.”
“You tried to shove underpants in his mouth, Fletcher,” I cry. “How can you walk into that office and not be ashamed of yourself?”
“It’s okay. I apologized, remember?”
“No, it’s not okay. It will never be okay. It’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever witnessed. You can’t work there; I forbid it.”
Fletcher’s a firecracker. I don’t want him embarrassing me further. I get a vision of him losing his temper at work, and I shiver in mortification. This is my worst nightmare.
“I am,” he snaps. “You can’t stop me.”
“I can and I will,” I cry.
“I want to learn from the best. I want to run Anderson Media one day; they can teach me how.”
“All they are going to teach you, Fletcher, is how to be ruthless.”
“And that’s exactly what I want to learn.”
I glare at him. “You call Tristan Miles back and tell him to stick his job where the sun doesn’t shine.” I’m so angry with that man for going behind my back on this that I can’t even stand it.
He should have called me to tell me about the interview.
Ever since he met my kids, I haven’t heard from him. Not that I wanted to, but anyway, it’s the principle of the situation. And now, for him to not call me but to offer my son a job as some kind of poor excuse for him being a wimp who hates kids? He was so hot for me and came to my house, and after one meeting with my children . . . boom. Cold as ice.
I should have known to expect it—actually, who am I kidding? I did.
The beautiful man I met in France isn’t the cold man who lives in New York. They are worlds apart. The man in France I adore; the man in New York I despise.
I don’t want him near Fletcher, and I most definitely don’t want Fletcher to learn business ethics from him.
The notion is preposterous.
I fold my towels with force. I don’t care about Tristan Miles anyway. It’s not like I wanted anything, but he definitely put a dent in my ego. I know he’s brilliant, and I know that Wade would be supporting this. But Tristan Miles is cold and calculating in the business world. I don’t want Fletcher’s first position to be with him. He’s so impressionable, and I don’t want him thinking that the cutthroat Miles Media’s focus is normal. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.
“I start on Monday,” Fletcher snaps.
“Over my dead body.”
Chapter 11
I straighten Fletcher’s tie. “Now remember, ask for help if you don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, Mom.”
I dust his shoulders off. After a weekend of tantrums and tears, I have conceded. Fletcher is starting work with Tristan this morning, and I have never felt so sick in my life. “And make sure you drink lots of water. If you get dehydrated, you won’t be able to concentrate.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Now, I’ve packed you a lunch. Don’t get into the habit of buying it. You will waste a fortune.”
“Mom.” Fletcher gives a subtle shake of his head.
“Because . . . you know? What you start doing in this first job will lay the foundation for your entire working career. I want you to build good habits. This is an opportunity to learn, Fletch. Watch and learn, but always remember that you are an Anderson.” I pull my fingers through his hair.
He smiles down at me. “I will.”
“Being smart in business doesn’t mean you have to be cutthroat,” I remind him.
“I know; we talked about this.” He sighs.
“Your father was such a good man, Fletch, with the highest of morals.”
He smiles broadly.
It’s my greatest fear that Tristan is going to rub off on this young and impressionable boy. My eyes fill with tears at the mere prospect.
“Mom. Stop.”
I put my hands over my mouth as I stare up at my handsome son. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m just so nervous for you.”
“Why?”
“Because this is a big deal, and I don’t want you to mess it up.”
“Mom.” He sighs. “I stuffed underpants in the boss’s mouth before I even got the job. I’m pretty sure I’ve already messed it up as much as physically possible.”
I hold my forehead as I stare at him. “God, please don’t remind me. That will forever be the most mortifying moment of my life.” I go back to fiddling with his tie to distract myself.
“Worked out.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“Well, he never came back.” He smirks.
“We were just friends, Fletcher. He was never coming back anyway . . . long before you did that. Don’t flatter yourself. If he and I were actually a thing, do you really think that would deter him?”
“Hmm.” He shrugs, not believing me.
I’ll never admit the truth—that he’s right, and just as he planned, it really did work. Tristan never contacted me again after that fateful day. He went from coming to my house to pursue me . . . to never calling again. It says a lot about him and the gumption he has—or lack of it. Anyway, who cares?
Good riddance. I’m actually grateful that Fletcher scared him off. Saved me the job and stopped things from dragging out.
“Just remember to be professional,” I remind him.
“I know.”
“And use your manners.”
He rolls his eyes.
“And if you get into trouble, what do you do?”
“Go to the bathroom, and count to ten to calm down.” He sighs.
I smile as I fix his hair. “That’s it, Fletch.” I smile up at him. “You’re going to be great.”
I keep straightening his hair, and he swats me away. “That’s enough already, Mom.”
I grab his face hard in my hands and bring his eyes to mine. “Do you know how proud your father and I are of you?”
He shrugs sadly. “Thanks.”
I smile. “And call me on your lunch break.”
“Oh my God. Stop nagging me. I’m not going to have time.”
“One minute—you have one minute.”
With one last eye roll he walks downstairs, and I follow and grab my keys. “Let’s go.”
This is the longest day of my entire life. I pick up my phone and check it again. “It’s one thirty p.m. Why hasn’t he called?” I sigh.
“He probably forgot,” Marley replies.
“What if they didn’t give him lunch?” I say. “He can’t handle not eating. He might faint.”
Marley rolls her eyes. “It will be fine, and it isn’t a prison camp. Miles Media has one of the best reputations for treating their staff well.”
“Will you stop telling me that everything is going to be okay?” I snap. “Because I have a reason to be concerned, and I’m really worried about him.”
“Oh my God, you’re driving yourself crazy—and me, for that matter.”
“When you have a child who is going to work for the biggest bastard in the world, you let me know how you go.”
“Okay, fine.” She smiles my way. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Mr. Miles hasn’t called you, would it?”
I screw up m
y face in disgust. “What, as if I’m annoyed that he hasn’t call me? I had already broken it off with him—not that we actually had anything to break off. It was just one week, Marley, and besides, Tristan Miles means nothing to me. But I have serious suspicions as to why he would’ve hired Fletcher in the first place. Something feels off. Fletcher tried to bash him with his own underpants, for God’s sake.”
Marley giggles. “Oh Lord, how I wish I was there to see that. I bet Tristan Miles has never had that before.”
I smile as I remember that momentous day. I’ve never been so horrified and yet so amused at the same time. Not that I would ever admit that to anybody, not even Marley.
“I’m just gonna text him. I can’t be going crazy like this for any longer.” I type.
Hi Fletch, how’s it going buddy?
A reply bounces straight back.
I hate this job. I hate this man, I’m not coming back tomorrow.
My eyes widen in horror. “Oh no, Marley. This is going to be worse than him not even starting. I can just see it.”
I text back.
Why what’s happening?
He texts back.
Talk to you tonight I’ve got five minutes left for lunch.
I look up at Marley, my stomach sinking. “What’s happening over there? I don’t believe this.”
Marley rolls her eyes. “I do, actually. Let’s face it, Claire. Fletcher doesn’t exactly take orders well.”
I blow out a big deep breath. “Hopefully his afternoon will be better.”
Marley smiles. “It will be. Don’t you remember what it was like to start a new job? Everybody’s first day at a new job is bad, Claire.”
I shrug. “I guess you’re right.”
“Everything is going to be fine. Relax, and let him go. He’s nearly a man. He needs to find his own way.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sigh. I pick up my pen and try to get back to work. Nightmare images of my poor little baby all alone in that big cranky corporate office are flying through my mind.
Why couldn’t he just go to university?
I stir the cheese into the large pot of spaghetti bolognese. I finished early today, and although I wanted to pick Fletcher up from work, I let him catch the train home. I’m really trying my hardest to give him a little tough love. He wants to be a big boy and work; he needs to learn how to be self-sufficient. I look at the clock. Where is he?
I glance up at my other two sons, who are sitting at the kitchen counter. “How did it go at school today, Harry?”
“Okay.”
“How was Mrs. Parkinson?”
“A witch, as usual.” He sighs.
“I don’t think it’s very nice to be calling your teacher a witch.”
“Yeah, well, if she stopped acting like one, I wouldn’t have to call her one.”
“Just stay out of trouble, please, Harry. You’re on your last warning at that school. I need you to behave. You need to show everyone how smart and charming you really are.”
Harry rolls his eyes. Patrick smiles goofily up at me.
“Now let’s be nice when Fletch gets home. He’s had a really bad day. And I want you boys to try and make him feel better.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” Harry asks with an eye roll.
“Just talk about things and take his mind off it. Make him laugh. Try and make him see that things aren’t as bad as he thinks.”
Harry smiles. “I think they are as bad as he thinks. Imagine working with that pompous donkey.”
“You don’t even know him,” I snap. “You can’t say that; he’s a nice man. And he’s Fletch’s new boss, so you show him some respect.”
We hear the front door bang, and Fletcher comes into view. His hair is messed, his tie is askew, his jacket is off, his shoelaces are undone. He looks like he’s been to hell and back. I bite my lip to stifle my smile as I give him a hug. “How is my big working boy?”
“It was literal hell.”
My face falls. “Why? What happened?”
“Basically, I ruined everything I touched.”
“That’s okay. You’re only new; they can’t expect you to know everything. Nobody knows everything on the first day.” I smile as I watch him. “What was the last thing that he said to you?”
“Don’t you dare be late tomorrow.”
I frown. “Didn’t he say ‘Thanks for your first day’?”
“No, Mom. I told you he’s an asshole.”
“Hmm. Well, let’s just see how tomorrow goes.”
“I’m not going back.”
“Yes, you are, Fletcher,” I snap. “You’re going to work two weeks there. I will not have you embarrassing me. If you don’t like it after two weeks, you can stop, but you will ride it out and at least give it a chance.”
Fletcher rolls his eyes and sits at the table, and I put his spaghetti bolognese down in front of him. “I made your favorite.”
“I’m too tired to eat it.”
I fake a smile and run my fingers through his hair. “I know, baby, me too.”
I sit at the table and wait for Fletcher to arrive home from work. Honestly, who knew having a child start work would be so stressful? I can’t think, I can’t sleep, and I’ve been leaving work early every day so that I can get home well before he does and cook his favorite meals.
Tristan is giving him hell, and I know that he may need it. But the mother in me is worried that Tristan is just trying to teach him a lesson over the way they met. I close my eyes in horror. I can’t even think of that day without cringing. Whipping him with underpants and then trying to stuff them in his mouth . . . oh, the horror.
What on earth was Fletcher thinking?
But you know what? I’m proud of Fletch. I’m proud of him for making it above all those other candidates, for taking the job in the first place, and then for having the courage to stick with the job and go back day after day.
The door bangs open, and I smile and pick up the chocolate cake I just made him. He comes around the corner, and I force a smile, even though I feel like bursting into tears at the sight of his sad face. “Hi, Fletch.”
“Hi.” He yanks off his tie aggressively.
“I made you chocolate cake.” I hold it toward him. “Your favorite.”
“Thanks.” He sighs. He sticks his finger out and swipes it through the frosting and shoves it in his mouth.
I brace myself to ask the dreaded question. “How was your day?”
He slumps into a chair. “Hell.”
“Really?” I whisper. Damn it. I really want this to work out. “Why? What happened today?”
“I’m just not very good at it, Mom.”
“Honey, you’re not supposed to be very good at it. You’re just new.”
He exhales heavily and swipes his finger through the icing once more.
“What’s Tristan like?” I ask.
“Mean.”
“Mean?” I frown. “Like how?” I watch him for a moment. “Give me an example.”
He puffs air into his cheeks. I’ve never seen him so deflated. “Well.” He pauses as he gets it right in his head. “We do this thing where he goes and visits all the managers on each floor, and I follow him around like a puppy and take notes. Today there was a meeting of everyone together.”
“Yes, okay, that’s standard.”
“Well, today we got down to the fortieth floor and into the meeting, and I realized that I left my pen up on my desk.”
“Yes.” I frown as I listen to him. “Go on.”
“There weren’t any other pens there, so I just sat and listened to him talk along with everyone else.”
I nod as I listen.
“Halfway through the meeting he noticed I wasn’t taking notes and asked why. I told him I left my pen behind, and he completely lost his shit, screamed at me in front of everyone, and kicked me out of the management meeting.”
“What? He was screaming at you?” I frown.
“Like a madman. Sayin
g that he won’t put up with my laziness or sloppiness, and if I have no desire to learn, then I may as well leave Miles Media right now.”
My mouth falls open in surprise. “What? Over a pen?”
“Mom, that’s not even the half of it. He yells at me the entire day. Everything I do is wrong.”
Anger simmers in my stomach. “He yells at you?”
“Screams the fucking place down. Even Jameson, the CEO, had to come and rescue me today. He told him to settle down.” His eyes widen. “And Jameson Miles is known for screaming at everyone all the time, Mom, so I know Tristan mustn’t scream at anyone else like he does me.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Sammia, Jameson’s PA, even bought me a cupcake today. She feels sorry for me too. She told me not to worry about him—that I was doing a good job.” His shoulders slump. “He just hates me.”
My eyes narrow as I feel anger twist in my gut. “Just ignore him, buddy.” I fake a smile. “He’ll settle down.” Or else. “Just keep your head down, and do your job.” I cut him a piece of cake and hand it over.
“Cake before dinner?” He frowns.
“Cake for dinner, if you want.” I watch him eat it and stare into space as adrenaline surges through my body.
Tristan fucking Miles . . . don’t push me.
“What do you think, Marley?” I ask. “Should I be worried?”
“Hmm, it’s a tough one.” She sips her Coke. We are at a restaurant eating lunch. “On one hand, you want Fletch to be taught the right way.”
“Yes, but he’s screaming at him, Marl. In what job is that okay?”
“It’s not; I agree.” She shrugs. “It’s so not okay in any workplace.”
“God, I’m going crazy over this. What if he just hired him to put him through hell for the way they met? What if he’s purposely being nasty to teach me a lesson for ending it?”
“It’s completely possible.” She shrugs again. “But this job will set Fletch up for life, so more fool him, you know?”
“But at what point is it enough? Like how far do I let it go?” A text comes in. It’s from Fletcher.
Hi.
I smile. “Fletch is on his lunch break.” I text back.
Can I call you?
He texts back.
Yeah.
I dial his number, and he answers on the first ring. “Hi, Fletch.” I smile. “How’s it going?”
