Love at the Electric (A Port Bristol Novel Book 1)

by Jenn Hughes

  Sam grinned. His AI caught on fast when it came to women. “Good thinking, Cedric. Gift first, bad news second. Now, how many blocks categorized under photo shoots, interviews, parties, or red carpet events are upcoming on my schedule?”

  “In the next year, there are 177 such events.”

  “Jeez, no wonder I never seem to have enough time to play Firespawn,” he mumbled. “Okay, Cedric, cancel all of them and have Tyler start filling those slots with prospective client meetings.”

  “Yes, Sam.”

  “Cedric, sleep.” Sam looked up at his parents and mustered a half-smile. “Done.”

  “Feel better?” Dad asked.

  “A little, but none of this solves my Preston problem.”

  “Lillian will not continue working for Preston Lavery,” Mom said emphatically, tapping the top of the table.

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Because from what you’ve told me, she’s a good person with a clear sense of right and wrong. She won’t work for a sneak like Preston, especially not since she knows the truth about him. If I had to take a guess, I’d say she’s simply stubborn. Give her a reason not to be,” Mom replied.

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, I guess I’ve spent too much time trying to help her keep that job. I thought I was doing the right thing because it was so important to her but . . . Yeah. I should have admitted how I felt, given up the whole CEO super-image, and then let her decide what to do about Preston Lavery.”

  “Bingo. So now what are you going to do?” Dad asked.

  Sam pressed his lips together, an invigorating rush of determination with a side order of hope coursing through him. “Tell Lillian Walker I’m in love with her. And I want the world to know it—especially Preston.”

  The looks on his parents’ faces made him smile. He’d definitely made up for his failed Christmas gift of a vacation at a Swedish ice hotel. Dad beamed. Mom grinned almost maniacally. She was probably already organizing a seating chart for the wedding—and Sam didn’t plan on letting the effort go to waste. He pressed Cedric’s app button again.

  “Cedric, have Tyler immediately arrange for an invitation to the Christmas party to be hand-delivered to Lillian Walker at her office, along with a couple dozen . . . ” He held his hand over the phone and whispered, “Roses?”

  Mom tapped her finger against her lip and finally replied, “I think so. Red and pink. But tell them to add some red carnations, maybe a few cream roses, lime hydrangeas, a sprig or two of fern—”

  “Flowers, Cedric. Lots of very expensive flowers.”

  “Yes, Sam. And what would you like on the note?”

  It was the only time since the moment he’d met Lillian that he knew exactly what to say.

  “Have it read, ‘You’re worth it. Now let me prove that I am, too.’

  Chapter 24

  A Little Bird and a Granola with One Stone

  Lillian’s bright and early morning at Mythos had been kind of shitty. Shittier than usual. The shit snowballed. One thing after another happened.

  But it all started with Sam, and two pieces of hot, eager, manly . . . toast. Two pieces had popped out of the toaster in the break room and reminded her of Sam. The burn pattern in the center resembled his profile. She smeared him with blueberry jam and relished every bite.

  One of her male coworkers had worn a coat exactly like Sam’s. Too bad he lacked the rock-hard chest and abs she could play like a xylophone. And the noticeable bulge in his jeans to back up the momentary fantasy.

  The high-tech copier in the storage room announced the completion of jobs in a voice that sounded a lot like Sam’s. She’d only gone in there to make a copy of a recipe one of the litigating attorneys wanted, but she’d ended up making nearly a hundred copies of the Italian vegetable lentil soup recipe. The machine eventually locked her out and called maintenance for “misuse.”

  “No, you’re the one misusing me, you bastard,” she’d spat back at it. She wanted to kick it, too . . . which she did. Twice.

  All those signals could have been overlooked. Chalked up to hormones and exhaustion. But what eventually pushed Lillian over the edge had nothing to do with Sam Owens.

  It was the twenty minutes she spent chasing a clerk on a hoverboard over the two floors of the legal department. One of the younger attorneys had given him an incorrectly written procedural motion, and Lillian caught it seconds too late. The clerk had already headed to civil court at light speed, and when he zoomed into the elevator, the doors swooshing shut before she could reach him, Lillian had finally had enough.

  She hated Mythos.

  She hated her job.

  She hated that nonfraternization policy.

  Lillian didn’t fit in there. She wanted more for her life than spending it chained to an expensive desk, doing Preston Lavery’s bidding to stay out of debt. Not that she intended to save the world, one orphaned patent filing at a time, but there had to be something out there for her that didn’t involve feeling like she needed a biohazard shower at the end of the day.

  Money wasn’t worth dingy morals.

  She scheduled a meeting with Preston for late morning via the company messaging system she didn’t understand. Papyrus notes wrapped around rocks placed in the bonsai tree outside his office. Good God.

  The big moment finally arrived. Lillian marched into Preston’s office, fully prepared to launch into a well thought out resignation he could take no issue with . . .

  But Preston was busy meditating. Time being irrelevant in the grand scheme of the universe or something. Lillian waited as he sat cross-legged in the middle of his office on a stack of floor pillows, eyes closed and silent.

  And she waited.

  And waited.

  And there she stood, still waiting for her boss to rejoin the land of the living. Her foot tapped on the floor so hard she thought she might crack it. Suddenly everything ticked her off.

  Especially the whale sounds playing in the background. Whales were beautiful creatures, but ten straight minutes of listening to the duet of two humpbacks drove her crazy. Preston, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind.

  Lillian bent down and started to pluck a pillow from the floor to toss at his head, but before she could reach it, Preston’s eyes opened like a robot waking up from hibernation. Lillian stood up straight, and Preston smiled broadly.

  “Lillian,” he whispered. “So good to see you, matey. Join me.”

  Pristine work history, prepare to get flushed down the . . . Wait. Matey? Is he a pirate now?

  She shook her head. “No, Preston, this isn’t a social or meditative call. I’ll get to the point. I’ve decided I’m not a good fit at Mythos. I appreciate the opportunity, but I’m tendering my resignation. I’ll work a notice if necessary, but I’d prefer for this to take effect immediately.”

  “Mmmmm, I don’t think so,” he replied, his face frozen with a creepy look of calm.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your resignation is not accepted. And not because I’m currently practicing mindful breathing, and beyond the harshness of your aura. You’re burnt umber right now.”

  “What?”

  “Your aura is a very dark orange. That means you’re exhibiting a lack of reason and self-discipline, so it’s my duty to help guide you back into a balanced light,” Preston said, the corners of his mouth flexing slightly into a little grin.

  His tone sounded serious. Completely crazy but serious. His smile, however, told a different story. Preston Lavery was happy. And it probably didn’t have a thing to do with the weird-smelling incense filling up the room.

  In her experience, only one thing brought Preston pleasure, and that was needling Sam. His refusal to accept her resignation didn’t have a damn thing to do with her. And that really pissed her off.

 
Her body ached from holding back what she wanted to say. Tense muscles pulled on tired bones. Her brain told her to walk away. Take a breath, plan out the next moves, don’t burn the bridge on which she stood . . .

  Her heart, on the other hand, had a crime-fighting vigilante kind of attitude.

  Fuck. That. Pull the trigger.

  “Mr. Lavery, my orange aura is due to a lie perpetuated by you. A lie systematically poisoning this company from within, and my job as a result. I came to Mythos in the mistaken belief I would be working to protect legitimately derived work—not stolen property. Regardless of whether or not you accept my resignation, I’ll be leaving at the end of the day because I will not work for a thief. T-h-i-e-f.”

  Bite me, autocorrect.

  The look of complete shock on his face more than made up for the fact she’d rendered herself jobless. Preston hung in place, slack-jawed and confused. Then he shook his head.

  “L-L-Lillian . . . I think you should take a moment to center yourself and consider what you’re saying.”

  “Oh, I’ve considered it. Dreamed about it. Scripted it out. And this feels so much better.”

  The peace, love, and understanding mask faded off Preston like his spray tan in a hot shower. His upper lip curled. Suddenly, he slammed his fists down onto the pillow beneath him.

  “Think very carefully about what you do next,” he seethed, “and let me remind you of all the paperwork you signed when you started working here. Choosing Sam over Mythos is a big mistake. If you run to him for help when you walk out of here, I will sue you for breach of contract and him for . . . I don’t know. I’ll find something. And I will win, and you’ll both lose everything.”

  He’d threatened her. And Sam. That was worse. Her blood boiled. The steam from it sped up her heart. All she could hear was the thump of it in her ears. She would not let him threaten Sam, a man who had worked for what he had and deserved to keep it.

  Then, she did it. She pulled the trigger . . . on a pillow. She grabbed one and slung it like a throwing star. It hit Preston right between the eyes and then fell in his lap. And while he whined about her harshing his calm, Lillian pulled another trigger.

  “Do what you want to me, Preston, but if you even think about suing Sam Owens, I will dismantle Mythos through the legal system—one hoverboard at a time. And we both know I can do it.”

  Satisfied, she turned to leave, but Preston made one final attempt at hitting her where it hurt. “A little bird told me Sam’s taking Jacinda Shields to his stupid Origin Christmas party, so if you think this big show of yours will get his attention, you’re wrong. He has his hands happily full.”

  Lillian stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. “I’ll clean out my office and be gone by the end of the day. And Preston?”

  “What?” he growled.

  “Take your little bird and your lawsuits and your fake mantras and use your eight-angle pose to shove them straight up your karma.”

  He didn’t get a chance to make a comeback. Lillian stormed out of Preston’s office before he had time to pick his jaw up off the floor.

  But he did give her one excellent piece of advice. She had centered herself. Dug down deep inside and swept away everything that had piled up over the years and buried who she wanted to be underneath a mountain of bullshit.

  And suddenly she felt pretty damn perfect. Cleaner. Lighter. Ready to take on whatever waited. All she had left to do was empty out her office, turn in her employee ID, and then do some donuts in the parking lot with her sedan before heading home.

  Chapter 25

  Enter the Dragon Lady

  The door slammed shut behind her. Her office door. Her former office door. Usually, all entrances were to remain open. But Lillian didn’t work there anymore, and she made her own rules.

  She wasn’t in the mood for the anticipated tidal wave of office gossips. She’d heard their wings flapping and the murmuring and whispers on the way back from Preston’s office. A little privacy was necessary while she packed up her professional life.

  Lillian grabbed an empty storage box she considered a trophy. When she started at Mythos, it had been filled to the brim with backlogged files she’d managed to slog through and sort out. Never had she thought she’d refill it with the remains of her career.

  Personal papers went on the bottom.

  Then her pens.

  Her stapler, of course . . .

  But by the time she reached her Galaxy Trek bobbleheads, reality started sinking in.

  Lillian tried rubbing away the beads of sweat and wrinkles. She managed to get rid of the sweat. But the permanent ridges of worry might never come off because she, the responsible one, had no fallback plan. No safety net. The terrible thing waiting around the corner had smacked her right in the face. Again.

  She dropped into her chair, short of breath from a small panic attack she could barely control. Then her hand brushed against something on the corner of the desk. A black envelope fell to the floor. A black envelope not there before her OK Corral with Preston.

  She picked it up, and then slowly ran a trembling finger beneath the sealed flap. Inside was an invitation. Gold lettering on beautiful black linen paper inviting her to attend the big, fancy Origin Annual Christmas Party. A groan escaped.

  Does he want to torture me now or . . .

  Lillian focused for the first time since entering the room. There, right in front of her, sat a gigantic bouquet of gorgeous red, pink, and cream roses. Hard to miss, unless in the middle of a complete meltdown.

  “Where the hell did those come from?”

  The scent hit her, a sweet, relaxing fragrance ever-so-slightly soothing her frayed nerves. They were stunning. Perfect. Exactly what she needed—

  The door to her office slowly opened. No knock. Lillian braced herself, assuming it was Preston approaching for round two. But when a tall, impeccably dressed, and familiar brunette walked through the door, Lillian nearly hit the ground and rolled for cover.

  “Gasp.” Lillian meant to think it. She said it instead. Terror tended to have that effect. “Emily.”

  Fifteen years and her nemesis hadn’t aged . . .

  Wait. Crow’s feet. Yessss.

  Emily Bradshaw-Bryant didn’t appear quite as perfect as Lillian remembered. A decade and a half of dealing with Richard had apparently worn her down. Her flawless skin had dulled. Lines around her eyes and mouth appeared noticeable even from ten feet away. And her green eyes no longer reminded Lillian of a dragon. Not so sharp and piercing. And she could have sworn those round pupils used to be vertical slits.

  “Lillian Walker. It’s been too long,” Emily said, her honeyed voice enough to send a shiver down Lillian’s spine.

  Lillian kept her eyes on Emily’s long-sleeved white jacket, in case a weapon slid out from one of the sleeves. “Yes. Too long. You haven’t aged a day.”

  Silence.

  That was the gap when most people politely replied, “Neither have you.” But Emily didn’t say a word. Lillian felt like a two-foot-tall, wrinkled troll. Emily had always done that. Made her feel very bland and inferior. Old insecurities came roaring back, and Lillian kicked herself for her stupidity.

  This is what happens when you try to help a dick. Friendship is so overrated.

  Emily smiled. Slowly. Unnaturally. Obviously out of practice. As the door closed behind her, Emily sauntered in and took a seat in front of the desk. Long legs crossed perfectly. Manicured fingers interlocked and resting on her knees. Terrifying.

  “So . . . What brings Origin’s head of financial planning to Mythos today? I didn’t have any appointments on my schedule,” Lillian carefully probed. Without slipping and saying she didn’t exactly have a schedule anymore.

  “You know why I’m here,” Emily said with a sharp, sort-of smi
le.

  “Sorry, I don’t. I also don’t know how you managed to get through security and my assistant without an appointment.”

  “Underlings tend to clear a path for me. You always did.”

  Lillian leaned back in her chair. It was time to get another gunfight over and done. “Right. Well, I imagine this has something to do with Richard.”

  “Clearly. I’m curious, Lillian.”

  “About what?”

  “About the fact that after so many years, you’re still never satisfied.”

  Lillian’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

  “You could have had your pick of men. All the grad students and most of the male professors practically worshiped you. But you set your sights on Richard, and made winning him slightly more difficult than I would have liked.” Emily leaned forward and tapped the top of the desk. “And here you go again, worming your way back into his heart when I had him exactly where I wanted him.”

  “Emily, have you suffered a recent concussion? I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “Oh, no. My sister saw you with Richard at dinner, and a little bird told me you—”

  That did it. Lillian snapped.

  She slammed her palm down against the desk. “What the hell is it with everyone and little birds lately?” Emily gave her a confused look, and Lillian sighed. “Forget it. I’m done. Do you really want to know what Richard and I have been up to? Okay, here it is—he has concocted this ridiculous plan of being seen with me to make you jealous.”

  Emily’s eyes grew wide. “Wh-what?”

  “You heard me. I don’t know why the two of you can’t simply talk and work out your problems like every single talk show has ever suggested, but the truth of the matter is Richard loves you and wants to save your marriage. I don’t love Richard. I never did. And he definitely doesn’t love me.”