by KB Winters
A part of me wondered why I couldn’t get her out of my head. What was this pull she had on me? Everything I’d said about her raw talent for marketing, her unabashed honesty, and her eye for graphics and art was all true, but I had to admit she was right—Timeless could hire the best headhunters and dig up an entirely new team with new ideas. People who were looking for jobs and not require all the convincing and coaxing. But there was something about her. I couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t only her beauty either. No, beauty was common. Something else was at work, another piece of her I hadn’t uncovered yet, but once I did, it would be the key to unlocking the rest of her. I had no doubt I would figure it out.
And I did so love a challenge.
In the meantime, all I had to do was wait for her call—and she would call.
Chapter Six — Megan
“You’re late,” Roxanne chided the second I stepped in the door at New Leaf Design Studio, where I was doing my internship.
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry.” I scurried around the counter and threw my purse down on the desk in the tiny office where interns were supposed to work, but usually ended up cruising social media pages until their time was done. I set my coffee cup down, wiped away the maroon lipstick from the rim, and turned to offer it to Roxanne. I’d only taken a few sips before Grant’s appearance and figured it would go a long way to making sure Roxanne didn’t turn me in for being late. “I brought you a latte to make it up to you. Sorry, it’s kinda empty. I had a little accident,” I said, gesturing at the mess on my shirt.
“Oh shit!” she said with hardly a note of concern as she greedily pulled the coffee cup out of my hands and took a long sip. “Thanks for this, though.”
I nodded. “Anything I need to know before you go?”
Roxanne pulled out a stack of new orders and explained the details to me, but I couldn’t concentrate. Grant’s chiseled face, velvet voice, and man scent was sucking up all of my mental capacity. How could I be expected to think about different filigree styles and margin settings when that delicious piece of man candy was likely still within walking distance?
“Got it?” Roxanne asked as she handed over the paperwork.
I took the pages in my limp fingers and gave her my best reassuring nod even though I had no idea what she’d said.
“See ya tomorrow,” she said, darting out of the office with my coffee cup.
Once the chiming from the door subsided, I was left in silence and my brain activity reached new levels of insanity. There were so many questions pinging around in my head that it was hard to latch onto one long enough to think of plausible answers before I was already formulating the next. How had Grant even figured out where to find me? Obviously he’d done some detective work or something—there was no way he just happened to pop into the same coffee shop next door to my internship location at the exact time I was there. Was he stalking me? And if so, why? I was probably among the top ten least interesting people at UCLA. I mean sure, my friends and family liked me, but they kind of had to, didn’t they? It was some kind of pre-requisite. Men like Grant were constantly surrounded by woman ten times flashier, exotic, traveled, and cultured than me. So, what was his deal?
I replayed what he’d said about the job offer. Was that really all it was about? The job? He’d said, twice, that he was a man who got what he wanted, but why did he want me?
None of it made any sense. I sank down into the chair behind the desk and tried my best to focus on the stack of work that Roxanne had left for me to finish up before the shift was over.
Six mind numbing hours later, I finally locked up the shop and hurried home.
When I’d originally applied for the internship at New Leaf Design Studio, I’d crafted this picturesque fantasy about working with clients, batting back and forth new and exciting ideas, putting my pen to paper and sketching life into their thoughts and dreams, and then going home each day satisfied with the deep down, soul fulfilling satiety that was only found when the creative process could be fully unleashed.
Less than two days into the assignment, the reality of the job hit me over the head like a bucket of ice water—clients were a pain in the ass who never got the vision, and the designer ended up regurgitating the same tried and true designs over and over again—maybe occasionally getting to add a splash of color to a letterhead or custom set of business cards. My dreams of creating fresh and new designs that would blow my clients minds were simply that, dreams, a fairy tale.
Somewhere over the course of the last six months, I’d let myself succumb to the truth and did what I needed to get a passing mark from the shop’s owner, Terry, who apparently only felt it necessary to show up once a week to check on her small herd of interns. It was actually shocking that people still frequented the business at all.
I pushed into the entryway of the small, bungalow style home and was immediately assaulted with the echoes of a shouting match happening somewhere on the second floor. I slipped out of my black ballet flats and followed the sound of raining F-bombs.
“I made a fucking mistake! That’s it, end of story! Damn, Dad.”
Something crashed to the ground and the sound rang out about the voices, before my father exploded, “I raised you better than this, Robbie! I’ve busted my ass for far too long to have you slap me in the face like this. I’m not paying one more cent to bail you out.”
I reached the scene of WWIII and found my dad and my brother Robbie, only a little over a year older than me, squared off in the hallway. A lamp was lying on the floor with a busted bulb and there was an unzipped suitcase filled with clothes lying on its side, the contents spilling out all over the hardwoods.
“What the hell is going on up here?” I demanded, my fists going to my hips as I tried to make myself as tall as humanly possible.
Both my dad and Robbie snapped to attention, apparently so wrapped up in their screaming match that they hadn’t even noticed my arrival.
“Robbie totaled my car and expects me to pay the deductible to get it fixed,” Dad said. His face was red and his eyes were bugged out of his head. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so unglued. And that was saying something, because with four older brothers, there had always been some level of shenanigans going on throughout our childhood. However, Phillip and Robbie had carried their trouble making ways well into their twenties.
My eyes darted away from my dad and over to Robbie, who was not at all looking sheepish at the accusation. “Well what do you expect me to do about it? You know I don’t have the cash, and I need the car to get to work.”
I pinched my eyes closed. How could a twenty four year old be going on sixteen? He’d always been a little on the immature side, and when my next oldest brother, Phillip, had been deep into the party scene, the two of them combined into some kind of super tornado of disaster. My father had nearly kicked them both out of the house on multiple occasions—which, I assumed was what was happening, judging by the tipped over suitcase laying between them—but somehow, they always talked their way back into his good graces. The truth was, Dad liked having all of us under one roof. My oldest brother, Sam, had been gone for quite a while. He was married with two kids. Then last year, Kevin had dropped the bomb that he was moving in with his girlfriend Sonya and her daughter Trina. My dad gave his blessing, but I saw the toll it took on him to say goodbye to my brothers. With each one that moved on, it probably hit him that soon he would be puttering around our childhood home all alone. I shoved the thought aside—it was too sad. He hadn’t dated anyone in ages, and as far as I knew, didn’t want to get married again, but deep down I thought it would be the best thing for him. I knew that no one would ever take my mother’s place in his heart and memory, but he needed a companion—otherwise he was going to work himself into an early grave.
“I want you out, and don’t bother dragging your sorry ass home until you have the cash to fix the car!” Dad yelled.
“And where am I supposed to stay?”
“Don’t your lowlife friends have a couch you can crash on? I would offer the backseat of the car, but apparently it’s not available!”
I stepped between them, silencing the argument for long enough to ask, “Robbie, you can’t seriously expect Dad to pay for your mistake.”
His mouth flopped open like a fish. I may be the little sister—and only female in the house—but no one ran over me.
“Dad, can you float Robbie the cash to fix the car and then he can pay you back?” I asked, turning on the sweet baby girl charm that I knew my dad couldn’t resist.
My dad looked at me and then flung his angry eyes back at Robbie. “Not this time. Robbie, you better go out to the shed and see if your bike still works or if it’s all rusted over. Lord knows you never do anything to maintain what you’ve been given.”
“But Dad—” Robbie protested.
My dad turned his back and stomped down the stairs. “End of discussion, Son.”
Robbie looked from my dad’s retreating form, to me, and then back again like a lost puppy who had just had his favorite chew toy taken away and wasn’t sure why.
“Meg, help me out.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do ya expect me to do? Geez, Robbie, what were you even doing? Speeding? Please tell me you weren’t drunk!”
He raked his hands through his thick, dark hair. He was a carbon copy of my mother—her dark eyes, dark, thick hair, and olive toned skin. “I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t even driving…” his words trailed off.
“You what!” I hissed. “Who was?”
“Her name is Jessica something or other.”
I rubbed a hand down my face. Other than Sam, all of my brothers had quite the reputation with the ladies. For the life of me I couldn’t understand why. Sure, they were a pack of good looking boys, but that was pretty much all there was. The three of them were rowdy, irresponsible, womanizing little boys for the most part. The fact that Kevin had finally settled down—with a single mom to boot—had sent a shock wave through the family. I had no hope for Phillip and Robbie. I pictured them “bro-ing” it up well into their forties.
“Where’s the car?” I asked, shoving aside the lecture that was rapidly bubbling up inside me.
“At the shop—I called a tow truck. Fuck, Meg, I’m not completely helpless you know.”
I laughed—high and sharp, like someone had tickled me unexpectedly. “Really?”
Robbie crossed his arms and squared off with me in the hallway. Obviously his urge to argue and fight hadn’t been satisfied with dad so all of his pent up frustration was pointed my way.
“Robbie, you’re a fuck up and you’re acting like a total douchebag to Dad because he won’t bail your twenty four year old ass out of trouble for the millionth time!” My anger surprised Robbie, and it sure as hell surprised me. Normally I was the mediator in the house, but in that moment, I’d had enough. There wasn’t one ounce of grace left in me.
His lip curled back at my indictment. “Fuck you, Meg. Just because you go to school and work and all that doesn’t mean you’re better than me—or any of us!”
I shrugged. There was no sense in arguing with him when he was like this. He wouldn’t ever lay a finger on me, but I didn’t need to listen to him vent. I’d had a doozy of a week and wanted to have some peace and quiet to take a long soak in the tub and pretend that nothing was bothering me.
“Whatever, Robbie. Just leave Dad alone, okay. Figure it out yourself.” I turned away and went downstairs to check on my dad. He always took it the hardest when there was drama in the house. He took any conflict as a personal failure. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard the door to Robbie’s room slam shut.
I found my dad in his makeshift office off the kitchen. It was supposed to have been a breakfast nook, but with all the bedrooms occupied, it was the only place to set up his computer and store his file cabinet. He was facing away from me, bent over something, pen in hand. I set my hand on his shoulder as I approached and looked down to see him scrawling out his signature at the bottom of a check.
“Dad…” I said, releasing my breath in a sad sigh.
The check was made out an auto body shop—for the amount of the insurance deductible.
“I have to do it, Megan. I don’t like it any more than you do, but we all need that car from time to time,” he said, putting the check inside an envelope.
I sighed. He was right. I was the only one who had their own car, a beater I’d bought with cash earned waitressing all four summers of high school. It wasn’t much, but it was mine and had gotten me out of the complicated schedule the rest of the family had in place to share Dad’s car. “Well at least don’t let Robbie use it anymore. He’s never gonna learn. Did you know he wasn’t even the one driving it?”
My dad nodded slow and sad. “Yeah.” He sighed.
I pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This isn’t your fault, Dad.”
“I know,” he replied, although his tone was far from convincing. He sounded like a man with the weight of the world on his chest.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” I sat down and looked up at him.
He refused to meet my eyes or sit down. I tugged on his hand and with another long sigh he sank down into the chair next to me at the tiny table. “There have been rumblings of another round of layoffs at the office.”
I sucked in my bottom lip to keep from gasping out loud. My dad worked as a middle manager for a large accounting firm downtown and over the past nine months there had already been two rounds of cuts. Luckily, he’d survived both and we all thought it was in the past, but now an icy hand had wrapped around my heart at the thought that he might not be so lucky the next time around. My dad had been smart, putting money into savings over the years and building his 401K to prepare for the future, but if he was forced to use that all now, to support all of his kids, I didn’t know what would happen.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, hoping my voice sounded more confident than I felt.
My dad looked at me, his eyes sad with stress lines showing at the corners. “Thanks honey, I’m sure you’re right.”
“How about I whip up something for dinner?” I asked, forcing more sunshine and happiness into my tone.
“That would be great. I have to run this down to the auto body shop for the car,” he said. “It won’t take long.”
I nodded and squeezed his hand as he stood from the table.
As I cooked, my mind ran through a series of worries on auto replay—my dad’s job, finishing school, Jeanine’s tantrum at dinner the night before, my brothers, the car, and every other thought was interrupted by Grant. I still had no idea how he’d tracked me down to my internship—he’d been cagey and refused to tell me, but it didn’t really matter. The point was…he had. And although my wicked female instinct told me he was interested in more than just my brain, I had to admit that his job offer sounded more and more appealing—especially since my dad could potentially lose his.
By the time the chicken and potatoes were in the oven, I had a minute to spare before starting to prep veggies for a salad. I fished my phone out of my back pocket and stared at the screen. Was I really going to do it? I peeked around the corner. My dad still wasn’t back, and Robbie was seemingly barricaded in his room. I had no idea where Phillip was, but I hoped he was at work and not getting into trouble. Lord knew we’d had enough of that for one day.
I crossed the kitchen to find my purse where I’d tossed it down after getting home from work. I retrieved the glossy, black business card that had Grant Alexander Christiansen engraved across it in big, bold silver lettering. It was an impressive card—fitting to Grant himself. I ran my thumb over the letters, feeling the soft edges where they pressed into the thick paper. I was stalling. I knew it—anyone watching me would’ve known it.
“Okay, time to pull up the big girl panties,” I murmured to myself.
I dialed the number, stashed the card in my pocket, and waited—eyes shut—as the call rang.
&nbs
p; “This is Grant,” a velvet smooth voice laced with authority answered on the fourth ring.
My heart bottomed out somewhere in the pit of my stomach and my eyes popped open. “This is Megan. Megan Louise. Sinclair? From the—”
“Hello, Megan,” he replied in the same, silky tone.
Holy shit—just the sound of him purring my name like a tiger was getting me hot and tingly. I’d need to change my panties—big girl panties—and we hadn’t even said anything yet.
“Hi. Listen, I’ve done some thinking, and I’ve decided that I’m interested—” I paused slightly, before hurrying to add, “—in the job.”
I thought I heard a soft laugh. “Excellent. Come down to my office tomorrow. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up by then and we can go over all the details.”
Something about the way he said details sent shivers up my spine. I grabbed onto the counter to steady myself. “Sure, yes. That works. Thank you.”
I hung up before either of us could say anything else. Mostly because I didn’t trust myself. With the whirlwind of events over the past few days, I was particularly vulnerable and didn’t trust myself not to say something incredibly stupid. Hopefully my new office was in a corner far away from Grant’s because whenever he was in my proximity—or even just in my imagination—I tended to lose track of everything else at an alarming rate.
Chapter Seven — Grant
I had no idea what had caused Megan’s sudden change of heart, but whatever it was, I couldn’t have been more thankful. I hung up the phone and leaned back in my leather chair, still staring at the phone like I couldn’t believe it. After the conversation with her in the coffee shop, I’d faltered slightly in my confidence that she’d accept the job. She’d pretty much made it clear that she wasn’t interested in Timeless Timepieces, a job, and most certainly not in me, which was puzzling. I’d rarely met a woman who didn’t want me. In my experience, any woman who didn’t want me was either taken or not interested in men in general—although, there had been a few over the years who had made an exception, which always led to an unforgettable encounter.
