by Harper Ashe
Abby walked over to the poster and ran her fingers lovingly across the image. “Too bad they don’t taste as good as they look,” she mumbled under her breath.
“That’s why you’re here, right?” Jenna said cheerfully.
“That’s right,” Abby responded, silently vowing to help Blake Foods launch the best diet desserts line the world had ever tasted. She could do this!
“I’ve printed out your schedule for the day, which is mostly meetings,” Jenna said, pointing to a sheet of paper on the desk. “After I give you a building tour, you’re scheduled to meet with Tom Parker to get a rundown on where the project is to date. After that, you’ll be meeting with the head chef to have lunch and discuss recipe revisions. The rest of your afternoon is free, which will give you time to get your office set up. And finally, Mr. Blake has requested that you and Martha meet him at Gordon’s Steakhouse for dinner at 6 o’clock sharp.”
“Gordon’s?” Abby was surprised again. Gordon’s was the city’s premier steakhouse and seafood grill. She had never been there – it was far too expensive for her or the few guys she had dated – but she had always wanted to try it.
“I know, right?” Jenna squealed. “I’m so jealous! You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow. Are you ready for your tour?”
“Sure,” Abby said. “Lead the way.”
~~~
Stephen was more than a little irritated with his executive assistant for trying to play matchmaker with Abby Branson.
“It’s a business dinner, Stephen, not a date,” Martha argued. “Besides, I’ll be there, too, just to keep the conversation going.”
“What makes you think I’m not capable of carrying on a business conversation without you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because the last time you were face to face with that young woman, you seemed completely flustered.”
“I am never flustered, Martha. But I was preoccupied with Miss Branson’s dessert tasting, which you may have interpreted as something else entirely.”
“Right. Preoccupied makes much more sense,” she said with a hint of sarcasm that he pretended to ignore. “Would it hurt to let your emotions show once in a while? Or admit that you’re a man with needs and desires?”
“My father let his emotions rule him, and all it brought him was heartache. He never forgave himself, you know, and he never loved again.”
“I know, Stephen. But the car accident wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t yours either.”
“If he hadn’t been running late to pick me up, my mother wouldn’t have been on the road that night. And if I hadn’t been distracting her, she might have seen the truck before it broadsided us...”
Martha put her hand on his shoulder. “You were eight years old. Just because your father buried his pain and guilt in work doesn’t mean that you have to do the same. This diet desserts line is an opportunity to make your mark on the gourmet foods world. You should be excited about it!”
Stephen rubbed his face wearily. “I’m not sure I even know how to be excited...by anything.”
Martha clucked her tongue. “Why don’t you try by letting Abby Branson into your world and making an effort to understand hers? With your business sense and her passion for sweets, the two of you can create something worthy of excitement! I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll think about that. And I suppose a dinner meeting is not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he said begrudgingly. “I am curious to hear Miss Branson’s ideas for improving our desserts. But you should have cleared it with me first.”
From the stern look on Martha’s face, Stephen knew he had crossed a line. “Don’t even try to pull the boss card on me, Stephen Blake. I’ve been managing your work schedule for almost 15 years and you’ve never once chided me for setting up a business dinner.”
Mr. Blake sighed. “I’m sorry, Martha. This diet desserts line is getting to me. I truly hope that Abby Branson’s input can help us get the product development back on track.”
~~~
Abby didn’t get back to her new office until 4 o’clock. Slumping down in the plush executive chair, she let herself relax for a few minutes as she gazed out the window at the city skyline.
So far, her first day at Blake Foods had been a whirlwind of activity. The meeting with Tom Parker had been three excruciating hours of open hostility and resentment. His cursory overview of product development prompted Abby to ask countless questions, which were answered with as much brevity as possible.
By the end of the meeting, she wasn’t sure if Tom was being purposely evasive or was simply incompetent. But she had taken lots of notes and planned to bring the issue up at dinner with Martha and Mr. Blake. If Abby was going to be an integral part of the diet desserts launch, she needed better access to information.
Her meeting with Chef Laurent was much more insightful. After a delicious lunch of tomato bisque soup, grilled chicken spinach salad, and fresh strawberries and cream, he gave her a tour of the test kitchen and explained how recipe revisions were logged, tracked, and evaluated.
After looking at the long list of dessert ingredients, most of them with unpronounceable names, Abby had a better understanding of why they tasted so terrible. When prompted, the chef had given her a too-technical explanation of the ingredients.
From what Abby had gathered, the recipe development issues were related to making the desserts suitable for dieters, ensuring that they were shelf-stable, and creating a final product that looked delicious. The discussion sparked an idea that she wasn’t quite ready to share with Chef Laurent. But she jotted down some notes so she could put together a rough sketch of her idea to present to Mr. Blake.
Abby was suddenly grateful for her years of administrative work. Her vast experience creating countless reports, proposals, and expense reports for various executives would come in handy as she organized her notes. Spinning away from the window and toward her computer, she decided now was as good a time as any to organize her ideas. But first, she wanted to check her email.
There was a company-wide message from HR announcing Abby’s addition to the product team, followed by several “Welcome to Blake Foods” type of messages that she answered with short and sweet “Thank You” replies. There was an email from Tom Parker with some additional information she had requested during their meeting. There was also a message from Martha.
Subject: Dinner Meeting
Hi Abby,
I hope you’re having a wondering first day on the job! I wanted to let you know that something’s come up and I won’t be able to join you and Stephen for dinner. Parking is terrible near Gordon’s, so feel free to catch a cab and put the cost on your expense report. Have a good time!
Warm Regards,
Martha
Abby’s heart skipped a beat and a cool sweat broke out on her forehead. She wasn’t sure if she was excited, terrified, or a little of both. A few weeks ago, a private dinner with Mr. Blake at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city would have been a dream come true. But now, things were different. Stephen Blake was no longer a fantasy image on a magazine cover; he was her boss.
Even though their dinner wasn’t a date, Abby wished she had time to go home and change into one of the sexy dresses that Lois Carlyle had picked out for her. But if she wanted to present her ideas to Mr. Blake that night, she’d have to make do with the well-fitting, yet somewhat conservative, pantsuit she had worn for her first day on the job.
A knock on her open office door interrupted her thoughts. Jenna popped her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. I wanted to ask if there was anything I could do for you before I head home in an hour or so.”
Abby motioned for her to come in. “Actually, I could use some help preparing for my dinner with Mr. Blake. How are you with spreadsheets and graphs?”
Jenna smiled. “Better than average.”
“I was hoping you’d say that! Pull up a chair and I’ll show you what I was thinking.”
Chapter 5
; Abby was running late. Even with Jenna’s help, it had taken longer than expected to turn her ideas into a rough yet coherent proposal. She was pleased with the folder filled with notes and sketches and was hoping that, once he saw it, Stephen would overlook her tardiness.
Pulling the stretchy band from her hair, she released her makeshift bun and let her blond curls fall around her shoulders. After finger-combing her locks, she powdered her face, applied a fresh coat of strawberry lip gloss, and rushed from the building. Catching a cab proved to be easier than Abby expected, but she still didn’t make it to the restaurant until almost 6:30pm.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” she exclaimed when the hostess led her to Stephen’s table. He stood as she approached and, for a moment, Abby thought he was mad and getting ready to leave. Then it dawned on her that he was just being a gentleman. Once she sat down, he did, too. The small, unexpected gesture made her belly flutter.
“Jennifer notified me of your delay,” he said.
“Oh, that’s a relief.” Abby put her purse and proposal folder on the chair next to her and made a mental note to ask HR if it was too soon to give Jenna a raise.
A waiter in a black suit and starched white shirt approached the table and Stephen acknowledged him with a nod. “I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine,” he said, gesturing to the bottle on the table and the rich, red liquid in the glass in front of him. “But if you would prefer a cocktail, the restaurant has a full bar.”
Abby was impressed by Stephen’s manners, even if they were a bit stiff. He was more polished than any other person she knew. So smooth, so handsome, so in control. She pinched herself under the table to make sure she wasn’t dreaming – and to remind herself that this was a business meeting rather than a date.
“Wine would be great,” she said. The waiter poured the red liquid in her glass and she smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“I’ll give you two a few moments to look over the menu,” the waiter said before slipping away.
“So, I guess you heard that Martha couldn’t make it,” Abby said, stating the obvious.
“Yes, she informed me that something had come up,” Stephen replied, picking up his menu and studying it intently. Abby followed his lead but was so nervous that she could barely concentrate on the words, although the menu prices seemed to jump off the page. She swallowed a gasp. Dinner for two was going to cost as much as her rent!
He closed his menu and set it aside. “How was your first day at Blake Foods?”
“Good. Informative. I put together some notes to go over with you.”
“Excellent.” Stephen paused before leaning across the table with an intense look on his face. “As you are undoubtedly aware, this diet desserts line is critical to the future of Blake Foods. I’m confident that your ideas for improving the taste and quality of our desserts will be invaluable.”
Abby’s lips parted slightly as she stared into his eyes. “I promise I won’t let you down, sir. Being a part of your team is more than just a job for me. It’s hard to explain, but I almost feel like being a part of Blake Foods is my calling.”
Stephen smiled. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Miss Branson, because I have something very important to ask you.”
Abby swallowed a large drink of wine for liquid courage and leaned forward as well, temporarily lost in his dark, smoldering eyes and warm, inviting smile.
Please let it be, ‘What are you doing for the next 50 years?’!
“Ask me anything,” she said, breathless with anticipation.
“I’m anxious to hear your ideas for improving our diet desserts because you seem to understand our customer demographic so well. And that brings me to my question.”
“Yes?”
He paused. “What motivates women like you?”
In a flash, Abby’s heart sank and her eyes narrowed. She gulped down the rest of her wine before asking, “What do you mean by women like me?”
~~~
From the tone of her voice, Stephen realized he had said something wrong and he silently cursed Martha for being right about his inability to carry on a simple conversation in the presence of Abby Branson. But before he could apologize and salvage the situation, the waiter returned to take their order.
“May I suggest the six-ounce petite filet with steamed vegetables?” Stephen said, recommending the meal that his typical female companions ordered.
“You may, but women like me prefer bigger pieces of meat.” Abby turned toward the waiter. “I’ll have the 24-ounce porterhouse, medium, with double mashed potatoes, no veggies.”
“Excellent choice, miss,” the waiter replied. “Would you like to add a salad to your meal?”
“Absolutely. I’ll have the Caesar salad with extra dressing.”
Suppressing a grin, the waiter turned toward Stephen. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the house salad, the 12-ounce New York, medium rare, baked potato, and a side of steamed broccoli.”
“Very well, sir.” The waiter refilled their wine glasses before leaving the two alone.
Mr. Blake was perplexed. He had never met anyone quite like Abby Branson and couldn’t get a read on her personality. In the boardroom, he could size someone up in 30 seconds. But Abby was proving to be somewhat of an enigma. A beautiful, feisty, and extremely desirable enigma.
“I know I’ve said something to offend you, Miss Branson. I can assure you that that was not my intention.”
“Why would a woman like me be offended by your comments?” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in her voice.
“I honestly don’t know, Miss Branson. Please, enlighten me.”
“Enlighten you? Okay, here goes. I know you’re rich and powerful, but that doesn’t give you the right to invite someone to dinner just to insult them. I won’t pretend that you hired me to be anything more than a glorified dessert taste tester, but I’m taking that role very seriously. My ideas are good, Mr. Blake. Amazing, even. I just hope you’re not too arrogant and condescending to look beyond the surface to see the awesomeness inside.”
Miss Branson wasn’t making sense. She thought he was insulting her? Clearly, they were having a communication disconnect, but he wasn’t good with nuances. “I’m not sure what your outburst is about, Miss Branson, but if you calm down I’m sure we can get to the bottom of it.”
“Calm down. That’s all you have to say?” Mr. Blake watched as Abby rolled her eyes, slurped down the rest of her wine, grabbed her personal effects, and abruptly stood up. “For years, I worshipped you from afar and dreamed about meeting you in the flesh. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that you were nothing more than a schoolyard bully.”
The discussion was getting out of hand. Stephen stood, partly because it was polite to do so in the presence of a lady and partly because it was in his nature to gain a tactical advantage by towering over his opponent. “I’m not sure how you came to that conclusion, Miss Branson, but I wholeheartedly disagree with your assessment.”
“Of course you do,” Abby scoffed. “I should have known that having dinner with the Stephen Blake would be a disaster. I’m sorry, but I need to go.”
Mr. Blake reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone. “If you insist on going, the least I can do is call my driver to take you home.”
“Fine,” Abby responded. “Tell your driver that I’ll meet him outside.”
Stephen took his seat and called his driver before topping off his wine. By the time his glass was empty, he had regained his composure, although he was still extremely confused by the turn of events. He was simply doing what Martha suggested: trying to understand Miss Branson’s world.
When the waiter brought their salads, Mr. Blake motioned for him to remove Abby’s plate. “Something’s come up and the lady had to leave.”
“Shall I wrap her meal to go, sir? I can arrange to have it delivered if you’d like.”
“Yes, wrap it up, but I’ll deliver it myself after I’ve eaten.”<
br />
“Very well,” the waiter responded. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Scotch. Top shelf. Tell the bartender it’s for Stephen Blake. He knows what I like.”
“Two fingers?” the waiter inquired.
“The bottle,” Mr. Blake responded with a scowl. The waiter’s look was questioning, but he didn’t say anything as he left to do the billionaire’s bidding.
Chapter 6
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Abby Branson had no appetite. Thankfully, after giving Mr. Blake’s driver her address, he had enough sense not to push her into making small talk. Instead, he turned up the music and let her privately lick her wounds to the sounds of smooth jazz.
Once inside her apartment, she kicked off her shoes and dropped her dress on the bedroom floor. While digging through her closet to find a stretchy tank top and baggy sweatpants, an outfit that Lois Carlyle would definitely not approve of, her mind replayed the humiliating exchange with Stephen in the restaurant.
The handsome man on the cover of Food Fest magazine was nothing like her fantasy. Oh, he was handsome alright. But he wasn’t dashing, debonair, or even remotely charming. No, Stephen Blake was pompous, arrogant, and rude. And with a few offhand remarks, he had cut Abby to the core. Even women like her didn’t deserve to be treated with such cold and callous disrespect.
She had probably overreacted to his comment, but after years of being ridiculed for her weight, something inside her had snapped. She had worked so hard to shed her fat girl persona and embrace her finer qualities and her curves. Clearly, she still had a way to go before she could be a truly confident BBW.
Curling up on the couch, she turned on the TV and scrolled through the guide, looking for something mindless to watch. Part of her wanted to resign from her new job immediately so she would never have to see Stephen Blake again. But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten the best of her. Besides, she needed the money; her rent wouldn’t pay itself. So Abby would do what she always did: paste a smile on her face and pretend that she wasn’t hurt by his insults.
