Bossy Nights

by Liv Morris

  “I was in your shoes many years ago. Fresh out of college.” Ms. Young stares at an imaginary spot behind me, reliving memories. “Rarely do I meet a young person who has created something we need. Usually they need us. I feel this is just the beginning for you.”

  “Thanks for your confidence in me.” I hope she’s right too.

  Ms. Young leads me to an office down the hall from hers belonging to Helen Ratner, head of HR. The company has paperwork for me to fill out before I become official.

  “Just formalities at this point,” Ms. Young says.

  A thought tugs at me. I need to let Barclay know what’s happening on his very floor. I don’t know how he’ll take this surprise. I should’ve told him about Trevor passing my résumé on to Mrs. Ratner, but it seemed like such a long shot at the time. And it’s not like I had notice.

  While Mrs. Ratner gathers and shuffles through papers, I fire off a quick text to Barclay.

  I need to talk to you asap.

  I stare at the phone in my lap, praying to see activity on his side, but there’s nothing. The screen fades to black, and I refresh it. Waiting. Hoping.

  I begin filling out the basic forms for employment. Background check, detailed personal information, and a non-disclosure form pertaining to company campaigns and authors’ future works. I’ll take home the health and savings plans paperwork and bring them back tomorrow. I guess this is my first official day on the job. It was like I was hired before I walked into the building.

  After I finish with all the forms, I check my phone. Still, nothing from Barclay. Not even an acknowledgement he received my text. He said he’d be covered up with meetings today, but it doesn’t feel right. I wish he knew I was the one Ms. Young wanted for this position.

  How will he react when he finds out it’s me?

  “All the forms look good.” I settle back in my chair across the desk from Mrs. Ratner. Her gaze scans over my face, appraising me in an unnerving sort of way. She makes a “hmmm-hmmm” sound before speaking again. “You’re single, right?”

  I show her my left hand and wiggle my fingers. “No ring.” This earns me a slight smile from her.

  But am I really single? Would Barclay like the way I answered her question?

  “It’s best I explain Hammond Press’ stance on inner office relationships.” Mrs. Ratner drops her voice, conveying the seriousness of her next words. “If you want to date someone here at Hammond, they have to be on the same level as you. Your equal. No one can date another person they have authority over. In other words, stay out of your chain of command. Maybe find a nice guy in accounting. He’ll be on the other side of the company’s organizational chart too. That’d be safe for you.”

  She points a long, thin finger at the paper in front of me, her nail landing on accounting. She trails a path up, and I don’t miss the executive at the top of the pile: Barclay Hammond.

  “How long has this policy been in place? The no dating a superior one?” I feel nauseous at this point in the conversation, because the rules are clear. I can’t date Barclay—ever. All the roads lead to him.

  “The board of directors recently set forth the rules, bringing Hammond up to date with harassment issues in the workplace climate.”

  I reach up and touch my lips, remembering Barclay’s kiss goodbye yesterday morning. Would it be my last?

  35

  Barclay

  “Trevor, compile last month’s revenue for all fiction and non-fiction new releases. Have them on my desk by tomorrow at noon,” I order my cousin, giving him a don’t-fuck-with-me stare across the conference table.

  Thankfully, the meeting is over, because staying professional is near impossible knowing how Trevor treated Tessa last week. I wanted to reach over the table and punch that smirk off his slimy face. The jerk knows how to get under my skin.

  Running late for my next meeting, I leave the room and start walking down the hallway. Trevor catches up with me, but I pretend he doesn’t exist.

  “Have you heard about the new junior marketing hire?” he asks, but I keep ignoring him. My jaw tightens when he doesn’t get the message that I have nothing to say.

  “She’s a sweet southern belle,” he continues in a teasing tone. I stop at the boardroom door leading to my next meeting, and unfortunately, he does too. “You’ll get to meet her now. She’s just behind that door.”

  “What’s your problem, man?” I turn to face him, and a sickening smile spreads across his face.

  “I don’t have a problem, but you’re about to.” He cackles like a crazy person, walking away from me without another word. He’s totally lost it this time.

  I enter the room and find my marketing director, Reece Young, at the head of the table. “Sorry to be late. Accounting’s conference ran longer than usual. What did I miss?”

  “We have some exciting news,” Reece says, standing up and moving around the back of the table. She stops behind the chair of a blonde wearing glasses. Shaking my head, I do a double-take and blink, not understanding what I’m seeing in front of me. “I’d like you to meet Contessa Holly. Our new junior marketing manager.”

  Reece smiles brightly, as pleased as punch. Me? I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. And “Contessa?” She looks ghostly pale.

  “Tessa?” Her name spills out of my mouth before I can stop it, but deep down, I know it’s her. She’s wearing pink, and a grave expression, feeling the weight of the moment just like me.

  “You two know each other?” Reece asks, glancing back and forth between Tessa and me. Her eyes narrow, assessing us, then there’s a flash of curiosity. The tension in the air thickens, pressing against my lungs. I tug at my collar.

  How the hell do I answer Reece’s question?

  I can’t tell her I stayed the night in Tessa’s room and planned to know her in the biblical sense this evening after dinner. The thought of her lying on my bed, ready and waiting for me to make her mine, helped me push through this morning’s dull meetings. Now, she’s a forbidden fruit I’ll never be able to taste.

  “Um, we met at the hotel. In the restaurant.” Tessa saves me with a reply we can work with, hopefully removing any suspicious thought from Reece’s mind. What a fucked-up mess.

  “That’s right.” I force a smile, trying to make our meeting seem inconsequential, which is a boldface lie. The second my eyes connected with Tessa’s, my life pivoted into the before and after I found her.

  Dammit. We’re royally fucked. The rules are clear. I’m the king of the company. Everyone is off limits to me.

  Somehow, I take my seat at the other end of the boardroom table, running my fingers through my hair. My gaze stays on Tessa, still not fully believing she’s here in this room.

  Her blond hair is twisted on top of her head, and she spins an escaped lock around her slender finger. A profound sadness is etched across her face, making my chest ache. When her eyes cloud, she looks down at the table, closing them. I fight the urge to drag her out of the room and into my office.

  I need to know how this happened. Has she been using me or my name this entire time to get a job? The thought doesn’t ring true to the Tessa I know, but I’ve been played many times in my thirty-seven years.

  “Miss Holly was sharing a dynamic marketing idea with us,” Reece says. “I’m very impressed.”

  I glance around the table. Everyone but Tessa has a hopeful smile on their face. They’re all thrilled to have her here.

  At this point, the initial shock is wearing off, simmering into anger. I’m angry with Tessa for keeping this from me. I’m angry with myself for falling for her. But mostly, I’m furious I’ll never have her in my arms again, where I thought she belonged.

  “Well, Miss Holly, it appears you’ve dazzled everyone. Tell me how you plan to help us grab twenty-somethings for Hammond Press. I’m dying to know,” I clip, a harsh edge to my voice.

  Across the length of the boardroom table, Reece tilts her head, raising a defined brow at me. I ignore her and turn
my focus back to Tessa.

  “Well, I have an idea that still needs flushing out.” She wipes her eyes and clears her throat. Fuck, she’s crying.

  “Are you okay, Miss Holly?” Reece asks, pushing a box of tissues toward her.

  “Thank you,” Tessa says, dabbing her eyes. “Allergies. Not used to the New York City air yet.”

  Again, Reece scrutinizes the two of us. She’s smart, intuitive, and dangerous to me at this point. I need to take my tone down and act like Tessa is a normal new hire—not the woman I’ve fallen for who possibly deceived me.

  “Take your time,” I say, more reserved and patient. Tessa regards me and mouths two powerful words, “I’m sorry.” But for what?

  After composing herself, Tessa begins.

  “Right now, Shakespurr has one hundred thousand plus followers on Instagram. We can build buzz off it. Connect it to my blog and change the name to Hamming It Up. Then ask the audience to send photos of themselves reading Hammond books.

  “For instance, we could post a photo of Don Black’s book being read at a Paris café or Steven Queen’s at Buckingham palace. The readers will love the attention and tag. Win. Win.” Tessa sits back in her chair, her shoulders slumping, as if she has nothing else to give.

  I can’t deny I’m impressed with her idea and the fact that she has so many built-in followers. Most importantly, I didn’t have any clue she was behind the Shakespurr blog Don referred to and even named his cat after. It’s another secret she kept from me. How many more are there?

  “Promising,” I say, summing up her presentation with muted enthusiasm.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Reece cuts in, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Mr. Hammond, I’m having her work on this concept this afternoon. Your approval or not.”

  “Have at it. Anything else I need to know?” I ask, waving a hand in a roundabout motion, signaling it’s time to move the agenda on from the new junior executive.

  I don’t want to hear another word from Tessa until I have her behind closed doors and up against the wall … and, with that thought, my dick comes to life. Traitor.

  Reece discusses promoting Don’s recent Warwick Award win, that thankfully no one here attended. Then the meeting adjourns, and everyone leaves the room except Reece, Tessa, and me.

  Reece stands next to Tessa, talking softly to her and looking my way. She’s likely telling Tessa I don’t normally act like such a jackass, and it’s true. I have a reputation for being tough but fair—not a person who shoots down a new hire on their first damn day. I drag my fingers through my hair, which is probably looking as disastrous as this morning.

  “Ms. Young.” Reece and Tessa turn my way. One looks at me confused, the other totally dejected. “Could I have a few minutes with Miss Holly to chat with her personally? Call it a post hire interview.”

  “I think that would be a good idea,” Reece says, nodding. “You two need to get to know each other.”

  I hold back a mocking laugh at Reece’s words. Yeah, we know each other pretty damn well. If I close my eyes, I can still hear Tessa’s cries as she falls apart underneath me.

  “Follow me, Miss Holly,” I snap, walking out of the room. My fists are clenched so tight, my knuckles are turning white.

  “Yes, sir,” she says, and I bite back my anger.

  “It’s time you told me how you ended up here at Hammond Press,” I lead her inside my office, closing the door behind us. “First wearing a trench coat, and now sitting at a boardroom table with me.”

  36

  Tessa

  I stand against Barclay’s office door. He leans over me, his hands above my head, caging me in. He gazes down at me, our labored breaths filling the silence surrounding us.

  “Are you mad at me?” I stare up at him. The warring emotions in his dark eyes send shivers over my skin.

  “Livid,” he speaks through a clenched jaw, nostrils flaring. I can’t bare him being this angry with me.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice is as unsteady as my legs. Thankfully, the wall holds me up.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, searching my face for an answer.

  “I dropped off my résumé last week and didn’t hear a thing until this morning. I’ve messed everything up.” I swallow the lump in my throat, trying not to cry. Will he ever trust me again?

  “HR went over the fraternization rules with you, right?” I nod, biting my lip.

  “I texted you right after the job offer, but you must’ve been too busy,” I say in a rush. Barclay leans in closer, his breath against my cheek, and I inhale his clean scent.

  “Our being together is strictly forbidden. If there’s even a hint that we’re sexually involved, I’ll be outed and your employment will end. It’s the kind of scandal the media pounces on with our names spread across the headlines. Barclay Hammond and his ‘young plaything.’ This changes everything between us, Tessa.”

  “I can’t call you Barclay anymore, can I?”

  “No, but I’d prefer ‘sir’ over Mr. Hammond.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s my sweet girl.” He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek.

  “And the last time you address me that way.”

  “Oh God, Tessa. How will I stay away from you now that I’ve tasted your lips, felt you tremble in my arms? Seeing you here every day is the closest thing to hell a man can imagine.”

  “I can resign,” I suggest without a thought, but it’s crazy. Who quits their dream job the first day?

  “I can’t ask that of you, nor you of me,” he says.

  With the lightest touch, he runs his nose along my jawline and lets his lips linger against my tingling skin. I close my eyes, promising never to forget this moment with him.

  I wait for Barclay to kiss me or pull me into his arms, but he doesn’t cross that line. Instead, he pulls away from me, stands tall, and stuffs his hands into his pants pockets. An invisible wall is rising between us.

  His face changes, hardens, as he reverts to the man who drove away and left me standing alone on the sidewalk. The warmth and tenderness he’s shown me is replaced by an impassive mask.

  My heart shatters into a million pieces. I may have landed a job beyond my wildest dreams, but I’ve lost the man of my dreams in the process.

  My chin falls to my chest, preparing for the worst, but secretly hoping for a miracle.

  “Look at me, Tessa,” Barclay demands, sternly. “I can’t risk my company. And we’ve only just begun getting to know each other. You’ll find someone.” He stops and swallows, revealing a chink in his steel armor. “But it can’t be me.”

  He turns away, moving to stand at the wall of windows behind his desk. His back is to me, and my hands begin to sweat.

  He doesn’t have to say another word. This is it. We’re over.

  “Goodbye, Barclay,” I whisper, my voice wobbly.

  Not waiting for his response, or lack of one, I leave his office and hurry past a startled Mrs. Mackenzie.

  “Tessa,” his assistant calls out behind me, but I don’t answer or stop. I flee to the closest restroom and collapse inside a stall, crying to release the pain inside until I can breathe again.

  37

  Tessa

  Five days have passed since I last saw Barclay in his office. I overheard he had a sudden business trip overseas, and I welcomed the fact that he wasn’t walking around the same office building as me, not to mention the Hammond Hotel—my soon-to-be permanent home.

  I dove into my work, spending ten hours a day at my cubicle. The learning curve overwhelmed me, but I tried to focus on one item at a time on my to do list.

  My college advisor told me a boss determines how much you love or hate your job, and fortunately, I couldn’t have asked for a better one than Ms. Young. She encourages me to be creative and not be afraid of making mistakes.

  “What are you doing here?” Ms. Young says, leaning over the wall of my cubicle. She peers down at me, shaking her head. “It’s Frid
ay after five. There’s a happy hour somewhere in this city with your name on it. Turn off your computer and go. Scoot. Boss’s orders.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, giving her a high salute.

  “See you Monday morning. And, Miss Holly, great work this week,” she adds, and I exhale, feeling my shoulders ease. I want to make a good impression, more than earn my keep, and hopefully she believes I have.

  “Thanks for the opportunity and being so helpful.”

  “We’re going to do great things.” She gives me a quick nod before leaving.

  After saving the document I was working on, I shut down my computer and grab my bag. It’s my first weekend in the city as a true New Yorker rather than a wannabe.

  I walk the few blocks back to the Hammond with a spring in my step, excited I get to move into my furnished apartment tonight. I have so much to be thankful for.

  Maggie plans on joining me here later this month. Her mother owns a spa in Monroeville and needs help while one of her massage therapists is on maternity leave. I can’t wait until we are living in Manhattan together.

  Hammond Press is even covering the cost of shipping my meager belongings to the city. My mother has packed them up for me and arranged the shipment here with Fed Ex. All five boxes will arrive next week.

  When I enter the hotel, the manager waves for me to come to the front desk. “Good evening, Miss Holly,” he says. “I have something important to share with you.”

  “Hi, Mr. Presley. What’s up?” I wonder if my brother called him to check up on me again. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.

  “Mr. Hammond called earlier today.” Every muscle in my body stills like I’m sitting on a precipice. “He asked us to bring all your personal items up to the new apartment from your hotel room, along with fully stocking your fridge. Both were completed this afternoon, so you’re all set.”