“Reagan, you will not come all the way to New York just to pour coffee. No offense Gabby, you know I love your coffee,” Brooke chimed in.
“None taken,” Gabby laughed good-naturedly. “I have a full staff right now anyway, but it’s good to know in case I get in a pinch.”
“Brooke, why don’t you see if your fearless leader needs any help in the design department?” Paul raised a single eyebrow in her direction. I turned to look at her. Fearless leader—what?
“I’m already on it,” Brooke replied with a wave of her hand. “I’ve made some calls and I’ll know more tomorrow.
I blinked, looked between Brooke and Paul, and then blinked again. “Wait a minute. Brooke, you made some calls? To who? Wait,” I paused as my eyes widened in recognition. “To Elite?” I shook my head. “No, Brooke. You’ve already done enough for me as it is. I don’t expect this,” I protested. Elite Design, Inc. was one of the most prestigious design firms in the New York area. I knew Brooke worked there, and had secretly aspired to do the same. But despite my earlier pep talk about connections and ‘who you knew’, this is not something I would have ever asked of her. It was too much.
“Good Lord, girl!” Brooke laughed. “When opportunity comes knocking, you certainly don’t slam the door in its face. Like I said, I will know more tomorrow, and I can’t make any promises. But I will do what I can. I’ve seen some of your work from Jen, and you’re good, like crazy good.”
“Well, thank you,” I murmured, heat flushing my face.
“Besides, if your resume doesn’t impress them, that southern drawl certainly will. You’ll have them eating out of your hand in no time,” Gabby joked.
“Hey! It’s not that bad,” I countered.
We all laughed as Gabby refilled our wine glasses. I looked at each of their faces and repeated my mantra to myself. It really was going to be okay.
It turned out Paul was right. Gabby’s website was very outdated, as I learned a week later. The graphics were dull and several of the links were still ‘under construction’. She shrugged apologetically when I expressed my dismay, telling me she had paid a local college student to set up the site for her, but he had transferred mid-build and she didn’t have the know-how or time to finish it up. I was secretly appalled she had paid anyone for the crap that advertised “the best caffee in town” (obviously website design wasn’t the only area lacking for this guy), but promised her I would be happy to make some changes and bring the site into the 21st century. I was finishing up my second cup of coffee, buried in HTML code, when my cell phone rang.
“Reagan, how fast can you get ready?” Brooke exclaimed into the phone.
“Ready for what?” I asked, my eyes never leaving the screen as I deleted code, section by section. I was going to have to start over.
“You have an interview at 2 pm with Isaac Reynolds; he’s the head of our marketing team,” Brooke explained.
I gasped, and almost dropped my cell. “What? Brooke, seriously? Two o’clock?” I powered down my laptop, scrambled to collect my purse and waved to Gabby. Leaving the coffee shop, I practically sprinted back to the apartment, trying to keep track and make sense of what Brooke was saying, as she continued to explain.
“Yes, two. As in today. As in two hours from now. I know its last minute, but trust. You’ll be fine. I told you I had made some calls. Turns out, Isaac has a spot open on his team. He’s leaving for Brazil tomorrow so, you know. Today it is.”
Today, indeed. I entered our building, catching a glimpse of myself in the lobby mirror as I passed. Dear God. Two hours to make myself ready for the interview of a lifetime? I needed at least that much time to do something about that hair.
“Ok, I’ll be there. Thanks, Brooke,” I said as I unlocked the door and raced for my bedroom.
“Yeah, yeah,” Brooke laughed. “Look, check in with security when you get there and tell them you’re there for Isaac. Oh, and bring a resume. I talked you up as best I could, but he’ll need one for HR. Call me as soon as you’re done and fill me in!”
I tossed my phone on the bed and yanked open the closet. No. . . . No . . . God, no, I muttered, flipping through hanger after hanger, vetoing their contents. I finally settled upon a black, knee-length pencil skirt and a deep plum colored silk blouse. Having just showered that morning, I quickly dressed and stared at myself. The hair . . . what to do? Up? Down? It’s an interview, Reagan. Not a date. I opted to leave it down, hanging in a thick, dark curtain down my back. A light application of mascara and gloss, and I was ready.
My cell phone pinged, and I discovered Brooke had texted me the address to Elite. I still had an hour, but not being familiar with New York midday traffic; I slipped on my black heels and headed down to hail a cab. As I settled in the backseat, I googled Elite Design, Inc., and brought up their website. I knew Brooke worked there as an administrative assistant for Roger Preston, owner and CEO. Yikes, I thought as I brought up his picture. Fearless leader, indeed. He looked every bit as ruthless and demanding as Brooke claimed he was. There were no pictures of Isaac Reynolds, no pictures of anyone else, actually. I scrolled through the gallery of designs and projects that hosted the Elite name, forcing myself to take a deep breath. My heart was pounding so hard, I was surprised the cabbie couldn’t hear it. Then again, who could hear anything over the snake charming melody that blared from all four speakers?
I was beyond nervous, but knew this was what I had come to New York for. This was my chance. Mentally, and literally, crossing my fingers, I exited the cab. I paid the fare, turned, and paused as I stared up at the sleek building in front of me, all glass and sharp corners. It was daunting. Straightening my blouse, and holding tighter to my bag containing the promised resume, I pushed through the large revolving doors.
I barely had time to blink before I was escorted up to the eighth floor. It seemed my name was already on the list, and once I had shown ID, security had whisked me through without question.
“Miss Andrews, would you like any water, coffee, tea?” the receptionist asked, after directing me to a seating area consisting of four large, black leather chairs that looked as if they cost more than my rent. Each.
“No, thank you.” I was too nervous to drink anything and knowing me, I would end up dumping it all over myself. Not a great way to put my best foot forward. Best foot forward? Helen would be proud, knowing I was quoting one of her euphemisms.
Wait! Helen! I hadn’t even called to give her the good news and ask for her to wish me luck! I contemplated making the attempt—I still had ten minutes, after all—but was not given the luxury as the receptionist quietly took a call and then beckoned me to follow her down the hall. I was shown to a large office, expensively and stylishly furnished. Rising from behind the mahogany desk was an older African American man with salt and pepper hair. I guessed him to be in his early fifties. He came around the desk to shake my hand, introducing himself as Isaac, while the receptionist left, closing the door behind her. He was wearing black framed glasses, dark navy blue suit pants and a white dress shirt. No tie.
He gestured for me to sit before his desk, and I awkwardly took my seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Reagan Andrews,” Isaac murmured, his voice deep, confident, and all business. “Do you have a resume for me?”
I slid one across his desk. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Reynolds. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” I flushed slightly. I really did have a southern accent, and yes, it was bad.
“I see you graduated top of your class in Austin, and finished your degree this spring. Tell me, what brings you to the Big Apple?” Isaac asked.
I took a breath, “Well, I’m very passionate about web and graphic design. I feel it’s something I am good at, and needed a place to start. New York seemed to be that place.” I didn’t add that I had been dying to leave Austin, and put as many miles as I could between me and the memories that haunted me there. The thing about memories, though? They followed you no matter where you ende
d up. “I could be an asset to your team, if given the opportunity.”
Isaac gave no indication if I had given a satisfactory answer, or totally blown it. His face remained expressionless as he briefly explained the position and asked me a few more questions.
“Ok, Miss Andrews. I should have a decision within a few weeks. I am leaving tomorrow on business, but interviews will continue in my absence. Someone should be in contact with you in the next two to three weeks. Thank you for coming in today.” Isaac walked me out to the elevators after I shook his hand and thanked him.
The interview hadn’t gone badly, I thought, although I didn’t know if that was entirely true, or just me trying to be optimistic. There were other applicants, obviously, and selling myself to a prospective employer was not something I had much experience with, but overall, I still thought I had done pretty well with the whole best foot forward thing. I smiled to myself, deep in thought, when the elevator opened on the fourth floor and a man stepped on.
My concentration immediately took a nose dive, as, for some unexplained reason, my hands went clammy. He was at least a foot taller than me, and was dressed in charcoal grey dress pants and a blue button up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and as he moved to push the floor he wanted, I could see what appeared to be the edge of a tattoo on his right bicep. And what a bicep.
Even in my semi delirious state, I couldn’t deny the way his clothes molded to his large frame. His dark blonde hair was unruly, expertly styled to appear as if he’d just run his fingers through it. Gorgeous. No, the man was freaking hot.
In the six seconds it took me to notice all of that, he nonchalantly leaned against the far elevator wall and looked right at me. Holy mother of God.
“Enjoying your day?”
I looked at the elevator buttons. Were we even moving? It suddenly felt as if it was a hundred degrees in this metal box. I glanced back at him, as I felt heat rise up my neck. I found him staring at me with piercing, deep green eyes that pinned me to the spot I was standing in, taking my breath away. Literally. His eyes seemed to look right into the deepest part of me, scouring over the secrets that lay there, and I shifted uncomfortably.
He smiled then, showing off his perfectly white teeth. And dimples.
This beautiful man had dimples.
He was quite literally, without question, the most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on.
“I had an interview. Today. For a job here. I was just leaving--” I broke off, resisting the urge to fan myself. Nice. He asks me if I’m enjoying my day and I give him a play by play. I leaned over and pushed the already brightly lit “L”. We couldn’t possibly be moving.
“Ahh, an interview. With who?” he asked.
“Um, Isaac Reynolds,” I replied, as if he knew who Isaac Reynolds was. “There is a position open on his marketing team.
He raised his eye brows and nodded as the elevator stopped at the lobby, finally, and held out his hand to allow me to walk out before him.
“Well, good luck. I hope they call you,” he said as he stopped by the security desk. I ducked my head in a half nod, and with a shy smile, exited the building.
Chapter Two
Nathan
“George,” I murmured, watching her through the lobby windows as she hailed a cab. Her long, dark hair flowed behind her, caught in a breeze, and I admired the curve of her back as she raised her hand.
“Yes, Mr. Preston?” The security officer replied.
“Who is the woman that had an interview today, with Isaac?” I questioned. I continued watching as she climbed into a cab and it pulled away. I couldn’t explain why the lobby seemed suddenly darker. And I, more alone. I turned to George, waiting expectantly as he queried the log book in front of him.
“Sir, that was Reagan Andrews,” George answered.
I gave a curt nod of thanks and headed back to the elevators, and to my original destination. My fearless father was on one of his warpaths, and I needed to get some files for review before briefing. As I rode the elevator, I took out my Blackberry and dialed HR.
“Marie,” I said, without preamble. “Nathan Preston. I need any information you have on Reagan Andrews, immediately.” I scrolled through my contacts and quickly dialed another number, refusing to think about what I was doing. “Isaac. We need to talk. I’m heading up to my office; meet me there in ten.”
Reagan Andrews . . . who are you?
Reagan
I was ten years old before I realized something wasn’t quite right with my mom, and that there was no way she had that many ‘brothers’. It was Charlie who finally enlightened my young mind. Mom was a crack whore who spread her legs for anyone willing to climb between them, as long as they paid to feed her habit. His words, not mine. At ten, I had a hard time reconciling the woman who loved to dress up, laugh and dance with me in the living room as someone who was paid for sex—something my young mind was still a little fuzzy about. A prostitute. . .a whore. Again, Charles’s words, not mine.
It couldn’t be true, not really, but what other explanation was there for the parade of men that consistently darkened our door? Or for the times my mom would stop dancing to just sit in the middle of the floor, staring off at some unseen thing in the distance, her lips moving silently as if in prayer, or she was talking to herself. Why didn’t she do all the normal mom things, like clean our house, fix dinner, or help with our homework? I was getting older, and Charlie promised none of these men would ever have an opportunity to turn their attention my way. He wouldn’t let them. But then, my brother left town the following year and was never seen again. Empty promises.
I was finishing up spaghetti when Brooke came in from work. “Hey, something smells delicious! Have you heard anything yet?” She asked as she took off her shoes and hung up her purse by the front door.
“It’s spaghetti. I figured I would cook tonight. And I won’t hear for a few weeks, remember?” I told her as I set out plates on the table.
“Girl, I don’t know how you remain so calm. I am dying . . . just dying! You will get the job. I know it.”
I said nothing as I turned off the stove. I wish I had half of her confidence.
“I mean seriously. Can you imagine working in the same building? We could do lunch and I could introduce you to all the hot guys, speaking of which. . .”
Brooke’s chatter faded at the mention of ‘hot guys’. My face flushed at the thought of the one hot guy I had met today, but hadn’t told her about. I had no idea who he was. Employee? Client? Or like me, a hopeful candidate? I didn’t even know if I would ever see him again, but if Brooke could find him and make introductions, and then I would happily pour her coffee and pick up her dry cleaning for the rest of my life. A bit much, don’t you think? I shook my head at myself.
“How was Gabby’s website, was it as bad as Paul made it sound?” Brooke’s question broke into my reverie.
I blinked, and then began dishing out our plates. “Worse, but I’ll get it back up and running for her. At least the basics, anyway.”
Brooke closed her eyes in appreciation after taking her first bite. “God, girl . . . this is fantastic! I’ve landed a roomie who can cook; score for me! I am lucky if I don’t burn my toast.”
I smiled. “Helen’s a great cook. I may have picked up a few things here and there,” I teased.
“Well, thank God for Helen! Did she make it back okay?” Brooke asked between bites.
“She did; she texted me this afternoon,” I finished my wine and leaned back in my chair. I was antsy, but couldn’t explain why. I knew I had at least two weeks before I would hear anything about the job, and that I should continue the hunt, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to work at Elite Design. It was going to be a very long two weeks.
Brooke began picking up the plates. “You cooked, I’ll clean. And by that I mean I will wash every dish by hand if you’ll just agree to be the cook of this household from here on out, ” she dead-panned.
I held up two f
ingers in oath and made the silent promise. Cooking was easy, and something I enjoyed. And, until I found steady income, was something I needed to do a lot more of. Just then, I heard my cell phone ring. “That’s probably Helen checking on me.”
I went to the living room and picked my phone up from the ottoman. Not Helen; it was a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello,” I answered.
“Hello, Miss Andrews?” the male voice asked. I recognized that deep voice and my stomach tightened. “This is Isaac Reynolds. I’m sorry to be calling you so late, but I wanted to catch you before my flight tomorrow morning.” Isaac said.
“Yeah, um . . . no, it’s fine.” I walked back into the kitchen and pointed to the phone. Isaac, I mouthed. Brooke’s eyes widened and she began jumping up and down. I ignored her as I turned to stare out the window. “Mr. Reynolds, it’s okay. Thank you for calling,” I continued.
“I would like to formally offer you a position on my team. Can you come in tomorrow at eight am to fill out some paper work for HR? I’ll be out of the country for several weeks, but my assistant will show you around and get you acclimated with everyone while I’m gone,” Isaac explained.
I was stunned. “Seriously? I got the job?” Brooke threw me an air high-five, and pumped her fist in the air.
“Yes. Turns out our other applicants weren’t as qualified and I really need to get this position filled, sooner rather than later. I take it you are still interested?” Isaac asked.
“Of course.” Still interested? Hell, yes I was still interested! Brooke appeared at my side, waving her hands in my face and leaning in, attempting to hear the conversation. I waved her off and stepped closer to the window. My heart was pounding. Seriously, what happened to “I won’t know for a few more weeks?”
Made to Love Page 2
