by Lila Monroe
“What did I do before I joined the forces of evil?” I said. “I interned with them. Before that, I was in college. Before that, I studied the complex art of disappointing my mother in every way possible.”
I hadn’t meant to say that, but my sass reflex had popped up to block anything more emotional. I could tell it startled him, because his gaze swung up to meet mine again, and didn’t immediately pull away.
It was an uncomfortably intimate moment, nothing like his revelation earlier this evening. I had wanted to know more about him then, about whatever it was in his past that had shaped and hurt him.
Now, I just wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.
“So, what did you do before you took over Knox whiskey?” I said quickly, tossing the conversational ball back to him and hoping that he would pursue it instead of my revelation.
And bam, there was that tension again, tightening his shoulders until they were nearly up around his ears. His voice was much too carefully casual as he replied, “Oh, nothing much. Wasted a lot of time and money, according to Chuck.”
Why did that defensive posture make my heart hurt so much? Why did I want so badly to touch his cheek, to tell him everything would be okay?
“I wouldn’t take anything that asshole says too seriously,” I said instead.
“I kind of have to.” The admission seemed to jump almost involuntarily out of his mouth, and this time my gaze was the one startled up to his. His eyes were as fierce as a hawk’s, and as intent. “You said your ideas were coming along?”
“Yes.” Like I was going to share them now, after he’d ripped my whole profession apart. They were going to be untouchably, unquestionably, 100% perfect before I let them go before his judgment now. “I’m still brainstorming, but they’ll be ready soon.”
“Better not take too long.” Did I say his shoulders were tense before? He had practically been lounging compared to the stressed posture he assumed as he looked away, out over the setting sun, almost drowned in the lake. His profile was dark, cast in shadow by the meager lanterns strung around the porch. He let out a long sigh. “Chuck is ready to launch a takeover. I’ve only managed to retain forty-nine percent of the shares.”
I couldn’t help it; I gasped. “Chuck has the rest?”
“Only twenty-five percent,” Hunter admitted. “But that’s a lot. And he can influence the other shareholders. He…knows things, about a lot of them. Things they’d want to protect, that they wouldn’t want other people to know. So. They’ll follow his lead.”
I felt like the weight of the world had suddenly been dropped on my shoulders. What was I doing, sitting around mooning over this man? He clearly had bigger things on his mind, and so should I.
“I—I should go.” I stood. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, but I—should get back to work.”
“I suppose I should as well.”
Hunter stood quickly, trying to push in his chair; it bumped against mine, which whacked into my leg, and I stumbled, cursing my decision to wear heels to dinner—
Hunter caught me.
“Are you all right?”
His voice was so deep, and it rumbled through me—I could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, I could feel his heartbeat through his skin—he smelled like bourbon and cedar and oh, his hands were so strong and warm—
His eyes, gazing down at me in concern, his eyes were like molten gold—
“I’m fine,” I whispered, breathless.
And then the moment passed. Hunter released my arm, stepped away. “Good.”
I took a step backward too. I seemed like the only thing to do. “Well, I’ll be going.”
And yet I didn’t move.
“So will I.” Hunter turned, and then turned back. For a second, my heart filled with ridiculous hope.
“Thank you,” he said. “For all that you do.”
“We soulless minions aren’t so bad after all, eh?” I tried to joke.
But his smile was perfunctory and far away, and he was unreachable once more as he turned and walked away from me.
Chapter Seven
I was hitting a brick wall. No. A brick wall was practically a feather pillow compared to the wall that I was hitting. This was a marble wall, no, a diamond wall, hell, this was a wall made of some super hard experimental carbon fiber. And I was running into it again and again.
I knew the social responsibility angle was the way to go, but I just couldn’t make the copy sing. I had to make the customers fall in love with the company, not bog them down in a history lesson.
Knox has a long proud history of—
No, no, it was crap, it was all crap, everything I had ever written was crap.
I couldn’t let Hunter down like this.
Hey, bro, you hear about Knox? They’re pretty dope, ‘cause—
Even worse. Fucking terrible. I sounded like a ‘Don’t Do Drugs’ video written by a fifty-year-old man.
Maybe statistics would save me.
Compared to liquor companies of a comparable size, Knox has donated a quantitatively larger percentage to charities and nonprofits—
“Dammit!” I threw my pencil against the library wall and glared at the book. If it wasn’t so old that it was worth more than my entire apartment, it would’ve been getting the same treatment.
I needed a preliminary campaign by the end of the week, and I was going around in circles. Knowing how high the stakes were for Hunter wasn’t helping. There was so much riding on this for both of us.
But apparently the universe thought I needed a reminder of that, because just then my phone rang. It was my boss.
“Just calling to check in,” he said breezily. I could hear seagulls in the background. Was he calling me from his yacht? He was definitely calling me from his yacht. “How’s it going?”
“Great! Everything’s falling into place; I’m on the right track.” It wasn’t really a lie, was it? It was just a little…chronologically misplaced. I’d totally be on the right track by the end of the day, and what my boss didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“Wonderful,” he said. There was a little slurping sound. Probably downing champagne. “Do you need any help? This is your first big rodeo after all.”
“Nope, I’m good!”
“Are you sure? Harry Blackstone and his boys just wrapped up a beaut of a project for Mammoth Tire Company, under time, under budget, and the numbers we got coming in—wow! Those guys are definitely looking at some big Christmas bonuses. I could fly them down, have them oversee your thing, give you a few pointers.”
“No, I’m fine!” I tried not to sound desperate, but the pitch of my voice sounded like it had risen at least an octave.
“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t tell if he was buying it, but his voice took on a warning tone. “I went out on a limb for you on this one, Allison. Lotta guys on the board didn’t think you were ready. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help if you need it.”
“I will!”
“Well, all right. Long as you don’t let us down.”
“I won’t, I promise!”
After a few meaningless pleasantries that left my memory as soon as we made them, I ended the call and tried to return to work. But suddenly, all my notes might as well have been written in Sanskrit.
So much was riding on all this…what if I failed?
I looked out the window, at the beautiful expanse of green and gold and blue.
Maybe a walk would clear my head.
“Ally!”
Hadn’t even made it to the front door of the manor house when I heard Martha calling my name. I caught up to where she was leaning across a car in the driveway and frowned, uncertain for a second why she looked strange to me before the answer came to my wearied mind.
When I’d first seen her, she’d been dressed professionally, with black slacks, a white button down blouse, and her curls pulled back into a ponytail. Now she was in lace-up boots, a short skirt, and a red tank top that showed off her figure to gr
eat advantage without quite crossing the line into trashy. Her hair was done all nice too, in soft waves that spilled across her shoulders, and her nails were painted. She was even wearing a few pieces of simple sterling silver jewelry.
“Hot date?” I asked.
“More like an investment in a future hot date,” Martha said with a toss of her hair. “My cousin wrangled me an invite to a frat party, and I figure I can dazzle a few tasty college boys with a look at a real woman.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck,” I told her, while privately thinking, better her than me. I’d had enough of frats in college, and the last thing I wanted was to have to revisit those inebriated—
Wait a minute.
The college market was the one demographic we were missing out on, big-time. Maybe the reason all my copy was falling flat was because I was too out of touch. Maybe if I saw our potential customers in person, I’d have a better idea what to aim for.
“Could I—” I hesitated, uncertain, then charged ahead. “Could I come with you?”
“Really? Sure! But—” She eyed me. “Want to change first?”
I looked down at my ratty T-shirt and baggy jeans, chosen for this walk because they were the most comfortable thing to have an anxiety attack in. Definitely not my most seductive combo, but then, I wasn’t looking to get laid tonight. “Nah, I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry I led you to believe that was a question and not a command,” Martha said, holding the door for me. “If you don’t have anything good, we’ll hit the mall first. We’re taking the Rolls Royce—Mr. Knox lets me use it for emergencies, and believe me, the state of that outfit definitely qualifies as a disaster.”
The first few minutes of the drive were spent trying to not scream as I clutched at the seat with white knuckles, Martha laughing maniacally as she gunned the engine.
“Are you trying to exceed the speed of light?” I shouted.
“Hey, if I can time-travel to the start of this party, it just increases the size of my future man-harem. You think I should stop at seven? I’m thinking I could handle nine, but I don’t want anyone to get jealous. Sooo boring.” She laughed wildly, and leaned on the gas pedal.
I hung on for dear life, mouthing prayers to baby Jesus.
Once we got to the interstate, Martha slowed down to something approaching the speed limit and turned down the country music blaring from the speakers. Carrie Underwood’s voice dwindled down to almost nothing as Martha turned to me. “So, how’s work?”
“Ugh,” I said. “Like slamming my face into a shark, but less rewarding.”
Martha laughed, and patted my knee. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“I’m hoping going out tonight will jar something loose,” I said. Maybe I shouldn’t have been confiding so much in Hunter Knox’s assistant, but she was just so laid back, so real, so easy to talk to. Also, the near-death experience of her driving was making me want to get some things off my chest. “Help some of the things rattling around my brain connect, spark something.”
“Speaking of sparks, you and Mr. Knox…” Martha started with a sly smile.
“He told you about that?” I blurted. “It was just the one time, I swear—”
Martha’s eyes widened. “Holy moly, girl, you mean you actually cracked old Stoneface?”
Well, the cat was out of the bag now. I took a deep breath. “One time, like I said. Before I got this job. Before I even knew he was the one who could get me this job.”
“And that’s the reason why you haven’t been making any more moves on him?” She cocked an eyebrow at me, paying an alarmingly low amount of attention to the road. “Girl, your reasoning is flawed. Have you seen that ass? Ain’t no amount of corporate ethics worth passing up that ass.”
I admitted that I had indeed seen that ass, and it was a fine ass indeed. “But I can’t get caught up in some relationship drama. This is my first real big chance to prove myself at work. And he’s got worries of his own; he doesn’t need me mooning around over him. Plus, it was nothing. Just a random hook-up. No big deal.” My attempt at sounding nonchalant fell flat. I’ve always been a bad liar.
“Right.” Martha rolled her eyes. “Look, I can tell he’s into you. I’ve never seen him light up the way he does when anyone mentions your name. And Hunter’s into all that noble ‘proving yourself’ bullshit too. But you’re like the ‘play’ to his all work. And he needs that. So if you ask me, I’d say you two are made for each other.”
I was barely listening to her rattle on, because my mind was stuck on one thing that just didn’t make sense. “Wait a second, Martha. What’s with the ‘proving yourself’ thing? He’s Hunter Knox. What’s he got to prove?” I asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Martha took a hand away from the wheel to gesture, and I struggled to focus on her words instead of on my imminent death as the car swerved slightly. “He spent a couple years after college trying to set up his own business, and it tanked, and Chuck and all the rest of those assholes on the board have never let him forget it. They treat him like a total loser, like everything he touches is going to blow up. Never mind that since then he’s actually brought profits up across the board for Knox and gotten up one of the highest employee satisfaction ratings in the country. Never mind how many times he gets on the cover of Forbes or is asked to advise on a government think tank. Nope, who cares about that stuff? For Chuck it’s just a broken record of that one failure, over and over and over again!”
She was practically shouting as she got to the end of the sentence, and she struck the horn angrily as she finished, confusing the hell out of the guy in the pick-up in front of us.
I regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re really loyal to him, huh?”
Martha’s face was serious as she nodded. She took a deep breath, and went on more calmly. “He took a chance on me. My last job before this…I messed up. I messed up bad. My no-good drunk of a dad had cleaned out my savings, and I was barely scraping by, and my boss…he left a bunch of jewelry in his desk, in an open drawer. I saw it, and I thought about all the times he groped my ass or yelled at me for dumb mistakes, and I thought…well, I thought, this is compensation, you know?”
She shook her head, as if trying to shake the memory from it.
“I’m not judging,” I told her.
Martha went on. “After I got fired, Hunter looked me up. Said he’d always thought I seemed like a good employee and he wanted to hear my side of the story, and after he did, he gave me a job. Good pay, good benefits, he doesn’t get handsy, and he trusts me. Lets me handle things. And I do.”
“I’m sorry it’s been rough,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. My job experience didn’t look half so bad compared to hers.
Martha shook her head, rejecting my pity. “It’s in the past. And I’ve always been a present girl, myself.” We peeled into the parking lot of an outlet mall. Martha grinned wide. “And speaking of presents, let’s get you looking like something these boys can’t wait to unwrap…”
“Yo, babe, can I top you up?” A young man with more muscles than hand-eye coordination waved a bottle of vodka at me. I was honestly impressed that he was still on his feet.
“I’ll stick to punch, thanks,” I said, taking a sip from my half-full cup. Tonight’s research only involved alcohol at a remove, which was a good thing—I was not looking forward to repeating my last drunken experience with any of these immature dudebros. Or any of my drunken college experiences, come to that.
I winced at the blurry memory of several different parties; there was that time when I vomited green puke all over my closet on St. Patrick’s Day and woke up in the bathtub, that time I confessed my love to a stoner guitar player who stopped me in the middle to tell me he didn’t even know my name, that time I accidentally made out with a former professor and then started crying when he said he was married—
Yeah, no alcohol was definitely the way to go tonight.
I looked around, trying to observe drinkers in their natu
ral habitat. What do twentysomething dudes want? Let’s see, there was a dreadlocked guy leaning into a blonde’s personal space, a clean-shaven polo player topping up a redhead’s drink, a sloppy drunk bearded hipster trying to hug a brunette and toppling onto the couch instead—
Okay, let me rephrase that: what do twentysomething dudes want besides sex?
I looked deeper. Dreadlocked guy had a shirt with Bob Marley and an inspiration quote on it. The polo player was plying the redhead not just with alcohol but with Maya Angelou quotes. And from the couch, the bearded hipster was protesting that he’d totally had the brunette’s back at that march last weekend when some scumball tried to make off with her purse.
Underneath the hormones and bravado, these were just kids. Kids who wanted to belong, and make a difference, but were afraid to go looking for something on their own.
But I could show them the way.
And just like that, I knew exactly what the new tagline for Knox needed to be.
I stood, eager to find Martha so that I could get back to my little guesthouse desk and start writing all of this down.
Unfortunately, as I stood, the surface of the Earth decided to take up waltzing.
Shit. The punch hadn’t been nonalcoholic after all.
I never should have trusted that douchewaffle trying to bring the seventies porn mustache back. That had been the most untrustworthy facial hair I had ever seen. You just knew his whole life was going to be a series of increasingly terrible decisions. And I thought it had tasted a bit off. Crap.
I wandered through the house, trying to keep my legs steady as the walls spun around like a teacup ride. My eyes refused to focus properly on the faces of the people I passed—they were doing all they could to keep track of up vs. down—and I couldn’t see Martha anywhere. Damn, whatever had been in that drink was strong.
I pulled up a cab number on my phone before remembering that it was for a company in D.C. Damn, I wished I could afford a smart phone! One Google search and it’d be problem solved. I eyed the iPhone in a rich frat guy’s hand, but didn’t approach him. Considering these guys’ track record with the punch, a request for a cab company number would probably get me the digits of a crack house.
