by R. R. Banks
Tia shrugs, her expression inquisitive. She looks over at me.
"You don't miss her? Not even the littlest bit?"
I scoff.
"Why would I miss her? Besides, she's the one who cut herself out of our lives, not the other way around. Keep in mind we tried to get back in touch with her, but she wouldn't pay any attention. Once she moved out to the country with her grandmother, she basically disappeared. No one's heard from her at all."
"She has to be going through a lot. You know, with everything that happened with her family's business and all."
I know. I know even better than Tia does but I'm not going to say anything about that. It's tacky to talk about things like money or business dealings in public. Especially when some of those business dealings are less than friendly. It's no secret that just a few months after Olivia moved with her grandmother to the country home, her family's business started to struggle. A select few know just how dire the situation has truly become. I happen to be one of those select few. Of course, I have little to do with any of it since my involvement in my father's business is limited, but I've watched on the sidelines as the once formidable empire started to crumble. Over the course of several months, cracks formed, locations closed, and mass layoffs slashed the company down to its skeletal core. Rumors abounded that the dissolving away of the business was mirrored in the family's personal resources as well, and the fact that the family has all but withdrawn from society seems to confirm the whisperings.
Many people question if Olivia’s move was connected to the downfall of her family. The country home she has lived at the last two years is the first property Gretchen and her husband bought together and everyone knows it holds a special place in the elderly woman's heart. But moving there permanently doesn't seem like something she would do on a whim. When they first left, Olivia's parents told everyone they both wanted a change of scenery and would be back in a few weeks. Those weeks turned to months, and Beau Alcott began to imply that because his mother-in-law was getting on in age, she had decided to return to the country house she so loved and brought Olivia with her to act as a companion and caregiver. Neither of them returned to the Alcott mansion and haven't appeared at any social functions since.
Though I'm sure much of the motivation to stay out of sight comes from embarrassment at their drop in status, I can't help but wonder if there's something else. Her parents are rarely seen and no longer host the elaborate parties they once did, but they still live in the mansion on the hill. Pretending no one knows about their financial struggles and sticking to the guise that Beau is slowing down his work so that he can enjoy retirement, they carry on quietly. Something drove Olivia away. I highly doubt she will make a reappearance to attend an engagement party for someone she hasn't spoken to in more than a year.
"So, how are...things?"
Tia grins mischievously, obviously eager to move on past the subject. She's not being specific because of the women painting our nails who have blatantly slowed to a creeping pace, so they can listen to our conversation. She doesn't need to be, though. I know exactly what she's talking about. I smile.
"Things are good," I say. "I'm expecting a discussion about officially being exclusive any time now. Maybe even tonight."
"It would be about time," she says.
I shrug.
"You know how these things are." The technician has paused over my nail and I tilt my head slightly. "But you don't know how these things are, so this conversation doesn't really apply to you. I suggest you get back to your business and stay out of mine."
The woman's cheeks redden as she tucks her head down and starts to paint faster. Tia and I exchange glances before I go back to monitoring the progress of my manicure. I won't settle for anything less than perfect for tonight. It might be Sandra's engagement party, but I hope this will be a life-changing night for me, too.
Olivia
"I'm proud of you, Olivia."
I look at my grandmother through the reflection of the vanity mirror. She stands at the doorway to my bedroom watching as I try to smooth my hair into a tasteful bun. I need to look as polished and professional as possible today.
"I'm not doing anything earth-shattering, Gigi. I just got a job. At a temp agency."
"It doesn't matter where it is. You might not think what you're doing is important, but it is. You saw a need, and you are putting your pride aside and taking the initiative to fix it."
"Gigi, I think the time for me to have any pride has long-since passed."
"That's not true, Olivia. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. None of this is your fault."
I reach for my perfume, just so I have an excuse not to hold her eyes any longer.
"I didn't say that it is."
"But you think it. You always have. I can see it in your eyes. You didn't cause this, sugar plum. This isn't your fault in any way. You know as well as I do that the problems in the business started before we had any idea you were pregnant with Aaron."
I look over at my son sleeping in my bed. He has his own nursery, but more often than not I put him down to sleep in my room at night. I like having him close to me. Sometimes he feels like the only thing that's right about my life.
"I know. But Daddy said things weren't that bad. He told me I didn't even need to worry about it. I trusted him."
"We all did."
"If it wasn't for me and what I was going through, though, maybe he would have paid better attention and could have fixed it. Maybe he wouldn't have made the decisions he did if he wasn't so worried about me."
Gigi steps into the room and stops only a foot or two away from me.
"Olivia Maureen, you listen to me right now. Your daddy is a grown man. Do you hear me? Grown. The decisions he makes are his. Good or bad, they're his, and he has only himself to answer to for them. What started as a small problem snowballed into a disaster because he wasn't courageous enough to stand up and admit he was in a mess. He didn't let anyone know what he was facing until it was so bad, we couldn’t dig our way out of it.”
I know what she is saying is true. The issues my father made seem so minor the day I told him I was pregnant were already threatening the business by that point. He simply didn't want to admit it. Thefts from the financial department went undetected because of the incompetence of his accountant until the still-unidentified person had filtered away a staggering amount. This compounded the effects of bad investments and corporate espionage that had crippled operations. Rather than letting anyone know what was happening, my father tried to manage it all on his own, and failed miserably. He didn't want anyone, family or not, to know how bad the situation had become, and he believed he could resolve it himself. This meant selling private investments and funneling the family's resources into trying to save the business. No matter how much he tried, though, the damage got worse, and the debt grew deeper. By the time we found out what was happening, the company had been eliminated down to a virtual shell. In practice, it remained open, but there was little happening and even less income coming in from it.
"I've tried to make them realize what they're doing to themselves," I say softly.
"I know you have. You've done your best to talk some sense into them."
"But it hasn't been enough."
Ever since finding out how severe the situation was, I've been doing everything I possibly can to try and get through to my parents. I'm trying to convince them to recognize they have literally lost everything and that they need to make significant changes in their lifestyles. But they refuse to listen to me. Deeply entrenched in denial, they try to maintain the image of their lifestyle, even though it's just making their situation worse. They still live in the mansion, but they sold off their possessions and liquidated their assets just to claw their way forward and hide the hardships from everyone. Daddy doesn't want to come across as a failure.
That breaks my heart. I can't stand the pain in his eyes. I tried to convince him that there's no shame in just accepting
their new position in life and trying to make the most of it. It's done no good, and now we are teetering on the edge of disaster. We can't keep going this way. That's why I got in touch with the temp agency and had them place me in the first available position that matched my qualifications. I can't just sit by and let this disaster continue. Bringing the family back to our former status isn't an option, but that doesn't mean I can't do anything to support us and try to get us back on our feet.
I stand and walk over to Aaron. Brushing my hand over his head to move his thick, dark hair, I kiss his forehead, trying to ignore the voice in my mind that says I'm a hypocrite. I've criticized my father, not for making mistakes, but for hiding them and continuing to try to conceal them from people rather than stepping forward and just living life. Yet, that's exactly what I'm doing with Aaron. After I revealed my pregnancy, the family decided we should wait to formally announce it until he was born. I wanted a quiet, uncomplicated pregnancy, which wouldn't have been an option if we had brought it to the attention of anyone else. Gigi and I decided to stay at the country house until the baby was born, and then we'd release a birth announcement. The hope was that if we handled the situation with grace and dignity, it would be less likely to smolder into a juicy scandal.
Within just a few months, though, the problems with the business started to come to light, and the thought of adding a baby into the mix seemed like too much. I'm not ashamed of Aaron. He's the light of my life and my greatest pride and joy. Yet, I keep him a secret. No one outside of my family knows of his existence. I stay to myself at the house and have lost touch with all my old friends. When I broke up with Philip, I didn't mention the pregnancy to him, not wanting him to spread the news before I had a chance to do it on my own terms. I feel certain he had his own choice words about me to say to anyone who would listen, however. At least, that's what I tell myself. It's easier to not feel as guilty about ending the relationship for the second time when I think about him being petty and mean instead of hurt and defeated the way he was when he walked out of my house that last time.
Aaron is the strongest motivating factor for me to get this job. I obviously want to help my parents and my grandmother, who seems to have rapidly aged in front of my eyes. But what I want most is to make sure I can provide for my son. I tell myself we won't always have to live this way. Someday we'll have a normal life, maybe somewhere far from Virginia where no one knows me or my family. For now, though, I have to take the initial step – my first day at a new office building in the city. I kiss my tiny son, taking a moment to breathe in his sweet scent. That will have to last me all day. This will be the longest I’ve been away from him his entire life. After receiving an encouraging hug from Gigi, I leave the house and head out into the world for the first time in nearly two years.
I check the address on the message from the temp agency a few times. Walking into the wrong building isn't how I want to start my first day on the job. Confident that I have found the right glistening steel structure, I walk through the glass doors into a bright and airy lobby.
"Can I help you?"
I turn to the sound of the voice and see a man sitting at a large curved desk across the space. Smiling, I approach the desk. I hold out the printed form the temp agency provided me.
"I'm Olivia Alcott," I say. "I'm from the staffing agency."
He takes the form and looks at it for a few seconds before nodding.
"Right," he says. "The new assistant for Mr. Preston."
The name strikes me, and I go back through my memories before settling on why it sounds familiar.
"Mr. Preston?" I ask. "Any relation to the Preston family from Charlottesville?"
He looks at me strangely and I see a hint of pity in his pale green eyes. I know that look. He thinks I'm one of those girls who follows around wealthy men like a puppy. A billionaire groupie trying to drop names and look important. It's a painful, embarrassing reminder of just how obscure I've become.
I lift my chin and hold his eyes, refusing to let him think he shamed me.
"The son," he says. "But the companies aren't related."
He lowers his voice as he says that, almost as though he's sharing the piece of office gossip with me. It occurs to me that I have shifted from one circle of gossip to another. At least here it's less likely people will be talking about their supposed friends behind their backs.
"Interesting," I say, not knowing how else to respond.
"Come on," he says. "I'll show you up to Mr. Preston's office."
As we walked toward the elevator, I noticed a large panoramic picture framed on the wall. I instantly recognized it.
"That's the resort on Catalina Island," I say, pointing at the picture.
The man, whose name I still haven't gotten, glances at the picture and then nods.
"It's his favorite resort," he says. "That picture was the first thing he put up here when he opened this as his headquarters last year." He pauses, contemplating the picture for a few more seconds before we got into the elevator. "He hasn't gone back in a long time, though. He used to go all the time, but I can’t remember the last time he visited that particular property."
I can't believe this is where I've ended up. Of all the places in Richmond for the temp agency to send me, they had to choose the new headquarters of the man who owns the resort where my life changed forever. I can't tell if this means the universe has a really good sense of humor or if this is a cruel reminder of what happened as a result of that trip.
The elevator doors open, and I feel like my heart has stopped in my chest.
"Good morning, Mr. Preston," the man from the desk says. "We were just on our way to your office. This is –"
"Olivia."
The elevator door starts to close before I realize I'm still inside. I start to step out and the door doesn't stop. Vincent lunges forward and grabs my arm, tugging me out and into his arms. He stares into my eyes and for an instant, I'm entranced by him again. The moment passes, though, and I push away from him, smoothing the pencil skirt of my suit.
"You should really check the safety features of that elevator," I say.
"It would have stopped."
"Then why did you grab me out of it?"
Our eyes meet again, and I hope he doesn't see the pain or embarrassment in mine.
"What are you doing here?" he asks.
"She's here from the temp agency," the man said.
"The temp agency?" Vincent asks.
"To fill the assistant position."
He looks at me with slightly widened eyes.
"The assistant position," he says.
It's not a question, but a statement. I keep my shoulders squared toward him, maintaining my dignity as I face him.
"Yes," I say. "The temp agency assigned me here."
He takes a step back and gestures toward a large door down the hall.
"Let's go to my office and talk."
That can't be good. Of the phrases a person wants to hear from their boss, 'let's go to my office and talk' is not one of them.
Vincent is my boss. Shit.
Chapter Seventeen
Vincent
Olivia? Is Olivia seriously standing in my office right now, dressed in a prim little suit she manages to make sexy as hell, saying she's here for a job?
I close the office door and start toward my desk.
"I'm going to go ahead and save you a lot of time," she says before I can even get to my chair. "I understand this isn't going to work out and I'll tell the temp agency I'm going to need another assignment."
I look at her strangely.
"What are you talking about? Why would you tell them to give you another assignment?"
She looks stunned.
"You didn't bring me in here to tell me we can't work together?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Seriously? You can't think of any reason why it wouldn't be a good idea for us to work together?"
I sit down behind my desk.
/> "You can?"
I gesture to the chair across from me. She sits, continuing to stare at me, dumbfounded.
"I don't understand what's going on here. You… you own the Catalina Island resort? You're the mysterious Preston son?"
I grin.
"I'm not sure about the mysterious part, but yes, my name is Vincent Preston.”
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why didn't you tell me who you are?"
"I did. I told you my full name."
"But not that you're the daughter of Beau Alcott."
"Is that something people just actively share when they first meet? Your name and your parents' names?"
"Exactly."
"No," she says, shaking her head. "Not 'exactly.' There's a big difference between a resort guest not detailing her bloodline and life story to someone she has just met and might have an inkling is a member of the staff, and a resort owner not pointing out he owns the resort where they met."
I laugh.
"You really did think I was part of the staff."
Her cheeks redden in a way I can't help but think is sexy. She looks flustered and stumbles over her words for a few seconds.
"I didn't really have anything else to think."
"Not that I could just be another guest?"
Olivia starts to laugh.
"You didn't look like a guest," she says. She presses her fingers to her temples and rubs them. "I'm so embarrassed."
"You shouldn't be embarrassed," I say. "I don't tell anyone who I am. That's kind of the point. I like to stay anonymous when it comes to my properties and my family connections."
"I guess that's why the guy at the desk made sure to point out that this company doesn't have anything to do with your father's company?"
I nod.
"Dennis is definitely our office gossip. It makes him feel special when he says things like that because they sound like insider information."
"Is it not anymore?"
