by RC Boldt
This time will be the final time I have to.
I’ve read, numerous times, how to generate an air of authority. How to lead. How to run a business and keep it thriving. How to fire employees effectively. How to negotiate.
Nothing I’ve ever read could prepare me for this moment. The only advantage I have is that I’ve arrived in Emma Jane’s office before her.
I hear her greet Ms. Mitchell, her tone energetic, with an air of excitement. Confident.
What a crock of shit.
Her heels sound lightly on the thin carpeting of her office, and I hear her draw to a surprised stop at the sight of me standing at the bank of windows. My back is to her, but I can see her reflection in the glass. She appears startled.
Good.
I turn slowly, and she raises her eyebrows in question before glancing over at the clock on the wall. “I figured they’d be here early, but I wasn’t expecting them this ea—”
“You’re going to act innocent?” My voice is deceptively quiet, low, dangerous with steely undertones.
Eyeing me warily, she reaches out to shut her office door behind her with a quiet click. She addresses me carefully. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, my gaze piercing hers. “You were planning on stealing an intern’s ideas and passing them off as your own? And you thought no one would find out? That she wouldn’t speak up?”
Emma Jane appears as though she’s been sucker punched but quickly composes herself, readjusting the shoulder strap of her briefcase. Pressing her lips thin, her eyes narrow in a frigid stare.
“What exactly are you talking about, Mr. Montgomery?”
My jaw clenches and unclenches tightly before I speak, forcing myself to hold an even, controlled tone. “Ms. Mitchell confided in me. She told me how you took her ideas and planned to pass them off as your own today, with Mr. Feldman and his partners.” I fold my arms across my chest and stare back at her. “She was in tears, not wanting to rock the boat since you’re her superior. She was worried about being classified as a snitch.”
Emma Jane’s lips purse as she nods slowly, almost thoughtfully. “And she was terribly upset over this, I’m sure.”
I make a derisive sound. “You’re not even going to deny it.” Shaking my head, I mutter, “I should have known.”
Her expression darkens mutinously. “You should have known? You?” She practically bites out the words. “It’s me who should have known better.”
I ignore her outburst. “Ms. Mitchell will be presenting to Mr. Feldman. I’ll explain to him that you had an emergency which took you out of the office. We’ll hash everything out with HR over your termination once the presentation is completed.”
Anger is radiating from Emma Jane—anger at being caught, surely—and she presses her lips thin as though searching for the right response. “I see you’ve got this all figured out.”
With pure disgust rushing through my veins, I nod. “I should’ve known better, Ms. Haywood. You betrayed me once, and you tried it yet again. But this time, you included Ms. Mitchell in the mix.”
“Right.” She speaks through clenched teeth.
When she turns to the door, just as her hand touches the handle, I challenge, “That’s it?” She freezes without turning back. “That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”
Whirling around, she narrows her eyes murderously. “Actually, no. That’s not all,” she practically snarls. “I’d like to say it’s mighty telling that you’d toss me under the bus and not even ask for my side of the story.” Stepping closer, she fixes a hard glare on me. “You clearly think I lack integrity and morals. Well, not to worry.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I’m taking a personal day, and my resignation will be filed with HR first thing tomorrow.”
Emma Jane spins around, laying her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t immediately open it. Without looking back, she speaks in a voice devoid of all emotion.
“Oh, and be sure to enjoy slides fifteen, twenty-nine, thirty-three, and forty-six, Mr. Montgomery.”
She exits the office, leaving me standing here, perplexed by her cryptic words.
Emma Jane’s parting words still ricochet within my mind when I stride into the conference room to find Keri straightening up the multiple sets of presentation packets. Her eyes dart up, meeting mine as I draw to a stop at the opposite end of the table from where she stands.
“All set?”
“Yes, sir.” She punctuates this with a nod and a tight, nervous smile.
“Have you done a dry run? To prepare?” I ask casually.
“I went through my notes more than anything else. The slides have been all set from the get-go.”
“Do you mind if I take a quick look at the presentation?” I advance to where her laptop sits, hooked up to the projector.
“Uh, sure.”
There’s the slightest hitch of hesitation in her voice, and it prompts a sick churning in the pit of my stomach.
Reaching for the laptop’s keyboard, I brace one palm against the flat surface of the conference room table, using my other hand to navigate through the presentation slides on the computer. I scroll through them quickly until I land on slide fifteen.
The queasiness in my stomach escalates into full-blown nausea, and a cold sweat prickles my skin as I stare at the screen. Though I’m certain as to what I’ll find on slides twenty-nine, thirty-three, and forty-six, I still click on them, discovering the same small detail. It’s so subtle, one could easily miss it if they weren’t looking for it.
Quickly, I navigate and access my company email, searching for one in particular where Emma Jane had sent me a past proposal. I open the file attachment which details a proposal from well over two months ago. I scroll down a few pages before I see it yet again. The same detail I’ve discovered on her PowerPoint.
A goddamn watermark at the very bottom of the slide with the name, Emma Jane Haywood.
I’ve royally fucked up.
Dragging my eyes from the laptop screen, I regard Keri Mitchell, whose expression is now clouded with uncertainty. But before I can say a word, we’re interrupted by my secretary, announcing that Mr. Feldman and his partners have arrived.
Shit.
I rush to greet the three men before I guide Mr. Feldman to the side and lower my voice.
“Mr. Feldman, I apologize but Ms. Haywood’s been unexpectedly called away on an emergency.”
The older man appears concerned. “Is she all right?” Then he asks the million-dollar question. “Is there a chance she’ll be able to do the presentation tomorrow? I can only stay in town until late afternoon due to my schedule.”
“Oh, I’m sure her personal emergency will be taken care of, and she’ll be able to present tomorrow.”
As he and I discuss rescheduling, I internally pray that I can set things right with Emma Jane.
But first, I have to fire an intern.
37
Emma Jane
“He didn’t even ask me anything. He just assumed the worst. Like I could be a dirt bag who would steal someone else’s ideas!”
I’m whining to both Madison and Becket about what happened this morning. I’ve already told them the whole story and realize I’m repeating myself, indignant about how Knox treated me. Heck, he probably won’t even notice or care about the slides with my watermark. Back at Southern Charm Lifestyle, my boss had suggested I include that detail in my presentations as an added safeguard. I just never thought I’d see the day when I had to make mention of it.
Not that it had made any difference, of course.
Madison took a personal day as soon as I’d called her, barely holding in my tears, after I’d left Knox standing in my office. I hadn’t even bothered to say a word to Keri who’d been sitting at her desk outside my office door, smiling smugly. I knew it was pointless to waste my breath, to waste one single word on the likes of her. As they’d say back home, she was like a rattlesnake in the tall grasses of the bayou, just lying
in wait for the unsuspecting person.
Becket’s still in his workout gear since I’d interrupted him from his “light cardio” run on the treadmill.
“So what’s your game plan?” Becket asks.
“Well, remember who sought me out at the last gala we attended?”
Becket’s eyebrows rise with what looks like surprise. “Elise at East Coast Couture?” He mentions the editor-in-chief of the well-known magazine who’d surprised me when she’d easily addressed me by name at the gala.
Elise had taken me aside with her husband and informed me that she’d been following my career and was impressed with my work. She’d mentioned she was starting a new brand of East Coast Couture magazine that she wanted to get up and running soon.
As part whim and part job security in case things went south with my position at F&F with Knox at the helm, I’d done a live video interview with her. I hadn’t heard anything back until she’d contacted me right before I’d left for Mobile with Knox, wanting to schedule a final face-to-face interview. We’d had some issues trying to make our schedules match up, as well as an anticipated start date should they offer me the job.
It’s pretty ironic that I should find myself available now for not only the interview, but for the job as well.
“I’m scheduled to fly up late Wednesday and do the interview Thursday morning.”
“That’s awesome!” Madison gives me an encouraging smile. “So you’ll be here still, right?”
I nod and explain that Elise wants to have a southeastern location for their new headquarters and publication, and how she envisions it to be centered around all things known to women in this region. She wants it to be something women can connect with more meaningfully and garner the interest of others who might pick up the magazine.
Madison nudges her shoulder against mine playfully. “This would be a unique opportunity, but I’ll definitely miss you at work.”
“I still vote for me siccing the guys on him.” This comes from Becket who has repeatedly offered to get his linemen to “rough up” Knox.
“You guys don’t need any bad press or lawsuits,” I say with a weak smile. “But thanks.”
Becket’s lips part, likely with another maiming suggestion, when his phone rings and plays a song that sounds like…
Madison and I stare at one another incredulously.
“Is that,” she asks slowly, “Justin Bieber?”
“Singing ‘Baby’?” I echo as Becket frantically answers his phone, darting up from the couch and beginning to pace.
“Are you serious? Holy sh—er, I mean, crap!” He runs a hand through his hair, slightly disheveling it, before grabbing his keys from my dining room table. “I’ll be right there, Presley. Wait!” His lips curve up at the corners. “Is your Marine husband there?”
I shake my head at Becket’s attempt at harassment, but realize there’s no need since I soon hear a deep voice boom through his cell phone.
“I’m a SEAL, Jones. Get it right or you’ll never get to hold our baby girl.”
Becket abruptly stops on his way to the door. “Did you just threaten me?” Then, in a louder voice, “Presley! Did you hear what Hendy said?”
“Get off the damn phone and get your pretty face up here,” Hendy growls.
Becket grins mischievously and ends the call before turning to me and Madison. “Do you mind—”
“I’ve got to head home.” She rises from the couch. “I can log in remotely and catch up on some things.” Enfolding me in a tight hug, she whispers for me to call her if I need her before pulling the door closed behind her.
Becket tugs on his ball cap and peers down at me. “Presley asked about you, if you might want to come along with me, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to…” He trails off, and I know why.
But after the day I’ve had, I need to witness the love between a husband and wife and the miracle of birth.
“Let’s go.”
“Why can’t I get a turn already?”
Both Hendy and I stare at Becket in disbelief.
“Becket,” I scold, “stop whining.”
Presley’s husband shoots Becket a glare before responding calmly. “If you want to use that baby carrier you’ve been trying out, you’ll cut down on the whiny shit.”
“You should probably watch your language,” Becket retorts.
“That’s enough,” I warn my friend with an exasperated roll of my eyes.
I return my attention to Hendy who’s basking in the delight of being a new father. In the rocking chair, he softly murmurs to the tiny newborn lying against his bare chest, and emotion wells up within me at the sight.
This man is such a complex paradox, with his extremely fit and muscled body in contrast with the horrific scarring on his back as well as one side of his face—a result of what he’d endured while being held captive during his time as a Navy SEAL. His tender expression, filled with love as he talks to his little girl, is something I’ll not soon forget.
“You’ll be brave and bold, won’t you, girl?” he utters quietly, his eyes alight with affection as he peers down at her. “Just like your mom.”
Soft footsteps sound down the hallway and one of Presley’s four midwives who helped deliver little Emilia emerges with a smile for the new father.
“She’s all cleaned up now.” The older woman turns to address me and Becket. “Give us a moment and I’ll let you know once our new mama’s ready to see you.”
Hendy carefully rises from the chair, holding Emilia securely as he heads toward the midwife. “Time to go see your mom.” He offers his baby a lopsided half-smile, due in part to the scarring on the one side of his face. “You’re probably missing her already, aren’t you…” His words trail off as he and the midwife disappear down the hallway.
Becket’s eyes find mine. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he whispers with the same awe I feel.
I work hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. “She is.”
His gaze is searching. “You okay?”
I nod quickly before forcing a smile. “Just happy for them.”
Without a word, Becket rises from the couch and strides over to where I sit in the chair, his outstretched hands beckoning me. I place my hands in his, and he yanks me up from my seat, promptly enfolding me in his strong, comforting embrace.
He presses his lips to the top of my head, and one hand soothes me in slow strokes over my back as he murmurs softly, “One day, Blue.”
I clamp my lips together to withhold the emotion brimming at the surface because this isn’t the time or place for my own pity party. Nodding against Becket’s chest, I exhale a long breath.
“One day,” I echo in a whisper.
Becket drops me off at my apartment, seeing me safely inside even though I’ve repeatedly assured him I’m fine, just emotionally wrung out after the day’s events.
He stands at my door, hesitating, and I know he’ll probably offer to stay over just in case I need him. But I also know he has a mandatory workout scheduled early in the morning and needs a good night’s rest in his own bed.
“Thanks for everything.” I wrap my arms around him in a tight embrace. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” His voice is laced with humor, and he eases away to peer down at me, his face a mask of concern. “I hate that I can’t drive you to the airport since I have a team meeting but—”
“Becket.” I stop him with a palm against his chest. “I’ll be fine. It’s really not a big deal.”
“And you’ll let me know once you land safely? And after the interview?”
“Yes, Mom,” I tease softly.
His lips quirk, and he gently cradles my face in his hands before landing a loud, smacking kiss on my forehead. Releasing me, he heads toward the door. “Bye, gorgeous.”
“Bye.” I close the door after him and lock it. Leaning my back against it, I release a heavy breath and try to muster up the excitement to pack for my flight tomorrow.
I sho
uld feel excited. This is an incredible opportunity. Yet, with everything that’s transpired, I’m struggling to generate even a modicum of enthusiasm.
With a sigh, I push away from the door, chalking my mood up to everything that’s happened today. Before I can take two steps in the direction of my bedroom, there’s a knock on my door.
My brows crease as I wonder what Becket could possibly need. I unlock and tug open my door, all the while trying to think of what he could have left behind…
Only to find myself staring at the last man I want to see.
Abruptly and without a word, I start closing the door. Unfortunately, the force of his strong palm slapping against the hard surface halts the closure.
“Emma Jane, I’m sorry.”
My teeth clench in anger. “I. Don’t. Care.” I lean my weight against the door, to no avail, of course.
“Please.” The hoarse desperation in his tone triggers a weakness within me.
Damn him.
My body deflates. “Fine.”
What does it even matter? I think to myself.
Spinning on my heels, I leave him to close the door and head into the kitchen. Ignoring him as he approaches me, I feel the full weight of his eyes on me as I pour a healthy amount of cabernet into a wine glass. Lord knows I’m going to need it.
With my back to him, I take a fortifying sip. “What do you want, Knox,” I say with weary resignation, not posing it as a question, as I fiddle with the tiny charm encircling the stem of my glass.
“I’m sorry.” His apology is spoken softly but with a noticeable firmness, heavy with regret. “I shouldn’t have accused you without even speaking to you first. It—everything she told me—fed into past insecurities about you…into my fear of trusting you again. I’ve never acted that way before with any business decision.”
“It doesn’t matter.” With a weary sigh, I turn, lean back against the kitchen counter, and cross my arms protectively. “It’s done. I’m submitting my resignation tomorrow.” Just as his lips part, I rush ahead and finish. “I have a final interview with East Coast Couture on Thursday.”
