Against All Odds (Searching for Love Book 4)

by Kelly Myers

  Against All Odds

  Kelly Myers

  Copyright © 2020 by Kelly Myers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: My Secret Daddy

  Invitation to join Kelly’s Newsletter

  Blurb

  Do I want to date Michael? Yes.

  Do I want to go against all rules? No.

  I live by the three Zoe Hamilton rules.

  #1: Never sleep with a co-worker.

  #2: Never put my job in jeopardy.

  #3: Never crush on douchebags.

  Being with Michael will squash each one of these rules.

  It will destroy my career, my life, my heart.

  And for what?

  He’s so headstrong.

  Always wants to be in control.

  Well, he won’t control me.

  Not until I have this brilliant brain inside my head.

  One that shuts off the second his gorgeous eyes meet mine.

  I’m done turning into a mushy little girl.

  I’m done being reckless.

  But I’m also done trying to forget how special Michael makes me feel.

  1

  If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that nothing ever goes according to plan.

  That’s why I always have about five back-up plans lying in wait in case the first method falls through.

  Call me crazy, but it’s gotten me through 26 years on Planet Earth, and overall, I’ve done ok for myself.

  Alright, maybe “ok” isn’t the perfect way to describe it. I’ve done spectacular in some areas. For example, I’m a stupendous employee at the Hastings Group, one of the premier consulting firms in Chicago.

  I have a good apartment and amazing friends. I’m in line to get the next big promotion at the company. At least if everything goes according to plan.

  I’ve done less spectacular in other areas. I know for a fact that some of my colleagues refer to me as “Zoe Hamilton, the Uptight Chick.” They have other names as well, but I choose to focus on the positive. Or at least, the less negative.

  As for my love life, for that I have No Comment.

  But all in all, I decide as I sit down at my desk at the office, I’ve done better than average in life. Zoe Hamilton, the Better Than Average Chick.

  That doesn’t sound good. I’ll have to brainstorm better epitaphs later. I can make a list.

  Right now, I need to focus on another list titled How to Get My Sort Of Sexist Boss to Give Me Our Newest Client.

  I say “sort of sexist” because Nick Finnegan doesn’t hate women, and he would never impede someone’s career because of their gender, but he does tell jokes. You know the type.

  “What’s next, you gonna tell me to take out the trash too?”

  “Don’t tell me it’s your time of the month.”

  “If a woman is gonna spend hours crying over some guy who got away, it better be one of our potential clients that hired another firm.”

  That last one was actually pretty funny, I have to admit.

  I turn to my computer and log on. Nick is alright, in the end. He’s a tough boss, but fair, despite the jokes. He tells jokes about the guys too.

  I knew what I was getting into when I decided to go into corporate consulting. It’s a male-dominated field, but that didn’t scare me. It was my dream career.

  Some little girls dream of a fancy apartment in the city or for a beautiful wedding or for some designer clothes. I dreamed of power suits and corner offices.

  I ponder. Zoe Hamilton, Power-Suit-Wearer. Did that work? No, definitely not.

  I return my focus to the task at hand. I heard about the new client at lunch. I would prefer to eat my lunch at my desk while taking care of emails, but I try to get to the office dining room at least three times a week. That’s how you pick up the good gossip.

  And trust me, no one gossips like a group of corporate consultants.

  Meyers and Blunt Media Group, an older but powerful news group that owned more than half the newspapers in the midwest, had just acquired a streaming service. They needed help with the merger, which was my branch’s specialty.

  It was an ideal client, and everyone at lunch had been salivating over it. I had been ready to throw punches as soon as I heard about the client, but I kept my cool. I was a front-runner for sure. I always excelled with mergers, and I was almost done with my current assignment.

  In fact, if I could finish up a few things today, and shoot Nick a message about how I was almost done, that could be the ideal way to lightly suggest (without actually suggesting since Nick hates being told what to do) that maybe I would be the ideal candidate for Meyers and Blunt.

  I smile at my computer screen. My plan was forming. I still had to flesh out some back-up plans that would involve a bit more kissing up to Nick, maybe at an office happy hour, but Plan A was looking great, if I do say so myself.

  I open up my email and glance over my final notes from my most recent assignment. All I had to do was touch base with the point of contact at the company I had been working with. We were supposed to talk tomorrow, but I had a good working relationship.

  I typed up a message saying that some things had shifted, and I had a bit of time to discuss key strategies this afternoon.

  The point of contact responded right away saying he was free for a call at 2.

  Better and better.

  Once that was done, I could send a message to Nick. Or maybe take a quick walk around the office and run into Nick.

  He sometimes grabbed an afternoon coffee from the inhouse baristas. I have notes on Nick’s daily activities.

  Yes, I know it’s crazy. And yes, the notes do look like the ramblings of an insane stalker. I don’t care.

  Anyway, the file is password protected.

  I take a breath. I have to stay calm about this. If I get too intense and show how desperate I am to get this assignment, Nick will never give it to me. No one likes desperation.

  I glance at the post-it stuck to the bottom of my computer. It reads: Be the Obvious Choice.

  It was something my favorite economics professor told me back in sophomore year. She was helping me apply for an internship, and she told me that I was accomplished and my resume was impressive, but it wasn’t always enough.

  “You can’t just be a good choice or the best choice, Zoe,” she said. “You have to be the obvious choice.”

  She was right. Since graduating, I’ve dedicated all my time to being the one who doesn’t mess up. The reliable one. The one who is in the office early and leaves late. The one you have to pick
for the job because it’s so clear that I’ll do it right.

  To be clear, I’m not a workaholic. I have a life outside of my job. I see my three best friends nearly every week.

  It’s true, I do not have a boyfriend, but in my experience, friendships are far more fulfilling than any love interest.

  Which my mom thinks is very sad. But she doesn’t work at a high-intensity consulting firm, does she?

  Anyway, I don’t have to defend myself.

  Over the next hour, I pull together all the information I’ll need for the call at 2. I also prepare answers for any questions the point of contact may have.

  At 2pm on the dot, I dial the number. The conversation is a roaring success. Or at least, the client has zero complaints.

  I’m not surprised. Not to brag, my exit conversations are always pleasant.

  Well, maybe I’m bragging a little. It comes with the territory. The guys at work brag all the time, and it’s why everyone respects them. Unless they boast too much. Then everyone just thinks they’re jerks. It’s really a very delicate line to walk.

  I check my watch. 2:47. Perfect. I’ll just swing by the inhouse barista as if I’m picking up some mint tea. I don’t drink caffeine in the afternoon. It messes with my sleep cycle.

  I stand up and dust off my grey slacks. I pause to admire how well they fit me and how adorable my bronze penny loafers with the block heel are. Nick would never notice, but I pride myself on my office style.

  My first year at the firm, I dressed out of bargain bins. I kept my dark hair short so it was easy to maintain, and I wore minimal but flattering makeup. I looked put together and neat, but I was determined to save money.

  Then I got my first promotion. I got it because of my hard work, but I wanted to look the part as well. So I went a little crazy with designer office wear. Honestly, I have no regrets. Dressing to win is an important part of the job.

  My friend Marianne says I’m shallow to be so obsessed with designer clothes, but I don’t care. Marianne can wear a cut-up mens’ undershirt with cargo pants out and look fabulous, but that’s her. And even she can’t deny that my office chic looks are on point.

  I take a deep breath as I head over to the beverage station. I smile at the rows of consultants still sharing desks. Yes, I was in their position just a year ago, but now I can lord my small and modest office over them. And someday, I’ll have that corner office. Someday.

  As I approach the baristas, I see Nick’s back. He’s tall so he stands out. I smile. Perfection. I love it when Plan A works out.

  Then Nick shifts, and I see who he is talking to. My heart sinks.

  Of course Michael Barnes has wormed his way over to Nick. He’s a total conniving snake. He is another contender for the Meyers and Blunt client, and he probably has been waiting by the baristas for Nick to come over so they can have some small bro talk.

  Never mind that I am more or less doing the same thing. I was at least going to be classy enough to tell Nick about finishing up with my last client so I can prove that I have actually accomplished something.

  Michael, on the other hand, is probably telling Nick about the crazy weekend he had once in college with the Phi Beta Kappa brothers, five handles of tequila, a labrador retriever, and a stripper.

  Probably. I wouldn’t know because I zone out whenever my co-workers launch into the frat talk.

  Michael Barnes is the quintessential frat bro. He’s tall and has chestnut brown hair with the kind of broad face and big smile that give a guy friendly-but-not-intimidating good looks.

  Some people find him funny too. I certainly don’t. But that might be because every time I see him I want to poke a pen through his eye.

  Today is no exception.

  Of course Michael is going for the new client. We joined the company at about the same time, and he’s been a thorn in my side for about four years.

  We don’t see each other often, and we barely talk. But somehow we end up competing for clients every few months, like clockwork. And we’re always evenly matched.

  Neck and neck, some might say.

  What he lacks in strategy and planning, I have in spades.

  I don’t like to think of myself as lacking in any way, but I suppose some might say that Michael has just a touch more charisma than I do. According to some people, that is.

  I find him about as charismatic as a rock.

  There’s no way I’m turning back now that he has his claws sunk into Nick. I put on my most casual of smiles and continue my walk to the beverage station.

  “Hello Nick,” I say. “Michael.”

  Michael flashes me his trademark devil-may-care smile. As if that will have any effect on me. The secretaries all swoon over him, but I have never even felt momentarily dazed by Michael’s smile.

  “Zoe, good afternoon!” Nick says. “Getting some tea, are you?”

  “You know me,” I say.

  “My wife keeps nagging me to quit coffee, but I can’t do it,” Nick says.

  “She’s a good woman,” I say.

  I’ve met Nick’s wife, and she is really nice. She adores Nick despite his receding hairline and bad jokes which is quite cute, to be honest.

  I order my mint tea and then turn to both Nick and Michael.

  “I actually meant to message you,” I say. “I just wrapped up with that client I was working with.”

  “Huh,” Nick says. “A few days early, isn’t it?”

  I shrug and give him a coy smile as I reach for my hot tea. He knows what I want. I know that he knows. But if I throw myself at his feet and beg for the Meyers and Blunt Group, there’s no way I’ll get it. I have to play the game. Just like Michael is playing the game with all his jokes and small talk.

  I glance over at Michael. He is also smiling, and I feel a small tingle in my stomach. It’s the game. I love it.

  “Well, send me a report before you head out,” Nick says. “And Mike, we’ll have to go to that brewery some time.”

  Nick gives us both a wink and walks back towards his office. It takes every ounce of willpower to not roll my eyes at Michael. And maybe stick out my tongue for good measure. A brewery? Could he be any more of a cliche White Male in his Twenties?

  “Oh, Zoe,” Michael says. “I should have known you’d be sniffing around like a bloodhound.”

  “A word of advice?” I say. “Don’t compare women to hounds, that could be why you’re never getting those second dates.”

  “So you’ve been following my dating life?” Michael asks.

  He’s leaning forward and arching his brow in this unbearable cocky manner. I want to punch him in the face, but I have to play it cool. It’s part of the delicate game. We all rib each other at work. If you can’t take the heat, you have to get out of the kitchen.

  “Hardly,” I say. “I’m just assuming it’s abysmal if you have time to go to breweries with Nick.”

  Michael laughs. That’s the worst thing about him. No matter what anyone does or says, he always just laughs it off.

  I can never laugh things off.

  So instead I give him a faint wave and head back to my office.

  As soon as my door is closed, the fake smile fades from my face. I set my tea down on my desk so hard that it sloshes over the side.

  I even kick my chair leg and stomp my foot. It’s childish, but I’m mad. I really want that client, and Michael just essentially declared all-out war on me.

  I take a deep breath. Ok. Plan B. Step 1: Call in Emotional Reinforcements.

  I grab my phone. At least it’s almost the end of the day. I text the group chat with my three best friends: Emergency meeting at the Other Place. 6pm SHARP.

  The Other Place is our go-to wine bar. It’s exactly equidistance from our four apartments, and over the years we’ve pretty much claimed one table in the back.

  One by one, my friends text back. Elena is first to say she’ll be there. Then Beatrice says she’ll do me one better and get there at 5:57. Last but not least Marianne s
ays hell yes, she needs a drink too.

  I sit down in my chair and smile.

  My plan isn’t complete yet, but one thing is for certain: Michael Barnes is getting that client over my dead body.

  2

  I lean against the familiar leather cushions of our favorite booth table and sigh. This afternoon was intense, but soon it will be better. My friends always make it better.

  We met during our freshmen year of college. I had a slob of a roommate who always had rowdy boys in the room, so I fled across the hall to seek the comfort of the quiet and big-eyed Elena Ramirez. I had never met someone as kind-hearted. Her roommate, Marianne Gellar was artsy and bohemian, but we all got along well.

  Our group wasn’t complete though until we met Beatrice Dobbs. She happened to sit next to me during the first week of an Anthropology class we were both taking. The professor was old and had an Australian accent, and Beatrice could do a ridiculously good imitation. No matter how hard I tried to focus, Beatrice would have me in fits of giggles throughout the class.

  Within a few weeks, the four of us were inseparable. We helped each other through the ups and downs of college life, and then all moved to Chicago to chase our different dreams.

  I truly don’t know where I would be without the three of them. Probably trying to befriend the other women at the Hastings Group and failing miserably because, at the end of the day, I don’t want friends who are just like me. Our little group of four works because we are so different.

  Elena shows up first. She gives me a wave before ordering her drink.