He would spend the entire day being translated for and then be shown to the mountain of paperwork that always awaited him on days like this. Then, if he made it through that, he’d be able to get away to the gym and work out some stress.
Torran might have come from the streets, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew full well what people were saying behind his back: that he wasn’t fit to head the company. That he was going to run it into the ground. True, he’d only managed to land where he was out of dumb luck, but now that he was on top, he was putting in the work. They could say whatever they wanted, but at the end of the day, there was still a fighter responsible for their bread and butter.
So they could all go to hell, as far as he was concerned. Torran knew exactly what he was, and where he’d come from. He knew what a field day the tabloids had every time he got into another fight, or dumped another high profile model. Half of the women he’d ever slept with were probably out for his blood, but he wasn’t known for being the most gentlemanly of types. Torran liked to fuck to relieve stress. When he joined a woman in her bed, it was wild, hot and unfettered - he pulled no punches, and they always came crawling back for more.
Even if he wasn’t interested.
The most important thing to Torran was that he came out on top in whatever he chose to do. After a lifetime of clawing his way up from the bottom, he wasn’t headed back there anytime soon. Not until he was dead and buried.
So he would keep fighting. And he wouldn’t stop until he won.
Chapter 2: Breaking Barriers
Savannah had never been late to work before, but she wasn’t going to let this be her first day. Despite the traffic, despite the fact that she hadn’t had a single miserable cup of coffee to get her through the morning, she was going to make it.
She hoped.
With a sigh, the young woman gazed at the long, never-ending line of cars before her. The highway was backed up as far as the eye could see and the radio was blaring something about an overturned tractor trailer.
So, in layman’s terms, she was fucked.
Savannah glanced at the clock on her dash and willed it to go slower. She still had a good half hour to make what was usually a five minute trip, but as traffic remained at a standstill, her hopes began to fade.
Goddamn it. The last thing she needed was to give her boss an excuse to yell at her at this hour of the morning. It was already hard enough for Savannah to drag herself out of bed at five am to make it to work by seven. If her already insufferable boss jumped on her the moment she walked through the door, she might just give up on life.
Alright, well...perhaps nothing that drastic. But she would almost certainly spend the rest of the day in a foul mood - and on a Monday, that was setting herself up for disaster over the rest of the week. Savannah’s work ethic was such that Monday was instrumental for setting her up the rest of the week. So, of course, it made sense that someone would throw a monkey wrench into her plans and screw up her Monday morning.
By the time she was anywhere near the end of the hellacious traffic, Savannah had about ten minutes to get to work on time. Ten minutes to drive through downtown Manhattan like a bat out of hell and somehow find parking. Ten minutes to race up to the thirty fourth floor of her office building and somehow duck her crazy boss.
Somehow, she managed it.
By the time she reached the office, Savannah was drenched in sweat even though it was late fall. No matter how many times she worked out with her father, she was never prepared to run on the fly. Somehow, she was sure if he knew, he would scold her.
She plopped down at her desk with literally thirty seconds left to go and proceeded to catch her breath. As much as she loved New York City, her morning commute in from Long Island was hell. She had asked herself at least ten times in the past year why she didn’t just move into the city - but then, Savannah had to remind herself that she was poor. She could just barely afford the studio apartment she was renting now.
When she was in school, she always had big dreams of making it as a publicist. While many were killing themselves trying to be famous, the young woman had decided early on that it would be much easier to represent the famous. To make their names known. She had never wanted to be the one in the limelight - her father gave her enough of that. But behind the scenes? That was definitely more her style.
Savannah busted her butt at Cornell, where she’d gotten in by the skin of her teeth. Their Public Relations programs had cost her half her sleeping hours and enough stress to fry her brain, but it had all been worth it when she graduated with honors. Or, at least, she thought it had.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
Savannah had been working at Yates PR, and every assignment she got seemed more banal than the last. In her interview, she emphasized that she was willing to take risks, meet new people, and go above and beyond the call of duty. But now, even after three years, the most her boss was willing to give her was a few articles in gossip rag magazines. There were people who had been at the company for less time and already had more than one high profile client.
And here she was, still pushing paper.
She was sure that Carthright had it out for her. But then again, she was one of the only female publicists at Yates. Maybe he was trying to put pressure on her in hopes that she would quit - or man up. One of the two.
“Jones!” She winced as the voice of said boss rang through the office with enough volume to make everyone present wince. Theo, whose cubicle adjoined hers, stuck his head in with an empathetic look.
“Maybe he just needs you to get coffee?”
Savannah suppressed a groan. Theo could afford to be optimistic. He had just started working with trust fund baby and company heiress Nicole Reinhardt. He was probably making twice what she did.
“Somehow, I doubt it.” She tossed her coat over the back of her chair before leaving her desk with the utmost reluctance.
William Carthright wasn’t exactly known for his supporting attitude and giving nature. In fact, in the time she worked for him, Savannah learned the man was prone to favoritism and angry outbursts when things didn’t go his way. How he’d gotten to the top of a company like Yates was anyone’s guess, but everyone had to answer to him. Savannah only wondered what he could want with her this early. She hadn’t even had time to do anything yet.
The moment Savannah saw his ruddy, irate face poking from his office, she put on her most saccharine sweet smile. “Good morning Mr. Carthright.”
Her boss’ frown only deepened. “Get in here, Jones.”
Her heart sank and she hurriedly followed him into the confines of his office, shutting the door behind her. “You’re late.” He barked the moment she turned around.
“I’m not!” She immediately piped up in her own defense, dark eyes bright. “I got in with thirty seconds left on the clock.” She wasn’t one to nitpick, but her record was perfect. She hadn’t been to work late a single time in three years.
Carthright, however, only sneered at her from under his graying moustache. “Have you clocked in yet?”
Savannah froze, her stomach twisting in realization. Damn. Double damn. “I...um…”
“If you haven’t clocked in, you’re late. Pretty sure that’s in the employee handbook.” She flushed at the jibe, biting her tongue against the caustic retort that rose to her lips. She was the only one in the office that had received an employee handbook upon being hired, and she was pretty sure that Carthright only liked to throw it in her face to undermine her efforts.
“I’m sorry, I was catching my breath.”
He snorted. “Maybe if you left on time you wouldn’t be in such a rush to get to work.”
Savannah always left for work on time. She’d spent too much time watching others in the office get yelled at to even consider being late. Today had been a fluke - of that there was no question. But apparently, that wasn’t going to stop Carthright from getting up her ass.
“I’ll clock in right now, sir. My apologies
.” With that, she turned to go, hoping that would be all. It wasn’t.
“I didn’t say you could go. Have a seat, Jones.” When he gestured to the chair in front of his desk, Savannah fought the urge to flee. This was not how she had imagined her Monday going. But she was smart enough to know that if she made up an excuse to get away now, she would only have it worse later.
He barely gave her a moment to settle before he started in on her. “You’ve been here for what, a year, Jones?”
“Three.” She corrected him from between her teeth. “Three years.”
“And you haven’t gotten one pivotal assignment.” He was telling her things she already knew. “Do you know why that is?”
Slowly, Savannah shook her head. “There’s nothing extraordinary about your drive, Sam.”
He didn’t even know her name. Her goddamned name. Up until this point, Savannah thought she had been holding her temper admirably. She should have known better. She’d put up with her boss’s sexist, elitist behavior for the better part of three years. She had to have a boiling point.
“A woman that looks like you should garner all the attention in the world, but I don’t put you on anything because I never remember you.”
A woman who looked like her. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I know it’s hard to be a woman in a competitive workplace, but the key to getting assignments is being noticeable. Sexing it up a bit! Taking risks!”
In other words, he didn’t remember to give her good assignments because she covered all her important bits. Because she didn’t let her tits hang out like the only other female employee in the entire office. Sarah took her role as a sexy secretary very seriously - and Savannah couldn’t help but laugh at some of the outfits she wore into the office. It was obvious that she was only around because she was screwing someone important.
Something Savannah herself had sworn she would never do.
“So you’re telling me that I’m not memorable enough for you?” She knew she was going to get herself into trouble, but at this juncture, she didn’t care. Savannah had experienced enough verbal abuse to last her a lifetime. “I haven’t made enough of an impression.” She should stop. She knew she should stop. If she went on, she’d only be perpetuating the stereotype of angry black women - despite the fact that this would be her first offense. Carthright would find some way to spin it in his favor. He always did.
But she didn’t. “Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Carthright.” Savannah sprang up from her chair so she was staring the man directly in his piggy eyes. “I don’t regret not showing off my tits or my legs, or anything else except my work ethic.” When his eyes widened in shock, she merely continued boldly. Once Savannah started, she couldn’t stop. Something her father always told her would be the death of her. “I work hard on the assignments you give me. As part of a company - your company - I can’t just go out chasing my own leads. I have to take what I’m given. And when every other male publicist is given more than me, what am I supposed to do?” Taking a deep breath, Savannah drove her point home. “I’m not seducing anyone into giving me a career. If I get it, it will be on my own steam. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”
To her merit, almost a minute passed before the young woman regretted her outburst. The shocked look on Carthright’s face was almost worth all the degradation she’d experienced at his hands. Almost.
But a man like him recovered fairly quickly. Her boss’s expression went from irate to oddly amused in about five seconds flat. If he had only been angrier with her, Savannah could have coped. Even if he’d ranted and raved before ultimately firing her, that might have been better than thinking that he would somehow get retribution.
But Savannah didn’t get so lucky. “Work with what you’re given, huh?” Carthright’s voice was deceptively soft, his eyes gleaming with ill intent. “Why didn’t you say so, Sam? If you’re looking for a big break, that means all I have to do is toss the right client on your lap, right? Well, then: today’s your lucky day.”
Fuck. Fuck.
Now she’d gone and done it. A smart woman would try and back pedal. Apologize - beg, even. But Savannah had always been too proud for her own good. She said nothing, merely staring the man before her challengingly in the eye.
And sealing her fate.
Carthright dropped into his chair and immediately began clicking through files on his computer. Savannah knew she was in for a shit show, but now that she’d gotten herself into this particular situation, there was little she could do but watch.
“Alright then.” Within a minute, it was done. Her boss was printing out a sheet from his computer, and Savannah had a sinking feeling that she was about to crash and burn - spectacularly. “You wanted a big break, Savannah?” Her skin prickled when he said her name correctly. Had he really just been pretending this entire time? “Here you are.” With a smile that was far too wicked for his own good, Carthright handed her a piece of paper. “Your first client assignment. And you’ll be making his career, by the way.” When her boss’ smile widened Savannah thought she might be sick. “I can’t wait to see how well you work together.”
Somehow, she managed to stumble out of his office and back to her cubicle - even if she had no idea how.
In fact, Savannah sat at her desk, clutching the paper in her hand for a good minute or so before she finally got the courage to look at it.
Part of her felt as if she should be jumping for joy. It seemed like she had been trying to get an assignment like this for as long as she could remember. Savannah had spent her entire stint at Yates watching her male co-workers strike it big and wondering if she would ever get her chance. She thought the day when an assignment was finally placed on her desk would be a time to bask in her own success and celebrate her accomplishments.
But she could do none of that now. Not when she suspected that Carthright had no intention of furthering her career. Not when she called him out on being a sexist pig.
“So, how did it go?” When Theo wheeled his chair over to her cubicle to check on her, Savannah winced. With a sigh, she uncrumpled the paper in her fist and smoothed it out over the surface before her, considering.
“Well, I got an assignment.”
Theo immediately arched a brow at her tone. “That’s good...right? So why don’t you sound happy?”
“Because Carthright only gave me the assignment after I mouthed off at him.” She revealed in a groan. “I feel like that can’t be good for my career.”
Frowning, Theo propelled himself over to her side to take a look at the paper she’d uncrumpled. The moment his gaze fell on the name there, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Stricken, Savannah looked from him to the paper and back again. “What? Who is it?” She read the name herself, but didn’t recognize it.
That, of course, didn’t mean anything. She hardly considered herself up to date with pop culture.
It was obvious that where she was ignorant, however, Theo wasn’t. When he finally recovered from his apparent shock, he let out a long breath, running fingers through his dark hair. And then he said the words the young woman had suspected, but prayed against.
“Well, you might be a little fucked.”
Chapter 3: A Hard Assignment
It turned out that Savannah wasn’t just a little fucked. She was a lot fucked. So much so that she was still reeling from the blow she’d been dealt on her way home that evening. She had spent the entire day researching the client she’d been assigned, and what she learned made her want a very, very strong drink.
Torran Francis Maloney.
Of course, she hadn’t known him by name. How could she? She hardly kept up with sports, despite the fact that her father watched every boxing match he could get his hands on. Though Savannah had all but grown up in a gym, she had never quite adopted her father’s love for the sport. Instead, she’d been a quiet, bookish teenager that hadn’t even known what to do with her boobs when they had come in.
But Theo had k
nown all about Maloney - and the picture that he and the internet painted for Savannah wasn’t a pretty one.
The man was an Irish import from the city of Dublin, and had only been in the States for about three years. All the buzz surrounding him came from the very peculiar circumstances contributing to his rise to fame. He had grown up on the streets of Dublin and barely finished high school, but at age eighteen, he’d been picked up by an Irish venture capitalist who had seen him around the gym where he worked out and admired his drive. Said venture capitalist was Maloney’s ticket out of the slums, and ended up adopting the boy as a kind of surrogate son - much to the chagrin of every advisor he employed. When he died, Torran had inherited a billion-dollar empire at the snap of his fingers.
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