by Tia Souders
“Yeah, for like three months.”
“Grant . . .” Blake’s voice cracked with desperation. He eyed Mel’s dreary building as he approached like a man headed to the gallows, which he basically was.
“Fine. First of all, she has triplets, so forget the usual tactics. Those all go out the door. The way I see it, with multiples, you have like a hive mind going.”
Blake pulled a face. He wasn’t wrong. “Go on . . .”
“It’s like a pack of wild dogs. They’ll team up on you. They’ll smell your fear and prey on the weak. The key is to take control from the start and never give an inch. Make everything you want them to do into a game, and when that doesn’t work, use reverse psychology. Oh, you little punk, you want to spit your mac and cheese on the floor? Fantastic. I was hoping to redecorate with a noodle-inspired throw rug.”
“I’m supposed to let them spit food on the floor?”
“No, you tool.” Grant sighed over the line. “The key is to make them think you want them to do the opposite of what you want them to do. Also, keep them as busy as possible. Don’t even give them time to get bored.”
That did fall in line with the little research Blake did over the weekend, where he read up on how kids need structure.
“I’m getting a headache.” Blake rubbed his temple with his free hand and paused outside the entryway to Mel’s apartment complex.
“Listen, if all else fails, she’s a single mom, right?”
Blake hesitated before responding. Where was he going with this? Did he want to know where he was going with this? “Yeah?” he answered hesitantly.
“So they’re not used to having a man around. Play that to your advantage. Raise your voice and take command of the room. They’ll listen. Then, once you get their attention and instill a little fear, show them how cool men are compared to women. I mean, moms have nothing on dads, right? Think about it. We’re stronger, better at sports, give better pony rides, and we grill better.”
Blake snorted. “All of that’s decidedly sexist and not exactly a long list of endorsements.”
“Dude, are you even listening?”
“Oh, I’m listening.”
“Why did you take this job? Other than because you have the hots for the mom.”
“I do not—” Blake set his jaw. He could practically see Grant’s one-sided smirk over the line. Grant knew darn well why he took it and was just trying to goad him. “Because I need to prove that despite being abandoned and growing up without a family, I can be a good husband and father.”
Dang. It sounded so harsh when he said it like that. Made Jen’s parents look like total jerks for suggesting it.
“Right. So, go in there, take control like you did of your business. Tell them how the day is going to go. Whoop some kiddy butt into shape and prove it. Stop being a giant pansy.”
Blake clutched his phone tighter and turned, staring at the door to Mel’s place, nodding his head at Grant’s pep speech.
He didn’t often admit this, but Grant was right. He needed to suck it up, act like a man, go in there, and take charge. He was a grown man for heaven’s sake. He started his own business before twenty and lifted his brother and himself out of what would have assuredly been a life of poverty. He could handle three children. Even if the little monsters did secretly scare the crap out of him.
He could do this. For Jen. Her parents. Himself. And Mel. Her name in his thoughts startled him. He barely knew her, yet somehow she had been the main reason that kept him coming back. Because she needed him. Because he could see the desperation in her eyes, the determination to make a better life for her kids. And he could appreciate that. He saw her struggle, knew how hard she was trying, and there was a huge part of him that wanted to help her. Something about her tugged at him, and he couldn’t deny it even if he tried.
MEL
“YOU CAME,” SHE SAID as she stared at Blake from her open door.
He offered her a smile, and she had the insatiable urge to yank him inside and kiss him with gratitude.
“I told you I’d come back, didn’t I?” he asked as he stepped inside.
“Well, yeah. But so have several others before you, so it’s hard to know what to believe.” She turned and hurried into the kitchen. Snatching her travel mug, then her briefcase, she gingerly handled the strap just so in order to keep it from falling off (she’d learned that lesson a time or two), then paused in front of Blake.
Caroline had called her last night and informed her that after Lorenzo’s “research,” Blake was “good stuff.” Apparently, one of his men bought a bike from him once.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding her hands out. Her nerves this morning had little to do with the man about to watch her children and everything to do with heading into work and starting a new position she felt entirely unprepared for. Normally, she wasn’t preoccupied with her wardrobe, but things felt different now. She wore a black pencil skirt and a royal blue blouse with black heels she hoped looked professional enough. She had even woken fifteen minutes early and taken the time to style her hair and throw on some chunky costume jewelry, which was about as rare for her as seeing a zebra on the subway. “Do I look like a senior editor of a major magazine?”
As his gaze trailed her from head to toe, she felt her skin flush in response. “You definitely look the part,” he said, then rubbed his jaw and averted his eyes.
She could be completely off base, but she swore she saw a flicker of appreciation there, beyond a man simply giving his stamp of approval. “Great. Uh, the kids are asleep but will probably be up any second because they were stirring when I was getting ready in the bathroom. Coffee’s over there,” she said, glancing toward the kitchen. “There’s cereal, but we’re low on milk so—”
“Mel.” Two strong hands gripped her biceps, and she swiveled her head back to him. “We’ve got it. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about us. Just worry about you.”
Mel’s heart picked up speed as relief simultaneously flooded her veins. Just worry about you. She gave a half-laugh. “No one’s said that to me in a really long time.”
While it was true she had her parent’s help for four years, she had always felt like a burden. Like her mother having to watch her kids because she couldn’t afford childcare was a huge inconvenience. The fact they moved so swiftly once her father retired, reaffirmed, in her mind, she had been right. Not that they didn’t love their grandchildren. But they were entitled to their own lives without having to revolve them around Mel’s. Hearing Blake say those words was like receiving an unexpected gift. So much so, she felt her eyes prick with tears.
What the heck is wrong with you?
She shook her head and cleared her throat, laughing at herself as she stepped back out of his grip. For some reason with his hands on her, all she could think about was how the heat soaked through her clothes, into her bones, making her heart beat just a bit faster.
Once she was out of reach, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. His leather jacket hung open, revealing a caramel-colored t-shirt that made the rich brown of his eyes look like melted chocolate. She hadn’t realized until now that his hair wasn’t simply unruly or messy, but slightly wavy. It swooped over the top of his head and fell over his eyes, and she was pretty sure it would curl if long enough.
She smoothed her skirt and exhaled in an effort to snuff out the jittery feeling in her gut. “Sorry. It’s nerves,” she said, running a hand over her hair self-consciously. “But I’ve got this, right?”
I can do this.
“You can totally do this,” he said, speaking her thoughts.
She nodded and bit her lip, thinking how ironic it was that usually, she was pretty carefree. She wasn’t the type to sweat over the small stuff or to get worked up. Giving birth to triplets, then having your husband abandon you kind of did that to you. Not much surprised her. Not much stressed her out because her and stress were in bed together on a daily basis, and she’d become immune.
So why was she so nervous now?
Maybe because this promotion was different. She needed it desperately, and the fear it would all just go away in an instant, frightened her. That, combined with the fact that she no longer had the support of her parents, left her reeling. She was on her own. It was up to her whether she failed or succeeded.
“You know, when I first opened B’s Bikes,” Blake said, backing up until he leaned against the side of the couch, “I was a wreck. Frightened would’ve been an understatement. I mean, what did I know about owning a business? Bikes and engines and motors, sure. I could rebuild an engine with a blindfold on, but business?” He shook his head. “I was just a kid from the Bronx, lucky to come out of the system alive and fairly unscathed. I was eighteen and on my own. Everything depended on my success. I had no back-up plan, no one to rely on. And in a couple years, my brother would be eighteen and in the same boat. I either succeeded, or we were out on the streets.”
Mel frowned. “You were. . .?”
“Foster kids. Our stories could be better, but they could be a whole lot worse, too. When I opened B’s, it was with a leap of faith. I plastered a smile on my face, mustered every ounce of determination I had and went with it. At first, I worked private side jobs until I had the cash to lease a place. I never once stopped to doubt. I just . . .” He shrugged. “Went with it. I ignored the voice in the back of my head that had the power to scare me into failing, and I did what I needed to.”
“That’s amazing—that you were able to start a business from nothing like that and succeed, especially in this city.”
Blake shrugged. “I did what I needed to survive. Just like you’re doing what you need to for you and your kids.”
Mel glanced away, and her throat bobbed. Was it the same thing? What Blake described? He sounded strong, self-assured, courageous even, for taking on his venture. But her? She felt like she fell into this promotion.
“Mel,” he said, and she tried to ignore the soft caress of her name on his lips.
Was she that desperate for affection and assurance that she was finding it in this man she only knew for a week?
When she met his gaze, he continued, “You can do this. You’ve got the position. It’s only yours to lose. All you need to do is go in there like you’ve earned it because you have. Plaster a smile on your face, push your shoulders back, and do that job. One task at a time. One day at a time. And all the while, keep your eye on the prize.”
“My eye on the prize?”
He nodded, and the newspaper clipping with the pretty white house flashed in her head. An image of the children chasing fireflies during the summer at night. Raking leaves in the fall and jumping in the piles. A dog dancing at their feet as they ran. Snowmen in the yard.
She met his eyes once more and nodded, her mouth set in a grim line of determination. Just do the job.
A wave of relief washed through her, and something eased off her shoulders—some invisible weight she hadn’t known was there.
She reached out, and this time, she was the one to squeeze his arm. Even through the leather jacket, she felt the curve of his bicep, the firm muscle, and she swallowed. “Thanks,” she whispered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MEL
As the new executive editor, Mel was just below Hillary as chief operating officer. She would run the entire editorial department for the digital column, while Hillary oversaw all departments—the print magazine, digital, and everything in between.
Being an executive editor meant a good deal of the weekly meetings were now under her reign. Though their old boss, Blue, was a control freak and managed the bulk of meetings and editorial assignments herself, the new owner of PopNewz, the infamous Jayce McConnell was not a fan of matriarchies apparently; hence the new restructuring and Mel’s promotion, which meant a lot of the old tasks Blue used to control, were now her responsibility. To say it was surreal was an understatement.
She sat in the conference room, waiting as the PopNewz editorial team filed in and took their seats. Below the expansive boardroom table, her knee jiggled. The hand gripping her pen was slick with sweat, and her pulse raced.
What if no one took her seriously? What if she vomited all over the boardroom table and made a spectacle of herself? She could see it now. The new headline in her own magazine would read, New Executive Editor at PopNewz Fired After Spewing Cheerios all Over Her Editorial Staff.
Her usually Zen nature had vanished in the last couple weeks. Work used to be her safe place. A place where she could chill and unwind from responsibilities at home. Now it was another place where she’d be challenged mentally. With that thought, dawning struck as she realized the root of her problem. Taking this promotion meant she’d no longer have that same refuge from the selflessness that was motherhood. Before, she got to lunch with her friends, have coffee, and catch up, all while doing something she enjoyed for a living. Writing her column had been low stress, easy work because it came naturally. But now . . . Work was new and scary with a ton of new responsibilities—good, yes, but the fear she might screw up trumped any previous enjoyment. She no longer had an escape in her work. She’d be challenged and pushed. Everything was shiny and new, and she was quickly filling with self-doubt because of it. It was screwing with her head.
She watched Dave, their new hire as of last week (the only male on the editorial staff), settle into his chair, coughing to hide the fact that he passed wind on his way down. The door closed with an ominous thud, which is when Mel glanced around and realized with a jolt, the room had filled during her fretting. Everyone was accounted for. They stared over at her with a multitude of expressions. Some bored, some with the twinkling eyes of a predator eyeing its prey. They spotted the weak, and it was their time to pounce.
Beneath the table, she felt a firm hand come down over her jostling leg and glanced to her right to see Marti. Marti raised her brows, giving her a fierce look, as if to say, you got this. When Mel looked to her left, she knew what she would find, and sure enough, Caroline sat there, poised, as gorgeous as ever with her shampoo-commercial blond hair and flawless makeup. Two best friends, flanking her like support beams. And when Caroline grinned and mouthed, “So proud of you,” all of Mel’s doubts dissolved into a cloud of dust.
She had sat in on a million of these meetings with Blue. She knew what she was doing.
Just do the job, she remembered Blake say.
Steeling her spine and squeezing her pencil tight to squelch her remaining nerves, she tipped her chin. Hillary had announced her tentative promotion to the entire crew last week, so there was no need for pleasantries or introductions. They all already knew her. But she had been their coworker for four years and on equal playing ground. Now, she had to be their boss.
“Okay, let’s start with the Community section, shall we?” She shifted her attention toward Beth, a slight brunette with a sunny disposition. “I know you might have something for me, but Hillary came by my office first thing this morning. Word is, two women just filed sexual assault suits against the infamous Jimmy Frank.”
Beth’s eyes widened. “The actor?” To say she was a huge supporter of the Me Too movement was an understatement, which is why Mel picked her for this piece.
Mel nodded. “We want you to take it. Supposedly, they attended one of his acting retreats for up and coming talent and say he exploited them. Can you handle it?”
The light in Beth’s eyes brightened. “Absolutely.”
“Great.” Mel made a note in her binder of Beth’s assignment, then glanced beside her. “Caroline.” Mel forced down her smile. She had to be impartial, no playing favorites. “What have you got for me?”
Caroline folded her hands in front of her, her lips quirking. “Well, when I was walking into work today, I passed this woman. She was dressed all in black. Black lipstick, eyeliner, everything. I was thinking maybe something along the lines of what it’s like to be goth as an adult in the workplace. I mean, we’ve all seen those kids wh
en we were in school, but then what happens to them? Do some of them change? What about the ones who don’t?”
Mel pursed her lips. “It’s unique and fun,” she said, thinking out loud. “I like it. Go for it.”
She marked Caroline off, then went to the next person. “Trish, I assume you’re writing about the president being court-ordered to turn over his tax returns?”
The rest of the meeting went without a hitch, so much so, Mel had no idea what she had been worried about, and by the time lunchtime rolled around, she was practically bursting at the seams with the need to chat with the girls.
The three of them plowed into the freebie closet. Marti turned and closed the door behind them, while Mel pursued the spring fashion rack with renewed interest. Once the fashion staff was done with the clothes for the photo shoots, all editorial employees were allowed to borrow items. Mel had never considered it before, herself, mostly because Blue had been extremely territorial over it, but now that she had a new position, she could use a little wardrobe refreshing.
“Wouldn’t this be great for Paris?” Marti asked, plucking out a little black off the shoulder dress with an A-line hem.
Ignoring her, Caroline squealed and bounced on her toes, drawing Mel’s attention away from a royal blue wrap dress that would look amazing under a fitted blazer. “You were amazing!”
Mel grinned and took a seat on the plush bench in the center of the room. “I was, wasn’t I? I mean, I was petrified at first, and then I saw both of you, and I realized how stupid that was. I’m actually going to be able to pull this off,” she said in awe, more to herself than anyone else.
“Of course you are,” Marti said. “I only wish we could go out for celebratory drinks Friday night. Do you think this new manny might be willing to work a little overtime?”
The thought of drinks with her girlfriends sounded amazing. How long had it been since she’d had a night out?
