Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) (6 page)

“Lynden shuttle!” a voice carries from the main entrance announcing Trey’s ride to the airport.

He sighs and his body slumps. We’re both resigned. “That’s you.” I try to at least play the part of strong and tap my hand on an open section of his chest and step back. I don’t make it far when his arms tighten around me again and we share the quiet embrace.

“Last call Lynden shuttle!” The unseen reaper to our short relationship slashes his scythe again.

“I guess this is it.” Trey releases me and steps away from the column. He pauses, face tight, his forehead wrinkled in thought. His hand reaches to his face where he runs his thumb against the dark stubble. “Make sure and stay warm this winter.”

Our gaze lingers for a moment and then Trey takes a deep breath, turns, and heads toward the front entrance without a backward glance. I’m left stunned in my place by our column. “Stay warm this winter?” That’s what I get as my monumental good-bye?

Every piece of excitement and thrill Trey gave me over the last two days is sucked away as I watch him walk around the corner and out of sight. Teenagers have less emotionally fueled romances than this. Hell, my chest didn’t hurt this much when during my junior year of high school Tommy Jones — who I thought was my soul mate — cheated on me after I gave him my virginity.

The worst part… we didn’t even get a good-bye kiss.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The stench of warm hotdogs and sweat follows me from the New York City street into the building lobby. Are we all too busy running around from one location to another to notice the smell New York carries on her back? Maybe things are more pungent for me today after my week with ocean breezes and Trey’s spicy cologne. New York looks the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. Some of the city’s glow, the spark, the presence that keeps the city alive seems to have fizzled out while I was gone. Or it could be Monday, and who doesn't hate a Monday? Especially a Monday after a vacation.

The elevator stops on the sixth floor and the walk to my yellow-walled office is quick so I don’t have to greet anyone or give out the details of my vacation. The whole communication thing is too daunting a task this morning. I plan to sink into my computer chair and answer the hundred and fifty emails I didn’t get to from my apartment last night.

New York City might not make my veins sing as it did a week ago, but my office hasn’t changed. I unpack my small soft leather briefcase and start up my laptop. If I were smart I’d keep to my normal routine and visit the breakroom for a cup of coffee to start my day, but the thought of nosey coworkers keeps me away. My email program loads on the screen before me, but my brain still has me in a lounge chair poolside.

“Hey, Simone. How was the trip?” A much too bright for a Monday morning voice brings me out of my gloom, at least for a moment. The cute and perky redhead it belongs to walks into my office with a steaming mug held out in front of her.

“Thanks.” I graciously take the cup of coffee from one of my closest friends in New York and place it on my desk to cool.

Stacy doesn’t move from her spot in front of my desk, and her black dress pants block my sight out the door. “So, vacation?” she prompts again.

“Urgh, I don’t even want to talk about it now. Give me a few hours to re-acclimate to city life.”

Her head tilts in my direction. “That bad, huh? Family drama?”

I stare into my coffee cup. “No, that good.” I sigh as I look up again.

Stacy cocks her head to the side in question but doesn’t ask more of me. “Okay, fine, keep it to yourself for now, but drinks tonight. I want all the details.”

“Okay, the place across the street. You need to fill me in on everything that went on here while I was gone too.”

Stacy’s hands fall to her hips and she leans over placing half her body over my desk. “Girl, you won’t believe what went down last week. Jay's being tight lipped, but something seriously bad happened with our West Coast branches,” she whispers.

“Do you work in one of our West Coast branches, Stacy?” the deep voice of my boss, Jay, filters in from my doorway and we both jerk to straight positions. Our casual act doesn’t work on him as he walks farther into my space. “Why don’t we spend more time worrying about what goes on around here? Peterson is outside your office looking for you.”

Stacy squints her eyes at Jay but is out the door without a good-bye. I don’t blame her. Peterson, our office manager, is not a man you let wait.

“I take it you and Stacy did not get back together last week?”

Jay leans against my bookshelf, his head thrown back to the white ceiling. His dark suit looks good against his light black skin, but from his posture the week wore on him.

“She’s crazy, Simone. I don’t know what the woman wants from me.”

Stacy wants full commitment, but she doesn’t think she should have to tell him. She expects Jay to figure it out on his own. It’s taking him longer than she planned for. “All girls are crazy, Jay. It’s our own little conspiracy.”

His face brightens at my words. “Yeah, well don’t ever date someone you work with. It’s nothing but trouble.” He steps closer to my desk and taps his knuckles on the top twice. “Come on. Peterson’s requested a meeting with us right now.”

He puts air quotes around the word “requested” since it’s not like any of us could turn down a meeting when the big man wants to see us.

“Why? What did you mess up without me here to fix your mistakes?”

“Me? Why do you think it’s me? Maybe it’s you.” He knocks on my desk one more time and strides to the door.

I grab the yellow notebook from the top of my desk and a pen before I follow him out. Six doors down, Jay stops to knock on Mr. Bob Peterson’s office door. Not that anyone calls him Bob, not if you want to still have a job when you’re done.

“Come in!”

“The man might be going on seventy, but he still has a set of iron lungs, huh?” Jay says back to me and then opens the door with a fresh smile plastered on his face.

Mr. Peterson sits behind his big black wooden desk. His literal corner office would be bright and maybe even a little inviting if you didn’t know the man who occupied it. It’s not that our boss is a bad guy. I’ve seen him dance the funky chicken with his wife at our holiday party. No one should be imposing after you’ve seen them cluck and wave their arms like wings, but somehow the guy does it. Impose, that is.

“My lungs aren’t the only part of me in good working order. I also have impeccable hearing, Miller.”
See
! Mr. Peterson waves a wrinkled hand in front of him and motions for us to sit in the two green fabric chairs in front of his desk.

“Sorry, sir.” Jay becomes overly interested in the folder he’s placed on his lap.

“Right, well, we aren’t here about you, Jay. I wanted to speak with Simone.” He looks to me and I try to keep the panic from my features. “I’m sure you’re aware of all the trouble on the West Coast last week, so I won’t go over it again. But as you know, it's messy.”

I have no idea what’s messy, but there is no way I’ll ask for clarification now. It’s up to me to fake it and have Jay fill me in later.

“Until our Los Angeles branch recovers from their walk-out, they can’t offer San Francisco any help in finding a replacement. Walters, the office manager, called and asked me for my best employee. The time table’s short, but I want to offer it to you, Simone. You’ve shown yourself to be dedicated to the Lowry, Lowry, and Fink Company over the last five years, and this is your chance to shine and show us what you’re made of.”

For the first time since I met Stacy, I’m upset that she didn’t get the chance to fill me in on all this gossip. At least then I’d have half a clue what we're talking about. Of course, even if I did know the horrendous details, most of my thoughts were lost when Peterson muttered the words San Francisco.

To avoid more awkward silence, I open my notebook. My pen clicks once, the sound too loud in the now quiet cavernous office while both men stare at me. “I’m sorry, sir, and how is it you’d like me to help out the San Francisco branch?”

The options float around in my head. A month to train a new employee, an inner company audit. There are so many options. Options that will allow me to see Trey again.

“By moving there.”

“Excuse me?” Both bosses sigh in unison and I bristle. I’m the one clueless one here. “For how long?”

“Ms. Stevens, I’m offering you a promotion to Executive Account Manager in our San Francisco office.” His smooth words slice open my entire existence.

The office falls silent, the soft hum of the laptop the only distraction. Peterson and Jay’s eyes haven’t left me. Both men sit straight and wait for my decision, but I’m back on the beach in Nassau with Trey. What would it mean to be in the same city as him? Forever. How different could my vacation have been if this happened the week before I left?

Mr. Peterson fills the quiet in a possible attempt to talk me into the position, unaware my answer was decided for me on a jet ski four days ago. “I won’t lie to you, Walters, the office manager is an asshole. He’s half the reason they’re in this mess, but he’ll make the move worth your time. A promotion, pay increase, and our full relocation package.”

There is finally movement to my left as Jay’s head swings to my direction. “Simone, you’d be great at this. We’ve been more partners than boss and assistant for at least our last three years together. You should do it.”

“It’s a big decision. If you need a few days to think about it, I understand, but don’t make us wait too long.” Mr. Peterson stands from his desk to usher Jay and me out.

I stand but don’t move with the sweep of his arm. “I don’t need to think about it, sir. I’d love the promotion.”

“Great! I’ll tell Walters you’ll be there by the end of the month.” Mr. Peterson claps me on the back to seal the deal.

San Francisco by the end of the month?

CHAPTER EIGHT

One month later

“Your dress is a little stuffy for the west coast. You need to work on updating your wardrobe. You aren’t in New York City anymore, Simone.”

There’s nothing wrong with my wardrobe or tonight’s little black dress, and my new Rossi red pumps are to die for. The only problem in the room would by my new boss, Roger Walters. At forty-five he’s one of the youngest branch managers in the company, but it’s his need to control his employees like we’re incapable of the smallest decisions that sets him apart. I understand why he’s known as the company asshole on both coasts.

“Of course, sir.” I brush him off and finish the walk into the hotel ballroom a few steps in front of him.

I’m eager to get away from my 5’5” tall manager with the face of a bull terrier. With his elongated head and beady little eyes, he'd win one of those “People who look like their pets” contests. If he doesn’t already have a bull terrier, I'm sure the office would all chip in and get him one for Christmas.

The thought returns the smile I’ve been missing since Roger picked me up from my new apartment thirty minutes ago. Riding in his little red convertible confirmed what I’ve suspected multiple times during my first week of work. Roger is compensating for something.

“Make sure and stay with me until we leave. I want to know what connections you make,” he takes my arm in his to escort me into the large white building in front of us. The fabric of his black tux scratches my arm, but I resist the urge to remove it.

The Fairmont Hotel is beautiful on the outside with its large white stone exterior to greet our arrival, but it all pales to the inside of the opulent meeting room we’re in tonight. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling every few feet from one another. The white walls are covered in ornately carved moldings reaching to the ceiling. Tall glass vases display fresh lilies at each table, and their fragrance follows us as we cross the room to a table in the back.

When I don’t respond to Roger’s latest dig he continues, “The Moore family has been one of our largest clients since this branch opened twenty-five years ago. Their grandson, Grant is set to inherit the operation of the family business, but the rest of the money will stay with us in trust funds.”

“Right.” I try to take in all the information and categorize it for later use. Basically, don’t screw up at this event because these people have a lot of money. Got it.

A long table covered with a white cloth and decorated with gold place settings lines the back wall of the room. In front stand two people as they casually greet guests. From this distance they look a little similar, both are shorter and sport greyish white hair in short cuts. Mrs. Moore wears hers in a spikey do and it matches the sparkle of her long floor length dress. Her companion, Mr. Moore has a pouch of a belly, but still looks smart in his tux. It's obvious why these two are a power couple. They still have the spark.

“The Moores,” Roger whispers in my ear and turns us in their direction. I guess he assumes I’m blind as well as incompetent. We close the distance at a quick pace before he pulls me to the side. “Do you think you’re up to meeting them? I handle their account personally, but it would be nice to have someone on backup if I decide you can handle it one day.”

My new boss’ lack of confidence in me has started to wear me a little thin. I’ve spent the last five years with some of the richest families in New York. If I can handle the stuffy East Coast, I can handle the laid back personalities here in the West.