Okay, so he redeemed himself a little with giving Trish a raise. But at what cost? Me acting like a complete fool in front of him? Does he really need someone to stand in front of him, waving a giant red flag, to get his attention?
“You know what you need? A drink!” Speaking of attention, mine is being called.
Malory, as vice president of Asher Marks Communications, has requested my presence for an emergency meeting… at the nail salon.
“Malory, I’m not going out for a drink in the middle of the workday. It’s bad enough you have me getting a mani when I have a desk full of work to do!”
Crossing her legs and swiveling toward me, while keeping her hands in place for the nail technician, Malory leans her head to the side with a condescending look in her eye.
“Kat, you worry too much. And how is this any different from taking a lunch?”
I roll my eyes at her and stare at the simple yet classic color I chose for my nails. “I don’t worry. I’m just practical. A manicure during my lunch hour seems like… cheating.”
Pursing her lips, she gives me her scowl that’s equal parts serious and sexy. “You know what they say about nail polish. You are the color you wear.”
I look down at the rustic bronze color being painted on my nails. It has a subtle golden shimmer that’s restrained yet warm and sensuous.
Malory raises her eyebrows and motions toward the bottle of Essie nail polish. I turn it over to see the clever name “All Tied Up.”
“Funny.” I chide. “What does yours say?”
“Fear or Desire!” With a wicked laugh, she swivels back to face her technician. “And for the record, the drink in question is after work. I thought we could go out, just the two of us. Maybe even get our flirt on.”
I shake my head. “As much as I’d love to have my ego boosted by a stranger at a bar, I cannot. I have to be home so the sitter can leave.”
“Well, make sure the sitter stays late next Thursday. Everyone’s going out for Heather’s birthday. You can’t be the only one not going.”
“First of all, if Heather had anything but contempt for me, I’d be enticed, but the answer is no. I have to get home to Jackson.”
Flipping her black hair behind her shoulders with one fluid motion of her head, Malory shrugs her shoulders. “I had to ask. Should’ve known you’d be a party pooper. Are you twenty-eight or fifty-eight? I seem to have forgotten.”
“Excuse me for being ‘all tied up’… pun intended.”
Speaking into the air, as if talking to herself, yet knowing I’m in earshot, she says, “I don’t want you waking up one day and regretting your youth passed you by while you focused on raising a baby.”
Where the hell is this coming from? “Going out for a drink for Heather’s birthday is not going to fill some void. Thank you for the offer, but I am otherwise engaged.” If Malory can hear the disdain in my voice, she doesn’t let on.
Instead, she throws this zinger at me. “Gabriel doesn’t seem to have a problem going out after work.”
My mouth falls open and I have to remind myself to breathe. Malory laughs to herself and asks the cosmetologist for a wax.
I’m silent on the way back to the office while Malory goes on and on about how she was able to close this incredible deal with one of the events underwriters.
As we arrive back at the office, Trish greets us with a concerned look on her face. “Mr. Asher called a three o’clock staff meeting.”
I look down at my watch. “That’s in five minutes. He’s not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
“I know.” Trish whisks her redheaded body out from behind reception. “His reception called around two. Erik was in a panic. I’ve never seen him so unsteady. I’ve been running around trying to gather the crew and get the conference room in order.”
Shit. I didn’t polish off my spreadsheet. I spent the last four days taking all the materials Asher signed off on and getting them in production. I was hoping to finalize that tomorrow morning.
I feel overwhelmed. A few weeks ago, I didn’t even know who this man was, and today I’m falling apart at the thought of seeing him. Is it because I feel unprepared or because I feel… unprepared?
Breathe. Calm down and breathe… in and out.
I run down to my office, peering into the conference room and other office spaces on my way down. Everyone is frantic, dancing around like little mice scurrying from the presence of a cat. And all the excitement is making me jittery.
I print up what I’ve completed and grab a notepad from my desk.
Glancing in a mirror on the way down the hall, I check my appearance. My brown locks are up in a French twist. My navy skirt still looks crisp. And, thankfully, I have freshly painted nails. Hopefully no one will notice how fresh they are. I tug at my blouse and adjust my necklace. With my paperwork in hand, I stroll confidently in the conference room.
Just like last time, there is a lone seat next to Asher, meant just for me.
The meeting goes better than expected. Asher starts by inquiring about ad sales and then moves on to the technical and graphics teams. He listens to everyone’s progress reports and makes decisions on what should be executed next. He has a way of being stern and abrupt without being harsh or mean. One by one, he calls on each member of the production team and listens for the issues at hand and resolves them. The man has a way of seeing the big picture and filling in the blanks. No matter how big or small the problem may be, he has an answer.
I find myself staring at his full lips as they speak with ease. I imagine all the women he’s kissed with those lips.
I looked around the room. How many women in here has he kissed? I smile, thinking he definitely hasn’t kissed Heather.
“Mrs. Monroe. How are you doing on the Lincoln Center itinerary?”
Shit. I was lost in thought. I try to control myself. Fumbling for my papers, I spew out what I’ve committed to memory. “The rundown for the televised portion of the evening is still being laid out. I’ve submitted an itinerary to Erik.” I hand Asher a printout. “It can also be found in the company drop box.”
Asher’s eyes skim the document as I continue. “I was only able to make final confirmations with several vendors this week, but as it stands, deliveries will be made starting at three in the morning.”
I rush through a list of who’s arriving and what they’re setting up as well as their estimated time of setup from start to finish. “Guests will arrive starting at six o’clock… and Gretchen and I are working on an opening act for the performance. There seems to be some confusion on who should be appearing at the park event and who should be at the Lincoln Center gala. I was hoping for someone hot, like the new pop star Ashley Sands.”
I swallow hard and wait for a response, unsure if I should continue.
“That’s an interesting idea.” He stresses the word interesting with a condescending tone and continues. “But this is a group with a lot of wealth and class. The Philharmonic will open the event. It’s their home venue so they should be the ones to open the show.”
Is he insinuating I don’t have class or wealth?
I feel like he’s putting on a show. As if he were saying, “See I can be a nice guy, but don’t forget, I am in charge here so if I don’t like what I hear, I can change it at any time.”
Nonetheless, my inner sparring warrior takes her stance. “With all due respect, the Philharmonic is impressive, but we should open the show with a bang or else the event will feel uptight and unwelcoming.”
Take that, Asher. I just called you uptight!