I suspect that I could negotiate an even bigger payoff, but I also want this job. And it’s becoming a point of pride.
Tears brim in my eyes, and I blink them away. “I can do a very good job here if you’d just let me.” My voice quavers, and I fight the urge to sniffle. I’m groveling, and it makes me sick inside. “Look, I know you have the power to fire me at any time. I know you could pile on so much work that I literally can’t finish things in the time you’ve assigned me. I’m just asking you to play fair and give me the chance to earn it. You did promise your sister you’d give me another chance. I’m asking you to keep your word to her and give me a real chance.”
Yeah, I played the sister card. I’m desperate.
His eyes widen in surprise. He opens his mouth to answer, but then his watch pings, and he glances down at it.
“I have to make a call.” He leaps to his feet. I’m leaking messy emotion all over the place, and he doesn’t want it to splash on him. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says. “Seven p.m. sharp.” And he hurries out of the room, leaving me sitting behind my desk with my lunch curdling inside me.
Chapter Sixteen
Blake
I go to Winona’s office a little early so I’ll have time to address the fact that I came close to making her cry, and that I’ve been a raging asshole since the day she started here. I want to explain myself – and defend myself. The thing is, I’m not being unreasonable. I wasn’t trying to force her out of her job and leave her with nothing. I made a very generous offer. I’m even willing to increase the offer, and find her a job somewhere else – for the sake of my sanity.
I don’t usually negotiate from a position of weakness, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that the redheaded terrorist is the exception to my every rule.
For one thing, when my investigations turned up the fact that she dropped out of the Fashion Institute of Technology in her sophomore year, losing her scholarship, and went home to Georgia to nurse her mother through cancer treatment, that punched me right in feels.
And then the fact that she refused the bribe I offered her to quit, when it’s obvious she needs the money, has earned my grudging admiration. Every other woman I’ve ever met turns into a slot machine when she sees me, dollar signs appearing in her eyes and an audible “ka-ching” ringing through the air. I know the Hudson handsome genes don’t hurt either, but in Manhattan, that’s barely enough to snag a second look. It’s all those zeros in my bank account that make me the ultimate prize – and leave me cautious about who I get involved with.
Winona’s the first woman in ages who’s shown no interest in how I can help her bottom line and her social status. I pause outside her office, wavering. Would it be so terrible to let her keep her job?
I glance into the office. She stands with her back to me, phone pressed against her ear.
“You’re going on a date with a billionaire?” That’s an older woman’s voice, with a lilting Georgia accent, pitched high with excitement. “How could you not tell me? Is he a good-looking billionaire?”
The hell?
“Mother!” Winona cries out.
“I told your Aunt Loretta too. And all those ladies down at the Kut & Kurl. So they can put that in their pipes and smoke it.”
She bragged about going out on a date with me because I’m rich? A sour feeling bubbles up in my gut. I never would have imagined her doing that. The manic pixie dream girl thing, the cloak of “boho and proud” she wears like a second skin…is it all an act?
“Mom! You really, seriously shouldn’t have. How did you even know?” Winona’s voice is a squawk of dismay. “Isabella ratted me out, didn’t she?”
I take a quiet step into the room, then another, shamelessly eavesdropping. I’m like a little boy, sulking because he found out the tooth fairy isn’t real – and mostly angry at himself because on some level he knew it all along.
“She was just happy for you!”
“Why are you even calling Isabella to check up on me?” Winona gripes.
“I called your house phone and she answered. And interrogating your friends is a mother’s privilege.” Winona’s mother’s voice goes all prim. “And she tells me things that you wouldn’t.”
“She speaks with forked tongue. It’s not a date, it’s a work thing. It’s nothing. He needed an assistant for the evening.”
She didn’t brag about dating a rich dude. I wasn’t wrong about her, and she’s not a gold-digger. The sour bubble pops and my mood lightens immediately. My mouth forms into a triumphant grin without my permission. I seize control of my facial muscles and force myself to look serious again.
“You didn’t answer my question! Is he a handsome billionaire?”
“No, mother, he is not. He’s the ugliest billionaire I’ve ever laid eyes on. Overweight, balding, and he has warts.”
Warts? I stifle a laugh.
“And halitosis,” she continues.
Hey! Low blow. I just brushed my teeth half an hour ago, but I breathe into my hand just to check. Minty fresh.
“Oh, pshaw,” her mother chides her. “He can use Listerine for that. If he’s that rich, you could gently encourage him to visit a dermatologist about those warts, and if he took some long, romantic walks with you that weight would come right off. And it’s just as–”
“I am going to cut you off right there. You were about to tell me that it’s just as easy to fall in love with a warty, toilet-breath, overweight rich man as it is a poor man?”
“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,” her mother huffs. “I bet he has a marvelous personality.”
“You’d lose that bet.”
Oh, she’s in for it now.
“I am sure by the end of the evening you’ll find you two have plenty in common,” she says. “He sounds like someone who’d love our little town, too. So when you move back here–”
That sends a jolt of alarm through me. Move back there? Hell no! Of course, that would solve the distraction problem. I could hardly be distracted if she lived hundreds of miles away, could I?
But no. She shouldn’t move back to Peach Pit. It’s just all wrong for her. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. And why is she fighting so hard for this job if she’s just planning on leaving anyway?
“Mom! You don’t need to bring that up every single conversation. And if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. I don’t want to be late to my hell-date. Love you. Also, stop stalking me and seek professional help.” She hangs up and turns around, and lets out a little squeak when she sees me.
“Warts?” I challenge her. “Hell-date?”
"You’re five minutes early! And how are you even here? I never heard you coming.” She looks at me suspiciously. “Do you have a cloak of invisibility? No, if you were invisible I’d still be able to hear you. You’re just super sneaky. Also, that was my mom I was talking to, and she’s trying to marry me off. Believe me, I was doing you a favor. If she thought I was on a date with an eligible, good-looking man, she'd fly to New York and try to micromanage us down the aisle."