“Am I too late?” I whisper and look over the edge of her desk. “Is there a chance you’ll let me make this right?”
“How?”
I search the room until I spot a box of tissues. I grab a few and hand them to her.
“I thought of that too, and Merrilyn had a brilliant idea.”
“She’s pretty good at that.”
I nod my head, “She is.”
Quanesha rests forward with her elbows on the desk. I take a deep breath, thankful she hasn’t call security.
“What was the idea?”
“To do some billionaire shit.”
Quanesha's head falls back, and she laughs to the point I'm laughing. She rocks to the side. "You're lying. Merrilyn said, shit?" She slaps the desk then sits up, drying her eyes. "I don't believe you. I'll have to text her and—"
"Do you believe that I love you?" She stops searching my eyes for so long my heart forgets to beat. "Because my life doesn't seem like my own anymore. I keep waiting to see you sitting at the conference table. Or hear your laughter floating through the halls. I miss you so fucking much that it hurts, and whatever you ask, it's yours. Just say, yes."
"Rachelle, the temp, ruin my laundry and—" A man stops in the doorway looking between us. "You're not supposed to have personal guests in this area of the building."
I stand. “Carson Wellington, a friend of Gus Wilson.”
“Denzel Graves.”
I look over, and without saying a word, I ask, Is this him? She gives a discreet nod.
“Denzel, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
He cringes, taking my hand. "I wish I could say the same. Rachelle, the producers are waiting in the conference room. Nice meeting you, Carlton."
“Carson.”
“Oh, right. Don’t keep us waiting, Rachelle.”
The jerk leaves, and I have a check burning a hole in my pocket. She doesn't have to be here. But it's not my choice to make.
"Quanesha, tell me how I can help because I'm about five seconds from throwing you over my shoulder." I look over, and her smile eases the tension.
"You can't. I'm nervous enough."
“Don’t be. Your script is amazing.”
"I read the good parts."
I shrug a shoulder. “I heard enough to know you’re talented.”
"Thank you." She walks over. "I have this dual scenario in my mind. I can walk in there and let them tell me how they feel about my work. Then decide whether to put in my letter of resignation, or I can walk in there and say, kiss my ass bitches."
My chin drops to my chest, laughing. This woman gives me life and in true Quanesha-style. “And then what?”
“I can’t afford to leave this job and live in L.A. I can return home until I get a couple of scripts under my belt.”
“Or you can return to New York.”
“And do what?”
“Write. Read. Scratch your ass. The options are truly endless in New York.”
She cracks a smile. “I truly am a bad influence.”
"On that, I have to agree, but you're starting to smooth out my rough edges. Come home with me."
"I don't know, Carson. Isn't it too soon?"
"Try it. And if it doesn't work, we can think of other alternatives." I gather her face in my hands. "I have a private plane waiting to take us anywhere in the world. Just say, yes."
“Is this that billionaire shit Merrilyn spoke of?”
I smile. “A little.”
“Rachelle?” Her boss yells from behind us.
“I’ll be back. Wait for me.”
“I’ll be right here.”
She gives me a quick kiss and walks to the door.
"I love you, Quanesha, and whatever happens, I'll be here."
She disappears, and I sit in the chair, relieved. There's no way we're flying out tonight. I call Merrilyn.
“Call an emergency meeting with the managers. Tomorrow morning at ten.”
“Yes, sir. Did she say yes?”
“Not yet.” I smile.
“Ahhh, she’s a keeper. Probably got you sweating over there,” she says with a huff.
“And this is funny?”
“Mr. Wellington, she has a backbone, she gets you out of this office, and she makes you laugh. Reminds me of a younger version of myself.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, watching you and Pierce find love has me hopeful. Maybe there’s a man out there waiting for me too.”
“You’d marry again?”
"Why not? Going home to an empty house is only good on the nights you're working late. For all the others, it's lonely, and I miss having someone to leave the lights on for me." She falls silent. "It really is the little things."
She makes me think of my mother. Does she dream of one day marrying again too?
“Want me to find you a potential candidate?”
“Oh, no. I need someone more my speed. When the time is right, it’ll happen.” She sighs and jumps back in. “The email is out. When should I expect you?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
"Don't expect me in tomorrow morning. Dial me in, and I'd like for you to sit in my place until I return."
“To run the meeting?”
“No, run the hotel?”
Her gasp echoes through the line. “Me?”
“Yes, Merrilyn, you.”
"Mr. Wellington, your father, never asked me to…" Her voice trails off.
“Merrilyn, I wouldn’t trust The Wellington with anyone else. I can’t be in two places at once, and I can’t leave without smoothing things over with Quanesha. You can do this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” We talk through my itinerary again. I’ll stay a day or so here and head to Aspen to meet up with my family. “I’ll be there Wednesday morning to finish the last days of the conference.”
“Will you take Quanesha?”
“I plan to ask.” I’m about to end the call when it hits me. “Did you tell Mother about Quanesha?”
“A little?”
“Mother has you spying on me, doesn’t she?”
“She was concerned, and I told her enough to keep her from calling you every five minutes.”
I sit forward. I was so busy with Quanesha that I totally missed that. Mother would have called until I broke down and boarded my plane. I fix my mouth to thank her and wonder, “What did you tell her?”
“Only the juicy parts,” she laughs.
I stare at my phone. “I need a new assistant.”
Chapter 13
I enter the conference room. Uncertainty clouds my vision, but my dream is crystal clear. Four men and a woman sit behind a six-foot table with my script in front of them. Either way, I’m gambling on them or on Carson.
I walk over and sit in the chair, and I recognize the woman. It's Violet Masters. They must have added her to the show over the break.
I sit prepared to hear their feedback about my writing. It starts off promising until they reach Denzel. His comments are laced with words like "cliche," "not innovative," and ends with a whopping "amateur."