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“It’s a nightmare,” I whisper, because the fallout could be severe. “If my family finds out, they’ll never be okay with me moving here. It’s like their worst fears have come true.”
“When you land a job next week, and I believe you will, you’re going to have to tell them about Barclay. He’s crazy for you, and there’s no way to keep news about a man like him contained. At least Miles will know who he is, right?”
“Barclay also promised Miles he’d keep an eye out for me.”
“Awkward, but will anyone be good enough for you in Miles’ eyes?”
“Probably not.” I sigh. “I’ve got to run and get ready.”
“It’s tough being you,” Maggie quips. “Send me a selfie before you leave for the dinner.”
“Wish me luck,” I say.
“Nah. You’ve got that in spades. I’ll wish that you get f—”
“Goodbye, Maggie.”
28
Barclay
The attendees for the Warwick Awards arrive in a steady stream. This is my first awards dinner as Hammond’s CEO, though I’ve been the prince in line to the throne for several years. I work the crowd and shake hands with rival publishers. Discuss the changing trends of our markets in the broadest of terms. Always putting a hopeful spin on what lies ahead.
Several of them congratulate me on Don Black’s latest hit, telling me he’s a shoo-in for book of the year. I graciously tell them it’s anyone’s guess, but their knowing eyes tell me it’d be a shock if he lost.
One thing’s for sure, every time I hear his name, I breathe a sigh of relief. He decided to stay with Hammond, and I have Tessa to thank for that.
Knowing Tessa should be arriving soon, I excuse myself from the gathering and make my way to the lobby to greet her. Don’s holding court at the bar. He has a drink in one hand and an arm wrapped around a brunette, who isn’t his wife. Old flirt.
My phone buzzes, and I answer.
“What’s up?” Tom Rogers, a fellow colleague, and his wife pass by me. I nod and raise my free hand.
“Sorry to bother you on the weekend, Mr. Hammond, but it’s rather urgent,” my head of marketing, Reece Young, says in a rush, though I can’t tell if it’s from excitement or concern.
“I’m at the Warwick and it’s getting ready to start, so make it quick.”
“There’s crazy buzz circulating on the street about the person I’ve set my sights on for millennial marketing. I need to get your okay for an out of the ordinary offer.”
“I discussed this with Mrs. Ratner.” Usually the exacts for any offer go through my human resource director. She works as a mediator between forces. “I gave my blessing for the title of junior marketing manager and a subsidized apartment. What more do you have in mind? The candidate did just graduate from college.”
“It’s the blog they started. It has an enviable audience in the millennial marketplace directed toward serious readers. Believe me, we need this person. Here’s what I’d like to propose. Seventy-five a year and we buy the rights to the blog with them continuing to grow it under the Hammond brand. Two other houses are looking to ask similar offers this week, but aren’t buying the blog. I say we strike first. Lay out the terms and ask for an immediate decision.”
Peering out the lobby’s door, I spot a blonde goddess with legs for days walking up the steps. “Make the offer, but keep the blog’s buy price at twenty-five or less. If anything, it will help them pay off possible student loans. Good luck.”
I pocket the phone, and stand in the shadows next to an interior wall, avoiding the reporters and cameras outside. They’re not allowed inside, so Tessa and I are safe past the entrance.
My smile grows with every step she takes toward me. Her dress hits mid-thigh with a feather hem showcasing her toned legs. The color is the lightest pink, like a chilled glass of rosé. A single strap around her neck holds up the dress. I bite my lip, imagining how little it would take for her dress to fall to the ground around her stiletto heels. The thought may drive me wild during the dinner.
The dress dips low between her breasts, revealing soft and ample cleavage. My eyes feast on all the exposed skin I can’t wait to explore.
The curve of her breasts. Delicate shoulders and neck. An uncovered back my fingers itch to touch.
Her outfit’s cut is daring, jaw dropping even, but classy enough for a black tie event. It fits her age, and will turn every head in the room.
Her blond hair is off her shoulders and twisted into a smooth knot, making her appear older, sophisticated, and perfectly formal.
Her azure colored eyes shine with curious excitement as she looks from side to side. She wears a stifled smile, as if she’s containing a full-blown grin. God, I want to possess those full pink lips of hers.
