AllFreeNovel
Share Us
ONE
SAMANTHA
Lips pursed, I tilt my head to the side. “Is it me, or does it need to go up about a quarter of an inch on the right?”
My all-too-capable—and long-suffering—assistant Allegra raises the banner exactly one-quarter of an inch and awaits my verdict.
Squinting, I study the “WELCOME BACK, WILDCATS” banner with the keen attention to detail that helped me graduate first in my class in high school and build my little empire after business school. Well, it’s not so little. It’s big enough that I’ve been featured in Forbes no fewer than five times, thank you very much.
I know it’s only a banner. Just like I know only a few hundred people will see it hanging in the high school gymnasium. Still, I want every detail of this weekend to be perfect. Including the banner.
“That looks great.” I give a short nod. “Do you need help coming down?”
“I’ve got this, Ms. Wingfield.”
I grin in satisfaction. I wish I could take credit for Allegra’s work ethic and skill at just about everything she does. While I’ve shown her a thing or two since hiring her, she’s always been the driven and dedicated woman now climbing up the corporate ladder while climbing down a literal ladder.
In high heels.
Regardless of her assurances, I hold the bottom of the ladder steady. The last thing we need right now is for Allegra to slip and hurt herself. Selfishly, there’s no way I could pull off this class reunion all by myself.
As vice-president of my class at Pacific West High, it’s my responsibility to organize our 10-year class reunion and make sure everyone has an amazing time taking a trip down memory lane. Of course, it wouldn’t be my sole responsibility if Zack Strovers ever answered any of my emails. As the guy who narrowly beat me to claim the title of president, this really should have been his job.
I was never able to prove it, but I always wondered if Zack’s dad paid someone off to give him a few extra ballots. God knows the only reason he was so popular was because his dad owns half of the town and everyone wants to stay on his good side.
It’s not like Zack had a winning personality or anything. Okay, so maybe he was charming. But he was hardly sincere. Like a used car salesman or a lobbyist. They all work in lies.
Zack Strovers included.
I clench my teeth together and take a deep breath. There’s no point in getting worked up now. I’d hate for anyone to think I’m still carrying any resentment around from something that happened more than a decade ago.
My phone rings and Allegra presses the connected Bluetooth in her ear as she reaches the ground. “Allegra St. Clair for Samantha Wingfield. How may I help you?”
After a pause, she turns to me and mouths, “Turley Enterprises.”
I give a short nod and with the click of a button, the call transfers to my Bluetooth. “Samantha Wingfield. How are you doing, Mr. Turley?”
He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “How are we going to get that old fossil at Renegade Solutions to stop dragging his heels with this merger? At the rate he’s going, I’ll be six feet under before he signs off on everything.”
“I can certainly appreciate your frustration.” I motion for Allegra to follow me outside. “Let’s talk through this.”
While I comfort my client, we grab more decorations and supplies from my Land Rover out at the curb. By the time we’re making our last trip, I’ve downgraded him from a Code Red Panic Level to Yellow.
“Let’s circle back on Monday,” I roll my eyes at myself for busting out the lame corporate lingo. “But I don’t want you to let this ruin your weekend. Can you promise me that?”
Mr. Turley releases a heavy sigh and gloomily says, “I won’t let it ruin my weekend.”
“Oh come on.” I adjust my grip on the bag draped over my shoulder and balance a box against my hip while I try to open the door. “I think we can do a little better than that. What aren’t you going to do?”
He chuckles. “I won’t let this ruin my weekend.”
I pull the door open and juggle my load. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“Great, now I’ll call you first thing on Monday and—” My high-heeled boot catches on the door. I bite back the f-bomb on the tip of my tongue as I—and the box full of name tags and door prizes—fly forward.
“Whoa, there.” A pair of firm hands grab my forearms and pull me back upright. Those same hands pluck the box and tote bag away from me, giving me a chance to catch my breath.
