I dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. Quitting now would set me back light years. I hustled my ass off to get this account, putting in hours and hours with local skating rinks and putt-putt golf. Finally, my hard work was going to pay off with a national campaign and a big, fat commission. I wouldn’t screw this up, not even to get away from Junior.
Maybe he was creepy and touchy and crass, but as long as he kept his hands—and legs, face, and all other body parts—to himself, I could put up with him until the end of the project. Black Soul would do more good for my career than Henry could ever do bad. And STS was the lead media company to work for in this area.
I fell into my desk chair and threw my notebook down on my keyboard. A chill settled on the back of my neck, forcing a shiver down my spine.
You can do this, I told myself. He’s just a flirt. It’s not you, specifically. It’s how he is with every girl.
I believed that was true. It didn’t make me feel any less dirty.
Chapter Five
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: February 23, 2017 16:13:29 EST
Subject: Final Details
Molly,
Meg is asking for the spice racks you mentioned. Are you able to drop them by Lilou this afternoon? I can send someone to pick them up if it’s too much of a hassle. I am also wondering what time you will be coming to set up tomorrow. I want to make sure someone is available to let you in.
Ezra.
P.S. It’s going to be in the fifties tomorrow. You’ll want to wear your bikini to the party, I’m sure.
I glared at Ezra’s latest email with my mouse hovering over the delete button. I had heard that successful people were often eccentric weirdos beneath all of their glamor and money. That had to be the reason Ezra was obsessed with the weather.
And my outerwear.
Emily rolled into the aisle separating our desks. “Is it the Little Tucker again?”
“Ha!” Tearing my eyes from Ezra’s unexpected email, I turned to my friend. “No, not this time. But give him five minutes, I’m sure he’ll chime in any second.”
Since our meeting Tuesday morning, Henry Tucker had been a constant thorn in my side. There was micromanaging. And then there was Junior’s super-mega-micromanaging that made me want to stab him with my stapler. He was either emailing me at all hours of the night and day or calling me during those same hours. And when I was at work, he had taken to sneaking up on me whenever I was alone—in the breakroom, outside the restroom, in the parking garage. I swore he wore slippers to work since I never heard him coming.
He was so in my business that I never actually had time to devote to my projects. He wanted to know every single, minute detail of what I was working on and then he wanted me to explain the how and why of each so he could be sure it was worth my effort.
And the entire time he was in my business, he couldn’t seem to remember my name. I was starting to wonder if dementia ran in his family. First Mother Tucker never called me by my name, and now his son seemed only capable of referring to me in a series of awful pet names. Darling. Sweets. Babe. Pretty girl. Honey. And the one that made me feel especially stabby my favorite—sweet cheeks.
I shuddered in disgust just thinking about it. When I realized his degrading terms of endearment weren’t going to end, I’d thought about going straight to Tucker Senior. Surely this was harassment of some kind? But then I’d heard him call Catherine Dawes doll, and she hadn’t done anything more than ignore him. If she could suck it up, so could I.
Besides, we’d only just begun the Black Soul account. I didn’t want to make things tense with Henry when I’d have to work with him for months.
Yes, his pet names were obnoxious. And outdated. And beyond tacky. But, they weren’t hurting me in a physical or emotional sense.
They were just annoying.
So, I put up with him, reminding him of my real name whenever I got the chance.
“So if it’s not HT, why are you glaring at your computer?” Emily asked.
I raised my eyebrows, smoothing out the scowl I hadn’t realized I’d been flashing. “It’s that engagement party I’m throwing,” I told her. “I’m being forced to work with my friend’s fiancé’s friend and he’s difficult.”
“The chef?”
“The owner,” I clarified. “Ezra. He’s a know-it-all. And he’s apparently detail-oriented because he wants me to sign off on every little thing. There’s only so much I can agree to before I’m just like, dude, whatever napkins you think are best, just go with those.” I smiled at her so she could see I was partly joking.
She laughed. “Well, he didn’t get where he is today by skipping over the details.”
I puffed out a short breath. “You’re probably right about that.” Glancing at the clock again I contemplated skipping out of work early so I could run home and grab the spice racks. If I left now I wouldn’t have to deal with traffic on the way to Lilou.
There were still a few things I wanted to pick up before tomorrow night, and I didn’t want to fight bumper-to-bumper traffic as I hopped around town.
Emily scooted closer and dropped her voice so our nosey coworkers couldn’t hear. “Hey, a few of us are heading to happy hour after work. Are you in?”
I watched my mouse click reply and shook my head at my own weakness. “I wish,” I mumbled. “This account is going to give me a drinking problem.” She shot me a sympathetic look. “But I can’t,” I went on. “I have to deal with last minute party details. Maybe next week?”
Emily rolled her chair back behind her desk. “I can’t believe everything you’re doing for this party.”
I shrugged, feeling shy. “Vera deserves this,” I told her simply. “I’m happy to organize. Besides, I’m not really doing a whole lot. Wyatt and Ezra seem to have everything covered. I’m just showing up.”
“You’re a good friend,” Emily decided.
I rolled my eyes at the computer. “You don’t even know. Vera and I go way back. All the way back. I wouldn’t be who I am today without her.”
“Ah, she’s one of those friends.”
I smiled at a framed picture of us on my desk. It was one of my favorites, taken when we were both in college—before Derrek. We were at her dad’s house, goofing around in the kitchen. She was holding a whisk and I was holding a paintbrush. We had been making cupcakes for Vann and the grand opening of Cycle Life. Vera had the brilliant idea to try to make them into little bicycles. She’d made perfect cupcakes and enlisted me to paint the frosting. By the end of the day we were covered in flour and sugar, and sick from eating so much batter and laughing too hard. Her dad had snapped the picture. She had powdered sugar on her cheek and I had a stripe of black frosting down my nose.
It was only seven years ago, but it felt like a lifetime. So much had happened since then.
“We raised each other,” I told Emily. “It’s weird that she’s getting married.”