Or at least pretending to be.
“Have a seat.” He gestured at the chair next to Ezra. “This is Ezra Baptiste,” Mr. Tucker went on. “He and his company EFB Enterprises are interested in our marketing services and he’s requested your assistance. Seems he’s aware of your outstanding reputation.”
Mr. Tucker smiled proudly at me as if he was also aware of my outstanding reputation. The outstanding reputation that didn’t exist. And even if it did it would not be important enough information for Mr. Tucker to familiarize himself with.
Ezra didn’t jump in to corroborate the claim, so there was a heavy minute of awkward silence in which I refused to speak and Mr. Tucker didn’t know what else to say.
Finally, unable to withstand the tense pressure, I crossed my legs, looked at my boss and said, “Thank you.”
That also left Mr. Tucker scrambling for the appropriate response since he wasn’t sure if I was thanking him or Ezra for the compliment or for the job.
Finally, Mr. Tucker cleared his throat and nodded. “You’re welcome.”
We fell into silence again.
If this had happened to anyone else, I would have found the entire meeting entertaining. Instead, as the victim in this situation, I tried to discreetly scope out the underside of Mr. Tucker’s desk in the probable chance I decided to crawl under it and rock myself back and forth until everyone left for the day.
Mr. Tucker scratched the underside of his chin and glanced desperately back and forth between Ezra and me. He wanted so badly for one of us to take over the conversation. Poor, na?ve, Mr. Tucker.
“You’re in the restaurant business, isn’t that right?” Mr. Tucker asked Ezra.
“That’s right,” Ezra agreed, finally speaking up. “I own four fine-dining restaurants around Durham, but my logo and website are dated. I’m interested in working with Miss Maverick to revamp my image, give the corporation a fresh look. I’m also interested in hearing her thoughts on a better social media approach, running a few commercials for the different restaurants and whatever else you have to offer. I want the whole package.”
Mr. Tucker smiled and I could swear dollar signs started floating in his eyeballs. I resisted the urge to kick Ezra in the shins.
Was this even a real conversation? Did he honestly want all of those things from STS? From me?
If he had been anyone else, I would have understood his motivation. I was awesome at my job. Especially if he wanted a big social media package. I would kick serious internet ass for him. But this was Ezra we were talking about.
Just this weekend he’d called me green. And tried to dictate my style by telling me which colors to avoid in an email for the love of all things holy. The man wasn’t capable of letting me do my thing without dipping his fingers into every single thing.
So maybe this was something else? Maybe he was picking on me or punishing me for daring to stand up to him Friday night. Maybe he was just trying to make my life complicated.
Because he was doing that. He was so doing that.
There had been an email from him in my inbox this morning, but I hadn’t had a chance to read it. Or there was a possibility I hadn’t read it out of spite. Now I wished I hadn’t left my cell phone at my desk.
Besides, STS was most known for their stellar design team. We rocked the local area with our logos, graphics and print ads. I was doing my best to help with social media strategy, but STS as a whole wasn’t as savvy when it came to competing on the different social outlets and what worked. I was fighting an uphill battle, although if Ezra really wanted those things at least he’d picked the right person.
But commercials? Maybe he hadn’t done his research after all.
While we offered a media package, it was nothing to boast about. We charged an exorbitant amount of money, but in my honest opinion, couldn’t deliver the quality and finesse Ezra would be looking for.
Mr. Tucker congratulated Ezra on having good taste and then launched into a schmoozy-pitch about how much more we could offer him. I zoned out in favor of staring a hole into the side of Ezra’s head.
He glanced at me, doing a double-take when he caught me staring. With a second turn of his head, the corner of his mouth kicked up in a half smile and he cut Mr. Tucker off mid-sentence to say, “I trust you, Molly.”
My heart skipped, or rather, tripped over itself at those precious few words that meant more to me than I wanted them to. He trusted me? Why? I hadn’t done anything worthy of gaining his trust. I hadn’t even earned the trust of my bosses yet. Or coworkers. Or parents!
I opened my mouth to argue with him when the office door creaked open and Henry Tucker walked in uninvited. If I hadn’t understood that there was nothing in my power to get rid of Ezra, I would have screamed with frustration. Not only was Henry being incredibly rude and intrusive, he was jeopardizing my standing with a potential client. Henry had no idea I had history with Ezra. He had no idea what he was walking in on.
“Henry, my boy!” Mr. Tucker grinned that cat eating the canary smile. “I’m so glad you stopped by. This is Ezra Baptiste, head of EFB Enterprises. He’s interested in a full workup. With Molly of all people.”
Henry stepped up behind me, dropping his hand to rest on my shoulder. I felt his body heat through my blazer, too warm, too slippery, too wrong. I wanted to cringe and I wanted to shake him off, but most of all I wanted to die from embarrassment because Ezra’s shrewd, always alert gaze dropped right to where Henry’s hand had covered my collarbone.
“Of course he is,” Henry said through a stretching smile. He squeezed my shoulder and I wanted to stop, drop and roll the hell out of here. “She’s our very best.”
Lie.
I wasn’t the very best. I wasn’t even close to it. His hand stayed perched on my shoulder longer and longer, elongating the awkwardness until the hairs on my neck stood up. It was all I could do not to wince. His fingers pressed below my collar bone too familiarly and then his thumb, his unwelcomed, uninvited thumb drew a slow path along the nape of my neck where it buried itself in my hair. A sickly feeling slithered beneath my skin while my brain tried to convince my instinct that this was an accident or that Henry was overly touchy but not threatening. And that’s when my body decided to ignore them both by making a complete fool out of myself.
Dropping my shoulder and sliding out of my chair, I practically jumped to standing startling half the room. Without having a game plan I thrust out my hand to Ezra. “I’m looking forward to working with you,” I heard myself say.