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“I’m not ready,” Taylor said, planting her feet to the floor.
“Yes you are,” Derrick said and gave her a tug that had her stumbling to the door with him.
On the way by the night table, Taylor grabbed her phone and was walking down the stairs clutching Derrick’s hand within in seconds.
The household staff was up and about, and they all stopped as she walked by. She was too nervous to curve her face into a smile, so instead she just said “Hello” and “Good morning” as she passed by, looking down. Her mother had drilled into her head that treating all people with respect was worth more than all the money in her trust fund, and Taylor agreed.
At the front door, Derrick walked Taylor out to a limo, where Henry stood at the passenger’s side door. Henry was dressed another well fitted suit, and if anything was concealed beneath it, it was concealed well.
“Good morning, Ms. Preston, Mr. Fletcher,” Henry said to them.
“Please call me Taylor,” Taylor asked him for the umpteenth time in exasperation. She would be Ms. Preston’d to death today; for now she wanted to still be Taylor. Actually, she still wanted to be Libby, the girl in the coffee shop whose biggest issue was remembering the coffee patrons’ specifications. But that world was gone.
“Prance like you own the place, Taylor, cause you do,” Derrick said, kissing her forehead before he helped her into the limo. Henry slid in after her, and then the door was shut, and she was driving away from the Fletcher mansion.
She had done the drive in limos to the office hundreds of times. It had always been fun to go to “work” when it wasn’t her actually working, but now the butterflies in her stomach were causing her indigestion with all their flapping about what could, and most likely would, go wrong today.
As they made their way into the skyscrapers and mega complexes of LA, Taylor zoned out. She was checking everything out—people walking, cars driving, doors opening and closing, and then she saw paparazzi crowding the front of a building and realized that it was Preston Corp.
“We aren’t going in that way,” Henry said, seeming to sense Taylor’s apprehension, and she let out a big breath.
“How are we getting in?”
“We are using the garage,” Henry replied.
“Huh, I didn’t know we had one,” Taylor said, taking in the information. She was glad the paparazzi didn’t notice her limo because there were a plethora of them roaming around the city at this time. “How do they know I am here?”
Henry shook his head. “They don’t. They have camped here since they heard of Cedric Preston’s death.”
Suddenly the limo was plunged into darkness, and Taylor was aware that she was doing this, really doing this, really going in there and officially introducing herself as the president of Preston Corp. The thought was so repetitive, but it felt like a dream, a bad dream.
As the car pulled to a stop, Henry moved to open the door, and when Taylor scooted to make her way out, Henry stopped her. “You stay here until I tell you it’s safe, Taylor.”
“Okay,” Taylor said meekly. She felt odd as she watched him exit the car, pull something from his coat, and circle the limo. Then she saw him meet with two other men and give them instructions, pointing, and then the men dispersed.
Henry came back and opened the door. “It’s safe,” he said and held out his hand to help her out.
Taylor felt she was no sooner out of the car than she was whisked into an elevator about five feet away and wedged between Henry and two other men. All the men were standing stock still, looking straight ahead at the door.
“Uh, hello. I’m Taylor,” Taylor said to the two big men flanking her.
“Mick,” said the big blond to the right.
“Sammy,” said the big tan bald man to her left.
“Well, I am glad we are now more comfortable with each other,” she joked, trying to release not just the tension in the elevator car, but also the tension overwhelming her whole body.
The men smiled at her comment, and Taylor let out a breath.
When the door opened she wanted to stay where she was, but instead they moved together as a unit, out and down a large hallway. Taylor could not really see around Henry, so she just went along, trying to ignore the nagging voice in her head that was telling her she couldn’t do this, she had no idea what she was doing, and that this was a failure waiting to happen.
She was about to turn and run back to the elevators, when she heard a loud voice booming out from a room down the hall.
“Wait.” Taylor said and every man stopped. Taylor wanted to hear this, she was certain, and she moved herself around Henry to get a better earful.
“It is ridiculous that we are just going to let some spoiled child take over a multibillion-dollar company that we have been running just fine on our own for years now!”
“Rich, she is—”