Page 6 of Reluctantly Yours

If it sounds like I’m dreading the trek to SCM to retrieve the fundraiser check, you’d be correct. In the same two years I’ve enjoyed working for JoAnna at St. Clair Press, I’ve not had the same pleasure when it comes to interacting with her son, Barrett, the Executive Vice President and CEO of SCM.

While JoAnna is warm and personable, Barrett is a robot in a suit. His cold, dismissive eyes could refreeze the melting polar ice caps. With one glance, he could put an end to global warming. He’s obnoxiously handsome, which maybe isn’t his fault. Barrett is a spitting image of his father, but where I’ve seen pictures of the elder St. Clair with a devilishly handsome smile, Barrett’s media shots are in the running for “Most Expressionless, Yet Devastatingly Handsome Man” category.

“Anything I can help with?” JoAnna asks.

Asking JoAnna to get the check from Barrett would be the easy way out, but I don’t want her to think that I can’t handle an easy task like collecting a check. She’s just offered me a shot at my dream job with far more demanding duties, I don’t want her to think I’m not capable of something so simple. Barrett won’t likely be the one I need to talk to anyways. He’s much too busy and important for that kind of thing. He’ll have his assistant, Bea, help me out.

“No,” I shake my head. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Perfect.” JoAnna smiles. “One more thing I need you to handle. Would you please make a reservation for two at Sea Fire Grill for twelve thirty on Thursday?”

“Of course. Under St. Clair?”

“Yes.” She nods.

“I’ll add it to your calendar once it’s confirmed.”

“No need. It’s for Barrett and Tessa Green. A lunch date.”

“Oh,” I say, a little shocked that JoAnna is having me arrange lunch dates for her son now, but it’s also completely understandable. With his icy demeanor and brooding attitude, I’m sure she’s determined she has to resort to matchmaking if she ever wants grandchildren. They’d likely be half-robot, but I hope for JoAnna’s sake, that skips a generation. “Should I forward the details to Bea?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She nods.

I continue through the week’s calendar, highlighting appointments and important meetings. JoAnna has me block off time in her schedule for a Pilates class.

“Your flight on Friday to LA is at seven. I’ve arranged a car to pick you up at four thirty.”

She nods. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

“It’s my childhood friend’s bachelorette party.”

“That’s right. You mentioned you were hosting them. That sounds like a fun girls’ weekend.”

“I’m hosting the party at Le Pavillon.”

“That will be a treat for your guests.”

If all goes according to plan, it should be a fabulous weekend.

“Make an appointment with Lindy to go over where Lacey left things. She’ll get you squared away.”

“Of course.”

The promotion, however temporary it may be, was just what I needed to boost my confidence about this weekend.

* * *

SCM is located in the Helmsley Building near East 46thStreet and Park Avenue. The building is gorgeous, built over Park Avenue, two arches were constructed to allow each one-way street to pass through. A large clock is situated between the Greek god Mercury and a goddess with vines and wheat on the other side. The large glass-windowed front of the building is trimmed in black with the lobby made of marble floors and bronze fixtures.

It’s one of my favorite buildings in New York. It’s unfortunate all this beauty is tainted by the reason I have to come here.

Maybe my dislike for Barrett is rooted in the fact that from our very first encounter,hedidn’t likeme.JoAnna introduced us at a luncheon she hosted two years ago, when I had first started working for her. He took one look at me, those hazel eyes of his briefly tracking over my body before he gave a curt nod and brushed past me.

I could overlook that. Further interaction has proven that is just how Barrett is. Cold and assessing. But, overhearing him question JoAnna, telling her he didn’t think I was a good fit as her assistant was how I found issue with him. He barely looked at me, let alone tried to learn anything about me. How would he know about my qualifications? What an asshole.

The mature adult that I am felt it was only fair to meet him halfway—full contempt.

I pull the door open and make my way to the elevator. My heels click against the Italian marble. I’m not a tall person. Five foot two if it’s an eighties themed party and I’ve got an inch of teased hair. While heels aren’t practical for running errands around the city, they’re a must when entering enemy camp. I’ll need full height today. It’s important to stand tall and appear larger so I don’t look like prey.