by Sierra Hill
He gives the first sign of forgiveness with a smirk and laughs in self-deprecation.
“Quite the ladies’ man, are we Brody?”
Brody steps toward the table and returns to the chair, picking up the fine ballpoint pen that rests on the table and holds it out to me. I lean forward to accept it, turning my palm up as his fingertips graze over my skin, the warmth from his touch seeping into my clammy hand.
I feel the touch all the way down to my toes and in my nervous panic, I fumble with the pen, knocking it from my grasp as it falls to the floor.
“Crap,” I say, flailing a little before bending forward to pick it up.
Simultaneously, Brody moves from his chair, taking a knee to the floor and the top of our heads collide. Well, actually the side of his cheek, stubbly with whiskers, bangs against my forehead and my glasses get wonky and crooked on my face and I’m jostled just enough that I tip out of my own chair and land on the floor in a disheveled, clumsy heap.
Words escape me as I literally have just made the world’s worst first impression on the first day of my internship.
I sit completely stunned for a moment, blinking back tears that threaten to spill out of my eyes, and lift my head to find Brody looking down at me with a grin across his face that tells me he finds this all highly amusing.
The blush that burns across my cheekbones spreads down my neck and triggers nervous beads of sweat down the crevice of my cleavage. And then I burst into laughter, hanging my head in incredulous disbelief at what a hot mess I am.
It elicits laughter from Brody as well, who lends me his firm hand to pull me to my feet.
Once I have the courage to look back up at him, our laughter having died down, his lips unfurl into a grin of amusement, and one dark brow quirks upward. Humor swims in his cola-colored eyes.
“Remind me to keep you away from our manufacturing equipment during your assignment. I don’t think I have enough insurance coverage for the likes of you.”
Chapter 6
Brody
When my father married wife number four, Gia, an Italian model he met in Milan, he decided it was finally time to leave behind his workaholic ways and spend more time on the pleasures of life instead of the daily grind.
I’d just finished my MBA, gone through my own divorce, and was working side-by-side with him in hopes of learning the ropes when he informed me he wanted to sell the business. The family-owned business that had been in our family for two generations, and the one I thought was my birthright. I was devastated that he didn’t think I could handle running the business on my own.
The company was never in the same league as the Versace empire or the Hilton or Kraft family businesses, but Jensen’s Men’s Fine Clothing and Design was in my blood. I loved everything about it, and I didn’t want to see it sold off or chopped up into little parts to be sold off one by one.
It took me six months to convince my dad that I was capable of taking over the helm and steering the ship into the next decade. He’d been skeptical at first, after suffering such losses after the Great Recession of 2008 and it took five years, numerous restructuring and rounds of layoffs, to finally get back into the black. He was just worried I wasn’t ready to handle anything as tough as that.
We didn’t always see eye-to-eye on how to remain competitive in the clothing industry, when most manufacturing operations were moving overseas to India and China, and the cost of doing business in California is outrageously expensive. But in the year since he’s stepped back, only attending the quarterly board meetings and sometimes joining our weekly calls when he has time, things have improved.
I’ve invested my blood, sweat, and tears into improving our operations. From revamping employee benefit programs, hiring and recruiting talented designers at higher than market pay, and reengineering our manufacturing lines to increase the quality of production and expedite shipments, I’ve worked tirelessly with one goal in mind. Prove my father wrong.
I’d also worked with Jessica in HR to create our new internship program. We started it two years ago and ended up hiring both into permanent positions upon their graduation. All in all, a successful program. One that provided a win-win for each side.
But every successful program runs into a snag along the way. And Peyton Burke just happens to be mine.
She’s worked for me for two days, and that’s been two days too long. Her presence has done nothing but mess with my head, my thoughts, and my goddamn restraint.
Peyton looks like an angel, smells like wildflowers, and as I’ve come to find out, is a fast-learner and competent designer. Everyone on the team loves her, according to all the accolades being thrown out about her at my staff meeting.
Adam Crowley, our manufacturing and operations director, stands at the front of the board table and clicks through his presentation slide.
“And here you’ll see the increased costs we’ve been struggling with on our Timber lines, with the delays in garment deliveries from Indonesia. But Peyton did some research and found a very viable solution that I think is brilliant.”
Just the mention of her name creates some sort of avalanche of ache in my body. Producing images of her red-painted lips against mine. The taste of them, cherry and delicious. The floral scent, light and crisp, that reminds me of a field of poppies in the summertime. The way her slender body felt pressed against mine, as I kissed the ever-loving-hell out of her.
“What do you think, Brody?”
My head snaps to Adam who stares at me with an expectant look, waiting for an answer to a question I didn’t hear him ask.
I glance around the table to find the twelve other staff members watching me with keen interest. They obviously realize I’d zoned out because one of them, Jon from accounting, chuckles under his breath.
I turn my attention back to Adam. “I’m sorry, what did you say? I’m a little distracted today. I apologize.”
Adam tips his chin in the direction of the screen. “The change in garment distribution. The recommendation Peyton Burke, our new intern gave—”
“I know who Peyton is,” I snap unnecessarily hard and run a hand through my hair. “Sorry, Adam. Why don’t you have Peyton go over her analysis with me later today and I can give you an answer then.”
“Okay,” he agrees hesitantly, clearly confused why I would ask for the intern to provide me with that information, when he probably could do it now. But he doesn’t disagree with me and takes down a note before he continues on.
What the hell was that all about? That was a stupid, stupid move. I should stay as far away from Peyton as possible, considering the way she’s clearly gotten into my head and messed with concentration and turning me into a bumbling asshole at my own staff meeting as I daydreamed about that damn kiss we shared last weekend.
Focus, Jensen.
I’m not a high school boy fantasizing over a cute girl in class. I’m a fucking CEO and leader of a multi-million-dollar, international clothing company. I need to remember how to act like one.
We finish up the meeting, with my head back in the game, and the board room begins to empty as all the staff heads return to their busy work schedules. I gather up my planner and tablet as both Adam and Camilla from our merchandising and design department converge on me, flanking me on both sides like an ambush.
“Hey Brody, can we talk to you about something?” Camilla asks, her raven-black hair slung over her shoulder and cascading in waves over the front of her dress, hitting just the tip of her very pregnant belly.
“Sure, what’s up? I think I have a few minutes before my next meeting.”
I gesture toward the chair next to me in case she wants to sit, but she waves me off.
“This won’t take long.” Her eyes flick to Adam, her partner and baby-daddy.
“As you know, I’m due in a couple of months.”
“What? When did this happen?” I gasp, clearly joking about my knowledge of their pending new addition.
It’s a pretty cute love s
tory between them and I feel partially responsible for them getting together in the first place. When Adam started with the company three years ago, Camilla couldn’t stand him. She confided in me that she thought he was full of himself, rude, never listened to her suggestions or ideas, etc. I knew in order for the team to work, they had to discover a way to work cohesively together. So, I sent them on a business trip to Japan and told them to ‘figure it out.’ And that they did – both in and outside the bedroom.
They were married a year later and are now expecting their first child together. And they make a rock star team, producing some of the highest metrics we’ve seen in years. Because of that, I give them a lot of latitude in their operating objectives and goals as long as it fits within my long-term strategic plans.
Adam snorts a laugh and Camilla blushes, shaking her head at my lame attempt at humor.
“You remember the spring design show and conference we’re scheduled to attend and are keynote speakers at next month?”
I pinch my brows together, and then nod. “Sure, yeah, the one in New York. What about it?”
Camilla’s gaze averts to Adam, who clears his throat to speak. “Camilla’s been told by her doctor that due to some minor complications she shouldn’t risk flying. It’s too late in the pregnancy. On top of that, she’s supposed to go on bed rest immediately. She’s already spoken to HR and will be taking her leave of absence earlier than expected.”
I let that sink in, mentally calculating the work and projects she has going and how we’ll manage to get things done before the end of the fiscal year. It definitely creates a hiccup, but her health and the baby’s well-being obviously trump any of that. I can find someone else to cover for her while she’s out.
“Well, what the hell are you still doing here talking to me? You should be resting at home, then.”
Camilla smiles and shrugs. “I wanted to tie up loose ends and speak to you first. Don’t worry, I’m leaving after lunch today. Can’t wait to make this guy crazy for the next two months, sending him out in the middle of the night for Dove ice cream bars and Flaming Hot Cheetos.”
My nose wrinkles at the combo. “Sounds delicious.”
“What can I say? The cravings when you’re pregnant are bizarre.”
“I bet,” I chuckle, clasping a hand on Adam’s shoulder and squeezing it in solidarity. “Good luck, man. Sounds like you’ll be working double time.”
He practically wilts in front of me. “I already have Amazon Prime Delivery on my 1-click list. We’ll manage at home. And as far as everything here goes, I’ll need to stay in town in case something happens. My hope is that you might be our replacement at the conference. You don’t have to worry about a thing. I’ll have the notes for our panel presentation ready for you to deliver before the event and the hotel room is already booked.”
I pull up my calendar and plug in the dates. “When is it scheduled?”
Adam does the same with his phone, searching for the information. “Two weeks from now.”
I nod and type out a quick message to Sheila to check my calendar and handle the travel arrangements.
“Okay, not a problem. I’ll have Sheila manage all the details. Just send me your outline and notes and consider it handled.”
The relief on both Adam and Camilla’s faces makes my job all the more worth it. My father, Gerry, was a good businessman, but a good manager he was not. I wanted to change the perception that employees had about the Jensen men and our leadership style and establish a better reputation as a company leader.
“Brody, I can’t thank you enough,” Camilla gushes, rubbing her protruding stomach gently, and then amends her statement. “We can’t thank you enough. It’s enough having to worry about bringing this one into the world, but it’s so nice not to have to worry about work. You’re so good to us and you’re a wonderful boss.”
I smile at her compliment. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for.”
She throws her arms wide and gives me a hug, pulling away just as Adam shakes my hand vigorously.
“Thanks, boss. Oh, and because the two of us were already going, there’s a spare ticket for the event. Perhaps you can invite one of the staff, or better yet, the new intern to join you. That would be a pretty great experience for Peyton, and a great idea for her to get to you know better.”
I practically choke at Adam’s suggestion, but turn my face away to disguise my discomfort as I head out of the meeting room.
“Maybe,” I wave over my shoulder, “But for now, I gotta run. Just keep me appraised on how things are going. And take care of yourself, Camilla.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as I turn the corner out of their sight, slumping against the wall with a slight head bang.
What Adam doesn’t realize is that he just put a terrible idea in my head that I know, without a doubt, will serve to only do one thing from here on out.
Drive me fucking crazy.
Chapter 7
Peyton
“How’s it going, my fashionista working girl? Have you broken any glass ceilings yet with your Jimmy Choos?”
Kyler’s face and voice appear on my phone screen, his hair a complete mess. As I inspect him closer, I notice red marks on the underside of his left jawline.
“Kyler, what is that?” I tap the edge of my own jaw and give him a questioning, and probably highly judgmental look.
He has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, but not much, his grin wide, flashing a grin that has a way of getting him out of most trouble.
“You’re not that much of an innocent not to know what it is and how it got there. Let’s just say I had a little fun last night.”
He glances over his shoulder and I see a sleeping form in his bed.
I whisper shout in a frantic voice. “Oh, my lord. Kyler, please leave your bedroom while we video chat so I don’t accidentally get an eyeful of your last night’s hookup.”
He makes a raspberry noise with his tongue but does what I ask, sliding out of his bed, shirtless, and walking into the kitchen where he starts a pot of coffee.
It’s Saturday morning, and I’ve been up for over an hour already. I completed my yoga workout, showered, got online to check my Instagram and SnapChat accounts and am now ready to start my day. My first full weekend in L.A. and I have so many things on my list that I want to do and see, but admittedly, I’m a little homesick. That’s why I had to call Kyler. He has a way of picking me up when I’m down.
I follow him around through the miracle of modern technology, watching as he goes about his morning routine, the one where he always brewed our coffee and had a cup ready for me when I got out of bed.
“I miss you, boo,” I lament, my lower lip pushing out to form a pout. “I’m lonely here.”
His thick lashes are accentuated even more so this close up, his eyes turning down in a sorrowful, puppy dog-eyed expression.
“Me, too, Pey-Pey. I would have come out to visit you this weekend, but I have that exam on Monday morning, and I have to study hard this weekend.”
“Mmm-hmm, is that what you call what you did last night?”
He rolls his eyes and flips me the bird. “Last night I had to let off some steam. It was a very stressful week. I had two tests and a paper due. As soon as he leaves, I’m heading off to the library and probably won’t leave until it closes tonight.”
If it’s one thing I admire about my roommate, it’s that he generally seems to have an easy time balancing his life. When it’s time to hunker down and study, that’s what he does. But when that’s over, he can let it all go and live it up and just have fun. And lots of it.
Me, not so much. I might have a playful side and can definitely let go when I give myself the green light to let loose and have fun, but it’s hard for me to ever get to that point. The need to control things is too strong and it’s only through the copious amounts of therapy I’ve had since high school and my first two years of college that I’ve learned to be okay with letting go.
; My body image and obsessive need to control my weight were the only things that kept me on solid ground during much of my adolescence. While I’ve come to understand now that my eating disorder technically made things worse, at the time, it felt like I was in control. Watching my alcoholic mother spiral for years left me yearning for stability. I hated the chaos her binge drinking would leave in its wake, so I ended up doing something similar. Except it wasn’t booze that led me down the wrong path, it was food. Or rather, my effort to establish my control over the intake of food.
We all have holes in our souls we try to fill to feel satisfied and complete. I just found a different vehicle in which to fill my hole of loneliness.
I sigh wistfully. “I just hate being alone.”
Kyler fills a cup on the counter and takes his first sip. “I know, babes. But the good thing is, you’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, you get to go out and explore the great La-La adventure land. Now tell me about your plans for the day. And are you going to go see the Hollywood sign?”
“Well,” I start, placing a finger over my lips in a thoughtful gesture. “First thing I plan to do is grab a cup of coffee at this cute corner café, since I don’t have my own live-in barista anymore.” I pout again and bat my eyelashes, to which I am rewarded with a laugh.
“And then I’m taking a walk to the farmer’s market one of my new co-workers mentioned to me this week. I think I’ll get some fresh veggies and maybe even a big bouquet of flowers to put on my coffee table.”
“That’s a good start, babe,” he encourages with a thumbs up sign. “You need some color to brighten up that god-awful space.”
The day I arrived I gave him the virtual tour of the sparse gray-on-white interior. Being that we’re both in design school and Kyler’s an artist, as well, the lack of color nearly gave him a coronary. “You must fix this immediately!” he had ordered. So, I did the best I could with the little budget I had to add a few colorful touches here and there, including a few small succulent plants from a guy selling them out on the street corner.