Sexy in the City
Page 38
I live in the Santa Cruz mountains with my very patient and supportive husband, my teenaged son who seems determined to give me gray hair, and 3.5 cats. When I’m not writing, I’m photographing flowers or wildlife, tending my garden or cooking. I have a passion for travel and a love of people watching.
Stop by and say hello at:
www.galenrose.com
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A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Marriage by Design by Elley Arden
Kirby
Samantha Anne
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Samantha Molina
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6606-2
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6606-6
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6607-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6607-3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © iStockPhoto.com/Ondine32, nicolamargaret
Dedication
To Krystal, Erin, Liz, Terri, Lorraine, Carrie, Theresa, & Teisse:
Those years of writing “daydreams” and late-night storytelling
have prepared me for this very moment! This book is for you.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Chapter One
Rachel sang to herself as she all but skipped down Sixth Avenue, a wide smile spread across her face. On more than one occasion, she referred to this particular day as the “first day of the rest of her life.” It was the beginning of a new phase — one that included being able to pay her bills on time and maybe taking a vacation now and again!
Since graduating college, Rachel had spent years getting coffee, answering phones, and submitting ideas that she’d never receive credit for. Five years of low-paying internships and thankless side jobs later, she was finally hitting her stride. The job of her dreams stood at the end of the four-block walk from the train station to Forty-Sixth Street and Sixth Avenue.
Rachel checked her watch and lengthened her steps. Her only pair of expensive heels clacked rhythmically on the pavement as she wove in and out of foot traffic. Her hair flew behind her as she took determined steps to her new job as junior editor of Equinox Publishing, a small but successful publishing house responsible for three of the current top five bestsellers.
Needless to say, Rachel was on cloud nine. She looked sharp in her new power suit, a charcoal grey skirt set that lovingly held on to every curve. The skirt stopped right above her knees, flaring just enough to come dangerously close to showing too much leg as the breeze danced around the hem.
Even Rachel had to admit to herself that she looked great. Her make-up was flawless, and her barrel-wide curls were behaving like nobody’s business. Confident on the inside and out, she was ready to take the company by storm. Even the skies seemed to be rooting her on. The expanse of bright blue above her laced with wispy white clouds seemed to be saying “Go Rachel!” Nothing could stop Rachel Sirianni now. As she stood at the corner waiting for the walk signal, she looked up to thank the universe for such an awesome day.
SPLASH. Rachel was suddenly covered, from head to toe, in filthy street water courtesy of the linen truck that had just sped past her. A few people behind her groaned empathetically; an elderly lady gasped loudly. Spluttering, Rachel stepped back with her arms spread wide as her she got a look at herself.
Eyes widened in horror, she yelled at no one in particular, “Are you kidding me?!”
I can’t go to work like this, she thought as she tried frantically and in vain to brush off the water. Backing up against the nearest building, she tried to ignore the staring passersby. Near tears, she reached for her cell phone. If she called her boss now, she could probably get away with being late while she went back home to change. Thankfully, her phone was dry. With trembling fingers, she began to dial.
“Heads up!”
Rachel looked up in time to see a courier running at top speed, seconds before he slammed into her, knocking her back against the building. Her cell phone flew out of her hand, soaring toward the crosswalk. The courier turned the corner and disappeared from sight as the phone landed, with a loud crack, on the sidewalk.
“No!” she screamed, rushing over to where her poor phone lay.
Rachel picked it up with a sob. The screen was obliterated; a giant crack with a multitude of bleeding colors around it let her know that she didn’t have a chance in hell of fixing it today. Her eyes closed and she tried to think. Okay, she thought, focus. You still have a shot at getting back and changing without being too late. You can call when you get home. They have to understand. Right? They have to understand.
In a move she only partially knew she’d regret later, she ran back to the train station. There was still a chance that she could get to her house and come back without doing too much damage. Besides, she’d be able to call in as soon as she got there. They have to understand, she repeated, mantra-like, as she made her way back to her Lower East Side apartment.
• • •
Rachel burst through the door, having made it back in record time. She began peeling her clothes off without regard as to whether or not Bianca, her roommate, was actually home, searching desperately for the cordless phone she and Bianca shared. With a triumphant cry, she found it wedged in between two couch cushions. Phone in hand, she ran into her bedroom.
With one hand she dialed the office, and with the other she pulled a suitable outfit from the closet. Rachel stood in the center of her room, clad only in her bra and panties, as she put the cordless to her ear. She heard nothing. Heart racing, she looked at the phone: it was on. She screamed a choice curse word and ran into the living room to where the phone base was kept.
“Come on, baby, come on,” she pleaded aloud, grabbing onto the silvery cord at the base and threading it through her fingers. Rachel found the fray almost immediately; her blood boiling, she knew what happened.
“Nicky,” she yelled, her gaze darting to the kitchen.
Her roommate’s golden retriever sat in the kitchen doorway, looking as guilty as sin. His fluffy tail beat against the floor twice as he lost himself in the momentary excitement of hearing his name. He thought better of it, however, when he noticed Rachel’s angry expression and the frayed cord in her hand. Nicky lowered his head and went back into the kitchen to hide under the table.
Rachel groaned in frustration, briefly muttering to herself that Bianca should maybe lay off the shoe obsession and get her dog a trainer. Feeling as if her head were about to explode, she dressed as fast as her quaking hands would allow. She looked at the clock; it was five minutes to nine.
If she took a cab, she’d be no more than twenty minutes late. But, without a phone call, this wouldn’t look good. Pulling extra money that she knew she couldn’t spare out of her top drawer, she ran out of the house in search of a cab driver with the need for speed.
Twenty-f
ive minutes and a sprained ankle later, she stood breathless in the elevator on the way up to Equinox. Please don’t fire me, she begged silently as the elevator doors opened to reveal a round wooden reception kiosk. She approached the desk slowly, careful not to aggravate her freshly turned ankle.
The receptionist looked up with a friendly smile. “May I help you?
Swallowing hard, she replied, “I’m Rachel Sirianni. I was supposed to start today.”
Recognition crossed the receptionist’s face as her eyes widened. Damn, Rachel thought, she’s already heard something. Attempting damage control, she tried to explain.
“I was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, but I had a hell of a morning,” Rachel sighed, “It involved a linen truck, a maniac courier, and a huge street puddle.”
The receptionist made an empathetic sound and replied, “I understand, but Lucy wants to speak with you before you get started. I’m Amy, by the way.”
Lucy Black, publisher and executive editor, Rachel thought as her stomach sank, I’m toast! She shook hands with Amy, exchanging smiles as she hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time they’d bid each other good morning. Rachel took a seat on a plush couch to the right of the elevator, reaching down to rub her still smarting ankle. Ten minutes went by without a word, and she felt tears threatening to fall again.
Rachel forced herself to take a deep breath as the glass door to the main office opened. She looked up and spotted a stunning woman with fiery red hair piled atop her head. She was dressed casually but, even in khaki slacks and a simple black blouse, she looked sharp. A pen stuck out from the top of her bun, and her glasses sat at the tip of her nose.
She smiled at Amy before turning her attention to the couch. Rachel tried not to visibly recoil, but couldn’t help being a bit intimidated. Lucy Black looked every bit the editor-in-chief and, thankfully, only slightly annoyed.
“Miss Sirianni,” she spoke, her voice frighteningly pleasant, “Follow me.”
Rachel tried her best to smile and nod as she stood, taking Lucy’s outstretched hand and shaking it before following her into the main office. She did her best to mask her limp as Lucy led her past the conference rooms and toward, presumably, her office.
“Why are you limping,” Lucy asked softly without looking back.
God, she’s good, Rachel thought, recalling that Lucy had barely gotten a glance at her before leading her down the hall to what may have been the end of her career in publishing.
“I twisted my ankle getting here,” Rachel answered, “My cab got caught in traffic so I got out and ran the rest of the way. My heel got caught in a grate.”
“Hmm.” Lucy’s response was noncommittal, and it made Rachel slightly nervous.
As she took careful steps toward Lucy’s office, past two impressively appointed conference rooms, she couldn’t help but notice the boss lady herself. Aside from the fact that Rachel currently found her terrifying, she was actually very beautiful. Her hair resembled fire, contained in a stylish mess by a pen and a dark hairclip. Lucy Black was tall and carefully put together in an outfit that, despite its simplicity, screamed high fashion.
She walked with an heir of superiority despite her casual dress, and it wasn’t off-putting; Lucy was a woman who worked hard for what she had and knew it. She was master of all she surveyed, and no one could tell her a thing that would suggest otherwise.
Rachel was revisited with a pang of guilt at her late arrival; Lucy was one of the last people she wanted to let down.
They finally stopped at a large corner office. Lucy opened the door and stepped aside, waving her in. She had a hint of a smile on her face as she locked eyes with Rachel, giving her the feeling that a bomb was about to be dropped.
“Please, sit,” she instructed, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Rachel sat straight-backed in the chair directly in front of Lucy’s desk, not allowing her eyes to leave the panoramic window ahead of her. Under normal circumstances, such a view would have taken her breath away; at this point, Rachel could barely focus. She placed a pair of fingers on her wrist, checking that her pulse hadn’t disappeared. She heard Lucy’s velvety but firm voice echo down the hall, and a male voice responding submissively.
Her fingers remained knotted as she waited for Lucy to return. She did her best to avoid looking too nervous, but the truth was she was scared. In retrospect, it probably would have been better to show up soaking wet and smelling like the city streets. But, Rachel didn’t think; she was so caught up in making a perfect first impression that it hadn’t dawned on her that she’d shot herself in the foot the moment she got back on that train.
Lucy returned quietly, closing the door behind her. Rachel’s heart thudded in her ears, and all she could do was silently pray that her boss couldn’t hear it as well. Lucy sat on her throne, regarding Rachel with interest, leaning back in her chair and giving her a long stare. Rachel swallowed hard. She knew punishment was coming, and could only hope it wasn’t too severe. She took a deep breath.
“Before you say anything, I just want to apol — ”
“Miss Sirianni,” Lucy interrupted. Her voice was quiet, but effectively stopped Rachel in her tracks, “I started this company almost ten years ago with the last $5,000 in my savings account. I had no hope, no prospects, and no job offers. All I ever wanted to do was write. But not a single literary agent or publisher would have me because I’d never been published before. So I started Equinox Publishing to forward my own work, and the work of others who were shut out by the bigger publishing houses for the same reason.
“All of those authors, they counted on me. They needed me to be here bright and early so that I could view every single manuscript and make sure everyone had a fair shake. I’ve been on time since day one. I’ve met deadlines, I’ve beat deadlines, and I’ve always been here. This is why I expect the best from my entire staff. From the editorial assistants all the way up. Do you understand?”
Rachel nodded, not trusting herself to speak without bursting into tears. All she’d wanted was a shot with Equinox, from the moment she started college. Rachel already knew Lucy Black’s history; she knew exactly how she had gone from an unknown to the most successful independent publisher on the East Coast. She also knew that Lucy Black was the champion of the unpublished writer; Equinox Publishing had developed a reputation for taking a chance on talented, unpublished writers that bigger publishing houses normally turned their backs on.
“Being twenty minutes late is unacceptable on any day in this company,” Lucy continued after a brief silence, “But today was your first day. Can you blame me for thinking twice about giving you this junior editor position now?”
Rachel’s brow furrowed in disappointment, but she shook her head. No, she supposed she couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t be happy with a junior editor being so late on her first day without a phone call, regardless of the situation.
“And would you blame me if I asked you to leave this office right now?”
Rachel’s eyes stung and she flinched slightly as if she’d been slapped in the face. I blew it, she thought to herself sadly. Her stomach clenched, and she felt her eyes water — but she shook her head in response to Lucy’s question.
Lucy paused to examine Rachel carefully. The silence seemed to go on forever. Lucy stood, and Rachel’s eyes remained on her own knees as she wrung her hands nervously. Certain she was on her way out, she’d begun to fidget, her knee tapping lightly on the front edge of Lucy’s desk.
“I’m afraid I have to rescind on the junior editor position I originally offered you.”
Rachel drew in a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. She placed her hands on the arms of her chair to stand when Lucy continued.
“Wait, Rachel — I’m not finished.”
Her eyes widened and met Lucy’s. The editor�
�s gaze had softened, but her mouth remained set in a firm line.
“I withdraw the offer of Junior Editor … for now. I just can’t, in good conscience, give you a position that I’m not entirely confident you can handle. But I will keep you on, in an entry-level position. I’m only giving you this opportunity because I was impressed by your resume and your eye for detail. That said, I’ll personally keep an eye on you to see how well you learn and whether or not I can depend on you. We’ll review your progress in six to eight months, and then we’ll talk junior editor and the pay that comes with it.”
Rachel’s heart fluttered hopefully. “Will I be proofreading? Reading manuscripts?”
“Perhaps, but you’ll mostly be doing administrative work. You’ll be an assistant to a member of the editorial team. It’s all I’ve got right now. Take it, or leave it.”
Rachel visibly shrunk, but she held Lucy’s gaze. “And we’ll review my progress in six months?”
“Six to eight months.”
“With all due respect, Miss Black,” Rachel replied, “May I have that in writing?”
The editor cracked a smile. “It’s Lucy, and yes you may. There may be hope for you yet.”
Rachel finally smiled. “Then I accept your new offer, Lucy. Will I still be starting today?”
“Absolutely,” Lucy answered, “Follow me. We’ll set up a station for you.”
Rachel took a cleansing breath and followed Lucy down another hall that would lead to a set of cubicles that housed the administrative staff. Okay, Rachel thought, so I’m back to getting coffee and typing letters. But I’m here! And six months is more than enough time to dazzle Lucy Black. She couldn’t help but think that everything was going to be okay.
• • •
“I’m screwed.”
Rachel sat across a small round table from her best friend Camille, as they both sipped from two abundantly filled glasses of riesling. Camille raised an eyebrow and gave her a smirk.