by Whitney G.
Thirty-Five
Tara
Subject: How’s your job at the #2 hotel chain?
Subject: I need to talk to you about the last time you were in my office.
Subject: I’ve called you fifty times this week.
Subject: Did you block my number?
Subject: I know you see these damn emails, Tara …
I deleted the latest page of Preston’s emails and headed downstairs to the tech department.
“Good morning, Miss Lauren.” The director smiled at me. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like you to flag and block an email address from sending things to my inbox from here on out,” I said. “For some reason, my blocker isn’t working.”
“Of course, Miss. What’s the email address?”
“[email protected].”
“Oh.” He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll see what you can do? All you have to do is place it on the block list just like all the other addresses you have blocked.”
“Well, it’s slightly more complicated than that. It takes a lot of technical skill, and sometimes certain addresses slip through anyway.”
I gave him a blank stare.
“The internet is a crazy place, you know? It’s super crazy.”
“How much is Mr. Parker paying you to keep him off my block list?”
“What?” His cheeks reddened, a dead giveaway. “Nothing. I wouldn’t dare take his money for something as simple as this. I mean—”
“How much?”
“Two thousand a week.”
“I’ll double it.”
“He said you’d say that if you found out,” he whispered.
“And?”
“He said that I was supposed to call him when that happened.”
“You’re not going to call him,” I said. “Because if you do, I’ll have you fired for fraternizing with the competition.”
“Competition? Marriott is nowhere near the same league as the Parker Hotels, Miss Lauren. The Parker Hotels are like so way ahead that it’s almost laughable.”
“That’s not what your employee handbook says.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You will not call him. I don’t care what he offered you. Clear?”
He nodded. “Clear.”
“Good.” I started to walk out of his office, but he called my name, making me look over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“Um. He offered me a bonus if I could make you finally open one of the baskets he’s sent.” He walked over to our main storage room and opened it, revealing all the huge gift baskets that arrived three times a day like clockwork. “So, would it kill you to open one and let me get a picture for him? I mean, it’s just a picture, and you’d be helping the less fortunate, right?”
I shook my head and walked away.
Jesus, Preston.
Thirty-Six
Preston
I wasn’t used to Tara not talking to me.
I wasn’t used to not seeing or hearing from her for this long and I’d yet to admit it, but the shit hurt like hell. It especially stung more each time I had to call for my new executive assistant who was nowhere near as good as she was, or anytime Violet asked if she was coming over.
She was ignoring all of my emails and text messages, and if I knew her like I thought I did, she was probably placing all of my gifts in a closet somewhere.
Sighing, I picked up my desk phone and called Taylor.
“Yes, Mr. Parker?” he answered on the first ring.
“You forgot to bring me my short-list this morning.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Be right there.” He ended the call and walked into my office a few seconds later.
He was a decent assistant, although he struggled to understand the art of sarcasm and he couldn’t get my coffee right to save his life. I’d given up on asking him to get it, and had even used Tara’s Do It Your Goddamn Self list to complete certain aspects of his job.
“Are you going to start giving me some of your updates, Taylor?” I asked. “Now would be a good time.”
“Right. Well, I have everything set for your meeting this Friday.” He tapped his lip. “I also have your schedule finalized for your conference in Florida next month. Also, Violet’s birthday party planner said she'd be calling you soon.”
“I already threw Violet a birthday party this year. It was a trip to Disney World.”
“Yeah, but—” He crossed his arms. “You said that Violet was adjusting to New York at a rapid rate with her new friends and at the rate she was going, she’d want a party at Grand Central Station. I figured you’d want to start planning for that now, right?”
“That was sarcasm, Taylor.”
“It didn’t sound like sarcasm. It sounded like you were serious.”
“That’s the entire point of sarcasm.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m taking her to Disney World next year for her party. In fact, her birthday parties will be there until she turns nine.”
“You can afford to rent out a section of Grand Central Station for a night, though. I think she’d much prefer that, don’t you think?”
“Get the hell out of my office, Taylor.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
I gave him a blank stare and held back a sigh. “Thank you for your work today. You can go home early if you need to.”
“Can I say something before I leave, sir?”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, don’t take this personally, but I can’t help who I am, and I’d appreciate it if you accepted that I’m not Tara. I’ll never be Tara, either.”
I raised my eyebrow.
“Today is the first time you’ve called me by my name, and you expect me to know all of the things she does. It’s only been a few weeks, so could you please give me a chance as an individual, without all the expectations and things you had with her? That’s all I’m asking.”
He placed a folder on my desk, not giving me a chance to answer. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”
Three Weeks Later
Thirty-Seven
Tara
I never thought I would see the day when I would miss working for Preston, but this morning was making me wonder if I should’ve stayed a little while longer. My calendar was empty, my task list was complete, and most of the staff was attending a training session that would keep them busy for the rest of the day.
Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the mountain of delivered gifts that was sitting in my corner. I had yet to touch any of them, and I wanted to make it to the four-week mark before I even looked at one of the attached cards, but with another blank afternoon, I was tempted to cave.
Before I could open the closest package, an email from my CEO popped onto the screen.
* * *
Subject: IDEAS NEEDED
Hey everyone,
Just letting you know that I’m in need of some hosting ideas for a conference I want to hold for some executive friends this month. This would be for the first session regarding the Autumn Promotional Campaign we’re running next year, so please let me know if you have any.
Please don’t share this email with anyone who is not a B-level or C-level employee.
Mark Greywood
CEO of Marriott International
* * *
I immediately pulled out the folder of ideas I was working on last week and made my way to his office. Knocking, I cleared my throat as I stepped into the room.
“Well, hello there, Miss Lauren.” He smiled at me as I walked inside, smoothing his greying hair. “How are you today?”
“I’m great. I was wondering if I could talk with you for a minute.”
“Of course, of course.” He gestured for me to have a seat and handed me a basket of bread. “Try a few of these mini-rolls first. They’re amazing.”
I hesitated.
“No worries, Miss Lauren,” he said. “They’re gluten-free.”
“Thank you.” I smiled and tried one. Then another, an
d another.
“Amazing, right?” He laughed. “I can’t get enough of these damn things. The chef who made these is out of this world, and he’ll be cooking for the B and C-level executives in a private party tomorrow before he starts his residency at our downtown hotel.”
Why didn’t I get an invite to that? “That sounds great. I wanted to show you some ideas for the conference you’re hosting for the executives. Since it will be a fall-themed campaign, you should make sure that everything about their trip from start to finish will fit that theme to heighten the brainstorming sessions.” I opened my folder. “If you’ll give me five minutes—”
“I didn’t know I included you on that email.” He interrupted me. “I don’t need any ideas from you, Miss Lauren. I’m sure they’re amazing, but this is a man’s job, as you know.”
“No, I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“I mean, all I hired you to do was be the interim.” He smiled. “So, be the interim. Do the few small things in the morning from my short-list, handle your inbox, and rest your pretty little head while the guys run everything else.”
“I contributed to all the marketing campaigns at Parker International,” I said. “It wasn’t even in my job description, and some of my ideas were better than the damn Marketing Director’s.”
“Like I’ll believe that.” He tilted his head to the side, giving me his patronizing smile. “The Preston Parker I know wouldn’t dare let a woman have any input on anything except how short he likes her skirt.”
“He’s not like that at all.” I paused. “A good idea was a good idea, no matter who it came from.”
“Nice try, Miss Lauren.” He winked at me. “But I’m pretty sure I know Mr. Parker far better than you do. He’s been at this for over a decade, just like I have, and the only reason he’s number one is because he’s slightly more ruthless than we are, but it’s also because we always have the right thinkers in the room. The guys.”
“Okay, look.” I wasn’t going to put up with this for a full year. “I would appreciate it if you would just listen to what I have to say before making any—” I sneezed. “Sorry. As I was saying—” I sneezed again.
He bit into another mini-roll. “Something wrong, Miss Lauren?”
“Was there any garlic in those?”
“Oh, yeah. Tons.” He smiled. “The beauty of how the chef makes them is that you don’t even taste it until it’s paired with the wine, but it’s there.” He smiled. “Brilliant, huh?”
“I need to go home.” I felt my throat itching and knew it was only going to get worse from there. “Now.”
“Well, do you want me to get you a cab?” he asked. “I’m suspending the town car service starting tomorrow anyway. Sorry that I didn’t include you on that email either.”
“A cab would be fine.”
He picked up his desk phone and handed it to me. “You don’t expect me to actually call it for you, do you?”
Later that night, I groaned as I held my phone’s camera up to my face. My lips were swollen, and my eyes were red and puffy.
“Here you go, bestie.” Ava placed a cold towel on my forehead. “If it makes you feel any better, my new job sucks. Like, I can’t even put into words how much I hate it.”
“I think I hate my new job, too,” I said. “Why is it so hard to find a good one?”
“Like I would know.” She laughed. “Anyway, your boyfriend stopped by the concierge desk today. Again.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Well, I ran into him on my way out, and he practically begged me to talk to him.”
“Preston Parker doesn’t beg for anything.”
“He was definitely begging.” She fluffed the pillow behind my head. “I told him you got sick at work. Like, actually sick. Not as in a ruse to get him to go away.”
She stepped away for a few seconds and returned with a silver tray of food. “He told me to contact Other Noodles and they flew this in while you were sleeping. Can you believe that?” She uncovered the tray, revealing chicken soup and gourmet crackers. There was also hot tea, ginger ale, and a note.
Feel better (and please answer one of my calls),
Preston
PS—Yes, the noodles are gluten-free.
PSS—I still wish that you were working for me, but I do appreciate the “Do it Your Goddamn Self” list.
“I’m not eating his apology food.”
“Yes, you are.” She handed me a spoon. “He also sent medicine, and Violet sent you a crayon drawing. Don’t ask me what it’s supposed to be, because I honestly can’t tell.”
I laughed and slowly sat up, sipping the soup. “After he talked to me the way he did in his office, would you give him a second chance?”
“Let’s see. What would I do if my former billionaire-boss got super mad at me for going to another hotel company and put me out of his office? If this is the same billionaire who cares about me, gives me good cock, and wants to be with me, while calling me every day and even sending gifts to my best friend just to get small updates about my life?” She tapped her chin. “No, I wouldn’t give him a second chance. I’d find another billionaire. They’re like a dime a dozen, you know?”
“Wait a minute. You’ve been giving him updates on me in exchange for gifts?”
“Of course not.” She covered the Cartier watch on her wrist. “What type of friend do you think I am?”
I picked up a pillow and tossed it at her. “A terrible one.”
“Give it some time and decide for yourself,” she said. “As lovesick as he’s acting, I’m sure he’ll wait as long as it takes.”
“He’s not lovesick, Ava. He’s just used to having me around to help him make decisions.”
“No, I’m pretty sure he cares about you just as much as you care about him.” She leaned against the doorframe. “You know, I believe that you hated him the first year or so, but after that, I’m not so sure. You kept showing up to work when you knew you had enough money in the bank, and you could’ve easily walked away.”
“For the umpteenth time, I was legally bound to do so.”
“You weren’t personally bound to do so.” She shrugged. “You could’ve stayed at home and never shown up. What would he have done?”
“Get out of my room.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Thirty-Eight
Preston
I set down my phone as my tenth call of the day went straight to Tara’s voicemail. I’d never called a woman this much and received nothing in return, and with her knowing all my ways to get to her, I wasn’t sure what I could do next. I couldn’t deny that my days were far less exciting without her, and in her absence, I spent way less time in my office.
Feeling a slight tug at my pants, I looked down and saw Violet toying with her new sports cup.
“Can you help me, Uncle Preston?” she asked.
I took it from her hands and adjusted the straw. “Here you go.”
“Thank you!” She smiled and let Bear have a sip. Then she looked up at me again. “I miss Tara.”
“Me, too.”
“Can she come play with us?”
“Let’s see.” I picked up my phone and called her friend Ava. I was done being patient.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Ava,” I said. “It’s Preston.”
“I know that. You just called me two hours ago—without a gift offer might I add, so I don’t have any new information for you.”
I laughed. “I’m not going another day without seeing her. Where is she?”
“She doesn’t work for you anymore.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“She also doesn’t love you anymore.”
“I wasn’t aware she loved me to begin with.”
“Well …” She gasped. “She didn’t. She hated you.”
“Please tell me where she is, Ava.”
“You’re not going to offer me a gift first?”
“The gift
will be her not talking about me every night.”
“She doesn’t talk about you every night.” She paused. “Okay, no I would definitely like that. She’s at the 21 Roof Bar on Park Avenue. It’s a work event.”
“Thank you very much.”
“By the way, if you ever talk to her the way you did in your office again, I will get all my fashion friends and we will one star the hell out of all your hotels,” she said. “I will also hire someone to make sure that the next chocolate drop at the bottom of your Sweet Seasons coffee isn’t chocolate at all, if you catch my drift.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m promising you,” she said. “Now, get off my phone and go talk to the person you want to talk to.”
Thirty-Nine
Tara
To Whom It May Concern,
Thank you for the opportunity to work for your misogynistic brand. I’ve truly appreciated being treated like a second class—
“Miss Lauren?” My boss walked toward me, and I put away the first draft of my next two weeks’ notice. “Miss Lauren, I want to introduce you to Mr. Kline. This is the man who put on this event at a moment’s notice. Isn’t it grand?”
“It’s something.” I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying this event was basic as hell. The food was overcooked, the theme (Old Hollywood) was nonexistent, and most of the decorations were outdated. The “star” of the event was an Elvis impersonator, and I was finally accepting that Preston would always be the best hotelier this city had ever seen.
“Mr. Kline has been working with me for a full decade now,” he said. “He’s someone you can learn a lot from since you’re so eager to do work all the time.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Lauren.” Mr. Kline extended his hand, as my boss walked away. “How long have you been working at Marriott?”