by Sofia Tate
“Oh, really? Malachy, that’s wonderful news.”
Ronan opened his eyes curiously. Something was off. Blakely’s voice had shifted in tone. It almost sounded like fake surprise. He reckoned Gigi must’ve told her about the deal.
She stammered and corrected herself. “Umm, I mean, I’m sorry to hear you had to sell some property, but with this money, you’ll definitely be able to renovate the ranch.”
Something’s up. What’s going on, baby?
“I know. That’s why I’m calling. We were hoping you could help us out with that. You’re the only person who we would even think of going to for advice. Isn’t that right, Ronan?”
An audible gasp was heard on Blakely’s end. Ronan went deathly still for fear she could actually hear him.
Blakely could be heard clearing her throat, almost choking.
“Blakely dear, are you all right?” Malachy asked.
It sounded like she was swallowing something. “Yes…fine…just got a frog in my throat is all. Malachy, am I on speaker?”
He laughed. “Yes. Is there a problem?”
Blakely began to slowly enunciate each word. “Who is with you right now?”
Ronan looked down at his lap, shutting his eyes, bracing himself for his father’s next sentence.
Malachy smiled. “Rosaleen is standing next to me, and Ronan of course.”
Blakely’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Of course.” She swallowed something again. “Hello, everyone.”
Only Rosaleen responded with a “Hello.”
Blakely took in a deep breath and exhaled. “Um, Malachy, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m going to be made a partner of my firm very soon, and I’m afraid I won’t have much time to take on new projects. My plate is pretty full as it is.”
Ronan gritted his teeth.
Of course your plate is full. Another fucking excuse.
“Oh, I see. I’m pleased for you, Blakely.”
“But I have two junior colleagues who I trust implicitly and I know they’d be more than happy to consult with you,” she quickly added.
His expression softened. “Well, that sounds ideal. If you say you trust them, then we would love to speak with them. That’s so kind of you.”
Ronan heard rustling papers on Blakely’s end of the phone. “Malachy, I’m sorry but I have a meeting in twenty minutes that I need to prepare for. I’ll give Paul and Steven your number, and they’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you, Blakely. We look forward to hearing from them. You take care now, my dear. And thank you again.”
Blakely’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. “You’re welcome, Malachy. Take care. Goodbye, everyone.”
The sound of a phone hanging up on the other end slammed into Ronan’s heart like a sledgehammer. She was gone.
Malachy looked at his wife and son. “See, nothing to worry about. She said she’d help us, and she’s true to her word. Lovely girl, that Blakely.”
Ronan kept staring at the phone.
That’s it. I’ve had enough of this shit.
He suddenly jumped to his feet. “Dad, if you don’t need me anymore, I need to go do something.”
His father waved his hand at him. “You go right ahead. Come over for dinner later.”
Ronan yelled over his shoulder to Malachy. “Can’t, Dad. I’m going to New York.”
“Good idea, son. Meet with her associates in person.”
Ronan rushed across the street to his house, grabbing his duffel and shoving just a few clothes into it. He grabbed his toothbrush and some other toiletries, throwing them in as well. He shut the door behind him and ran to his truck. Gunning the engine, he pulled out of his driveway, tires squealing.
Blakely leaned back in her leather office chair, staring at the phone on her desk.
He didn’t even say hello. God, he must really hate me.
She shut her eyes to keep from tearing up.
It’s your own damn fault. You didn’t even try.
Once she’d realized he was there and couldn’t even say one word to her, she wanted to end the call as quickly as she could.
Her entire body shuddered as she clamped her hands over her mouth, turning her head into the soft leather. She didn’t want Clea to hear her crying. All she wanted was to go home.
A rapid knock on her office door brought her back to the present moment.
Blakely quickly wiped her eyes, grabbing a tissue from her purse. Once she checked her appearance in her compact, she cleared her throat and answered, “Come in.”
Paul and Steven strode in. “You ready, Pierce?”
“Absolutely. Game on, gentlemen! Let’s do this. Give me five minutes, and we’ll go to the conference room together.”
In the restroom, Blakely carefully dabbed her eyes with a wet paper towel so as not to smudge her make-up. She took a long look at herself in the mirror.
Shake it off. Don’t go there now. It’s game time.
Blakely collected her two protégés and Clea on her way back from the restroom and with heads held high, walked into the conference room where Clayton was waiting with a tall, pudgy man wearing an ill-fitted light brown suit and an obvious toupee. A younger, middle-aged man in a grey suit stood with them.
Clayton glanced in her direction. “Ah, here they are. Bob Randall, CEO of Randall Hotels & Resorts, it’s my pleasure to introduce our senior consultant, Blakely Pierce, and our junior consultants, Paul Romano and Steven Kennedy. Mr. Randall is accompanied by his Senior VP of Sales and Marketing, his son, Sam Randall. You are in very good hands.”
Handshakes were exchanged. “Would you like something to drink?” Clea inquired.
As Sam was about to say something, his father waved his hand at Clea. “Nah, I’m good, sweetheart.”
Blakely and Clea raised their eyebrows at each other before Clea stepped out of the room.
Clayton shook Bob’s and Sam’s hands. “Do stop by before you leave, Bob.”
“Will do, Clay,” he replied, slapping Blakely’s boss on the back.
Blakely glanced at Paul and Steven. Nobody they knew ever had the audacity to give Clayton Powell, a man who wore bespoke suits made on Savile Row in London, a nickname, let alone without asking him first.
Blakely steeled herself and took a deep breath. “Why don’t we get this meeting started?”
The two Randalls sat on one side of the table, as Blakely, Paul, and Steven faced them on the other.
Blakely opened her file folder and pulled out some notes she had made. “Mr. Randall, I’ve done extensive research on your company, and I think that I’ve come up with a comprehensive plan—”
Bob held up his hand to her. “Just hang on there, young lady. Don’t you want to what to hear what I have to say?”
She pressed her lips together and shut her folder. “Of course, please.”
“Now, I get that we have to join the 21st century,” he said, addressing Steven, not Blakely. “As much as my son here insists on it, I also don’t want to lose that authentic feel of home that makes people want to come back to my hotels again and again. They’re like family to me.”
Blakely placed her hands down on the table. “Of course, Mr. Randall, I completely—”
“Tell me, son,” Mr. Randall said, speaking to Paul this time, “am I going to have to tear down any of my hotels?”
Paul looked nervous, shifting in his seat toward Blakely. “No, sir, of course not. If you would let Ms. Pierce explain—”
Blakely jumped in. “We’re not recommending something that extreme, sir. Rooms will need to be renovated, of course, and some activities cut back—”
Mr. Randall held up his hand to her again. He glanced at Steven. “Now just hang on there! Exactly what activities are you talking about?”
Blakely was becoming more frustrated with each interruption. It was obvious this was the first time he was dealing with a woman in charge because he kept directing his attention to Paul and Steven, which wasn’t sitting well w
ith her. Despite being called “young lady,” she knew she had to get the meeting directed back to her.
“Well, for instance, you can cut back on the Spring Break specials,” Blakely offered.
“Have you lost your mind, lady?”
His son put his hand on his dad’s arm. “Pop, just listen to what Ms. Pierce has to say. I told you—”
Mr. Randall was becoming red in the face. “The Spring Break discounts are some of our most profitable campaigns.”
“Actually, Mr. Randall, they’re not, not as much as the specials you have during the holidays.”
“Are you telling me I don’t even read my own company’s financial statements?” he accused her.
Paul and Steven sat up, going into defense mode. “Sir, she’s not saying that at all,” Paul countered.
Mr. Randall pointed his finger at Paul. “You! Tell me why I should hire Powell & McLean as my management consultants.”
Paul quickly glanced at Blakely, then stammered, “Sir, I…”
She jumped in, attempting to return command of the meeting to her. “Mr. Randall, instead of having my junior associate do it, please allow me to illustrate why we would be a perfect fit for you and your company.”
“If it’s all the same to you, lady, I’d rather hear it from him.”
In a split second, Blakely leapt to her feet, causing the men seated at the table to jump in their chairs. Her voice was calm yet firm, unwavering in confidence. “To be perfectly honest, Mr. Randall, I don’t want you to hire us, because if you did, that means I’d have to work with you. And in case you haven’t heard, brace yourself for this news flash—there are women who are United States Senators now. We’re not living in the 1950s anymore.”
Mr. Randall rose to his feet, “Young lady, where do you get off—”
“I will tell you where I get off. I’m an Ivy League-educated senior executive of one of the top management consultancies in the country. And yet, you basically ignore me throughout the meeting, turning instead to my two junior colleagues because they’re men.”
Mr. Randall snapped his head toward his son. “Come on, Sam. We’re getting out of here so I don’t have to listen to this feminist crap. You’re getting our business over my dead body.”
Blakely, Paul, and Steven watched the Randalls storm down the hallway, passing Clayton and Spencer without saying goodbye. Her bosses pointlessly called after them, then turned their heads to Blakely.
Clayton glared at Blakely, gesturing to his office with a pivot of his head. Blakely sighed.
Paul and Steven began to ramble, “Blakely, we’re so sorry…we didn’t know what to do…he totally deserved that.”
She gave them a forgiving smile. “It’s okay, guys. I don’t blame you. Looks like I’m being summoned to the principal’s office.” She picked up her folder and walked out.
Blakely reached Clayton’s office where he and Spencer were waiting for her. She closed the door behind her.
“Sit down, Blakely,” Clayton commanded.
Blakely sat down as Clayton and Spencer remained standing.
Clayton leaned forward. “What the hell happened in there?”
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, sir. He was being such a pig and totally ignored me. He’d only talk to Paul or Steven.”
Spencer stepped up to her. “Clayton and I just caught the tail end of your conversation, and frankly, I’m shocked. You’ve dealt with clients who were much more insulting than him, and you’ve always been able to keep it together. Is something going on with you personally?”
She shot back at Spencer, almost too defensively. “Of course not! You know that’s my number one rule, keeping my personal and professional life separate. Should I not have defended myself? You tell me, because if what I did was wrong, then I need to reevaluate why I’m working for you.”
Spencer pulled back his shirtsleeve to check the time on his Rolex. “I’ve got a conference call with my client in Palo Alto in fifteen minutes.” He looked at Clayton. “We’ll talk later.”
Clayton nodded and waited for Spencer to leave before he spoke again. He walked over to Blakely to face her directly. “Blakely, I hope you know that I’ve always thought of you as the daughter I never had.”
Blakely smiled shyly. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re still fully on track for a partnership. Randall is small potatoes, so it’s no big loss. And judging by what you said, he obviously deserved it. Don’t worry about Spencer either. But this does make me wonder if there’s something going on with you. And I’m not saying this as your boss, but as a friend. I’m genuinely concerned for you.”
Blakely shook her head. “Clayton, you have no reason to be concerned. I assure you.”
“Ever since that wedding you went to in Nevada, something’s different about you. I can’t exactly put my finger on it.”
Blakely immediately spoke up. “I’ve never given anything but 110% in my job, and you know that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant on a more personal level. I’ve noticed you around the office. You’re…”
“What?”
“This is the protective father in me, but you seem sad.”
Blakely opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his finger to her to make a point. “No, it’s not a bad thing, Blakely. I just see you sometimes with this look in your eyes as if your mind is somewhere else because that’s where you want to be too. Am I wrong?”
Blakely paused, then shook her head. “Not entirely, sir, no.”
He nodded his head. “I thought so. Listen, I want you to take the rest of the day off.”
“But, sir—”
“I absolutely insist. Go home and relax. I’m not angry, and you’re not in trouble. And if you have to, take tomorrow off, too. That’s an order. No arguments.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Clayton reassured her. “Just think of it as recharging the batteries. A mental health break.”
She sighed. “Will do, sir.”
Blakely stood up and headed for the door. She turned back to Clayton. “Thank you, sir.”
He nodded. “We’ll talk soon.”
She slowly walked back to her office, where Clea was on the phone at her desk. She quickly hung up. “Are you okay?”
Blakely smiled. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Clea?”
She followed her boss into her office, where Blakely began to gather her things.
Clea became alarmed at the sight. “What’s going on?”
“I’m in an approved time out, for lack of a better term.”
“Is everything okay? Should I be worried?”
“No. Clayton just told me to take the rest of the day off. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Sure thing, boss. I’ll keep you posted on everything.”
Blakely put on her trenchcoat. “Have a good night, Clea.”
Clea watched as Blakely walked out the door. “You too.”
Once she was outside, Blakely hopped in a cab to her apartment. She walked in and dropped her purse and briefcase inside the doorway. She took off her shoes and padded through the living room, stopping at the windows that overlooked Central Park.
Blakely marveled at the city that lay in front of her. She was a native New Yorker. She had never imagined herself living anywhere else.
But when she stared down at the trees in the park, she didn’t see them. In her mind, she saw the tall pine trees at Black Rose Ranch that seemed to shoot straight into the cloudless blue sky. She saw the wildflowers that grew everywhere, planting bursts of color on top of the copper soil. She inhaled the fresh air fecund with life, no steam from manhole covers or toxic fumes from roaring trucks.
Blakely turned her head back as her eyes roamed over the contents of her living room. The suede couches. The marble fireplace. The books on the coffee table that had never had their spines cracked. Everything was in its place. Perfect, never to be disturbed.
T
hen she looked out the window again and saw him. Ronan.
Blakely leaned her forehead against the window, pressing her hands to feel the coolness of the glass, as if she were trying to give herself a jolt of electricity.
She thought of a pair of blue eyes that looked straight into her soul the second they first met in Blossom Café. A smile that could be joyful one minute, lustful the next. A voice that made her go wet every time she heard it. A pair of arms that had held her up when she lost herself in front of him, strong and firm.
All at once, Blakely’s hands flew to her mouth. Her head fell back as she began to cry and laugh at the same time. She knew what she had wanted all along, and now felt so foolish for thinking it wasn’t possible.
As much as she loved New York City, there was something, no, someone she loved more. Craved more.
Manhattan would always be there. But she knew he wouldn’t be.
Fuck fear!
Blakely ran to her study, turned on her computer, and began to make some phone calls.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ronan was used to big cities. After all, he had lived in Las Vegas for four years when he attended UNLV. Vegas was all about glitz, glamour, and most of all, showmanship.
But New York City was different, specifically Manhattan. Even after spending only one day there, he knew what word described Manhattan the best—ambition. He had only been to Manhattan once years ago when he visited Sean and his family in Queens, and Sean took him to Manhattan to go bar-hopping.
This time, Ronan picked a hotel in Times Square as his base since it was a tourist-friendly area and centrally located. He explored Lower Manhattan, paying tribute at the 9/11 Memorial and the Irish Famine Memorial. He walked the cobblestone streets of Soho, Little Italy, and Chinatown. He ventured out to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, taking the guided audio tour that left him in tears.
But what impressed him the most were the skyscrapers. He imagined the visions of its architects and engineers, wanting to be the ones that built the highest building in the city, making a name for themselves, forever imprinting their dreams in steel and glass on Manhattan’s skyline.