by J. A. Dennam
Shoulders back. Chin up. Bend a knee before you pass out. Which she did just before the doors finally slid open on the eighth floor.
To her enormous relief, the Monroe Graphics insignia still graced the wall behind the reception desk, which was placed right in the middle of the building. It was dramatic and modern, curved with a strip of backlit chrome running its length. To the left were the administrative offices. To the right was the creative team’s domain.
A stranger sat behind the desk, but Brooke was prepared for that. She approached with a smile, fully intending to bank left and head toward the administrative side. Her smile faltered as soon as a man in blue coveralls popped up out of nowhere. He was holding a sign that he must have been in the process of hanging. It was the smaller print that hammered home the gravity of her arrangement.
A division of Master Ink Innovations.
“May I help you?”
Brooke blinked down at the receptionist. The woman’s black bangs, smoky eyes and cocoa skin glowed against the computer screen as she looked at Brooke with expectation. Unable to recover a smile, Brooke managed to introduce herself. “Brooke Monroe. I work here.”
“Um…hold on.”
The woman’s voice halted her progress down the sunlit hallway. Brooke watched her in dumb shock as she picked up the phone and dialed an extension.
“Yes, sir, I have a Brooke Monroe here. She says she…oh…” She turned around and glanced at the sign above her. “Yes, okay. Sorry.” Once she put the phone down, she looked at Brooke with apology. “You can go back.”
Permission? She needed permission to enter an office she knew better than her own townhouse? An office that bore her surname for God’s sake? Brooke swallowed back a sudden wave of fury and took in two recuperative breaths. “Thank you.”
It came out as a constrained attempt at civility, but the new receptionist had already moved on, hunkered over her keyboard like a dutiful employee, leaving Brooke to stew alone.
Again, she felt as if she’d been dismissed, but in her own office this time. Far from deterred, she walked along the row of windows letting in the eastern sunshine, which brightened the russet colored walls and filled the place with a creative kind of energy. The hall opened into a main pool of cubicles, half of them already occupied by new faces. At least the art was still up—mural-sized pieces showcasing Monroe’s highest achievements on the lofty walls overhead. Half of those achievements were hers, not that anyone here would know that. Brooke supposed that Stevens simply hadn’t gotten around to taking them down yet.
Even though the general appearance was the same, the soul of the place was notably gone. A jolt of loss went through her at the absence of Amy’s blonde head, always with a phone to her ear, and her father scoping out the latest projects with a bagel in hand. This was the new administrative department, a dozen or so strangers who’d already made themselves at home.
It was the first time Brooke wondered whether Stevens had had enough time to hire locally. So removed from this sudden takeover, Brooke naturally assumed that he’d brought his own staff from South Dakota. But that would be absurd. The cost of living here was more than double that of most places. Unless he owned a hotel in which he housed his travelling circus, there was no way all these people could have settled in so quickly.
“Brooke.”
She whirled around, nearly dropping her briefcase. Ken Stevens stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking considerably more professional than the last time she’d seen him. He was shorter than she had imagined, his nose nearly level with hers. Of course, her only sight of him had been in a booth with lettuce all over his shirt. She wanted to ask him how long he had planned this expansion, but couldn’t for fear that she’d look even more stupid in the eyes of someone so gauche.
“Mr. Stevens,” she murmured, soaking it all in. “Before our meeting, I’d like to get some things from my office.” His eyes twinkled at the correction she made first. “I mean…the office that will soon be mine again.”
He chuckled and indicated that she follow him with the wave of a hand. “I already had the files removed from it, but you’re welcome to retrieve your personal items. In the meantime, this will be your desk.” He stopped in front of one of the cubicles. It was plain with an L-shaped desk wiped clean except for a computer, a stack of empty trays, and a stapler. Swallowing her disappointment, she dropped her purse and briefcase into the partitioned box before her—one that used to belong to a young man who’d only been employed there for three weeks.
“I’ll be in the conference room when you’re ready,” Ken said, his shadow moving across the taupe-colored partitions. The windows behind him offered a view from the west side of the building and would brighten later in the afternoon sun. Her father had ensured that the private offices and conference room would share their generous bounty of light with the rest of the floor through inner glass walls. The corner office was the only one that was remotely private with just a thin strip of glass to see through from the main work area. She headed that way.
The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and was relieved to see that her office was empty. It still looked the same. Her few belongings were still on the modern, black mahogany desk and the matching bookshelves behind it. Her potted Ficus tree thrived in the corner, adding a splash of green to the wood-and-leather decor.
And, of course, there was the view offered from a whole corner of shaded glass. Her view. She approached the windows, looked down and watched a pair of fishing boats glide through the canal toward the open gulf. Morning sun cast a golden shimmer over the V-shaped wakes they left behind. High masts filled the marina to the right, bobbing on the stirred-up surface of the water. Beside the marina was a rustic marketplace waiting for the ten o’clock opening rush. Until then, its boardwalks and tropical signs remained quiet with anticipation.
And so did she. Her creative mind took in the sights thoughtfully. How could she ever give this up, especially to that pretentious blow-hard Ethan.…
“Are you lost?”
Spoken by the very man of her thoughts, his words came with a slight accent as if he fancied himself a smooth-talking southerner. To Brooke, Ethan Wolf’s voice was the symbol of her own doom, which reinforced her resolve to keep this particular office out of his grasp. “Not anymore,” she answered with her nose to the glass.
Behind her, he moved across the plush carpet until he appeared in her peripheral vision. “Nice,” he said. “I do like to look at pretty things.”
When she finally stole a sideways glance, it was to see that he wore a tailored gray suit with a black shirt and tie—dressed for success and oozing with casual confidence. Unfortunately, she still looked up at him despite the heels. “Then I hope you brought a nice poster and some thumb tacks, because it will be the only view you’ll get.”
Her clipped remark was met with a smooth chuckle. He leaned one hand against the double-paned glass and shoved the other in a pocket. She noticed that he wore no cologne and no jewelry, a sort of lackluster representation of the label she’d pinned on him. Amy would probably say that he emanated enough raw sex appeal on his own… something Ethan probably thought as well.
When he spoke, Brooke jerked her gaze away, horrified by the possibility that she’d been staring.
“Something tells me the next two weeks are going to end in my favor.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “But you can still admire the view when you bring me my morning coffee.”
Brooke clenched her jaw against an urge to tear into him, knowing it was exactly what he wanted. Instead, she walked to the desk and, with her back to him, said, “It’s a shame you can’t move in today as you’d planned.” Grateful for the distance between them, she began collecting the few framed pictures and personal items that marked the coveted space as her own.
“I’m a patient man, Brooke,” he said behind her. “The outcome will be worth it.”
Then he left. With nerves abuzz, she packed up and took her armload of meag
er items to the doorway. She then turned and gave the room one last look. A piece of hair fell from her smart ponytail onto her nose. She blew it away and maneuvered the door shut with her foot.
Moments later, she entered the conference room. This was supposed to be a simple overview of what was expected of her in order to win the position that she’d already earned. Both Ken and Ethan leaned back in their chairs simultaneously.
Great, twins. Seeing as how they were such buddies, she knew that Stevens would favor Ethan.
She took a seat on Ken’s other side at the long conference table, its polished veneer surface reflecting the cloud-studded sky from the vast window beside it. A hint of lemon oil stirred in the air along with Ethan’s cool amusement. Ken got down to business. First, he covered the basics from commissions to benefits, which were in line with what her father had provided for his employees. After that ten-minute spiel, Ken handed them both a two-page list of rules and expectations.
“Ms. Monroe, I think we’re all aware of your feelings regarding this buyout, so I’ll skip to the disclaimers.”
She placed her hands in her lap and listened in stony silence.
“There will be no bias in this competition, by me or by any of my employees. Most of the people here are new to both of us and have no stake in the outcome. This will be based solely on new business since that is where you and Ethan have equal footing. The receptionist has been instructed to divvy out sales calls equally between you. Whoever lands the biggest client within a two-week period will win the corner office, as well as the VP position. Should you lose, you’ll finish out your twelve months here as stated in the employee agreement.” He leaned forward and laced his fingers on the table. “As for Mr. Wolf’s provision…my conscience requires me to ask if you’re still agreeable.”
His question blindsided her for a moment. Did he really care if she’d be miserable as Ethan’s personal secretary? “And if I’m not?”
He nodded once. “Well, now is your chance to change your mind.”
A part of Brooke’s heart thawed a bit toward her new boss. Though it was tempting to back out, it would be the same as admitting defeat. “Yes, I’m still agreeable,” she mumbled.
Ken filled his lungs and shook his head. “Okay, then. In the meantime, you’ll still be required to assist Mr. Wolf with the transition. I can’t afford to halt everything while you two have a thumb war.”
She accepted the folder he shoved in her direction. It was two inches thick, sectioned with colorful tabs, and titled “Transition Procedures.” She turned a few pages, fighting back a look of distaste. “I understand.”
“This may translate into overtime, depending on how full your day becomes due to said thumb war.”
The thought of wasting a moment of her time training someone else for her job didn’t sit very well, but she nodded anyway. A commitment of twenty minutes a day to the two-inch file should be sufficient enough.
“And even though we’re continuing to use the Monroe name,” Ken continued, “you won’t conduct any business without including the Master Ink affiliation. Shannon Webber is handling the marketing materials. You’ll need to see her regarding your new business cards as soon as we’re done here.”
“Which one is Shannon Webber?”
“She’s in the office next to mine.” He pointed directly ahead. “Besides Ethan and my lead illustrator, she’s the only other employee I brought with me from headquarters. She’s in charge of bidding projects.”
Brooke thought about that as she watched Ethan struggle to suppress a smile. “Excuse me, but in order to land big clients, we need to put out competitive bids. How do I know this Shannon won’t tip the scales in Ethan’s favor?”
Ken shrugged. “You’re familiar with the economics here, Ms. Monroe. If you question a bid, you’re welcome to bring it to my attention.”
“But—”
“Unless you suspect me of tipping the scales as well.” His look dared her to accuse him. The truth was, however, that this contest between her and Ethan could only benefit him during the takeover of a floundering business.
“Of course not,” she said with sincerity. “And I appreciate the opportunity you’re giving me, I truly do. I just have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“When I win VP, what position will Mr. Wolf have here?” Across from her, Ethan continued to stare, only now with a touch of annoyance.
“That’ll be between me and Mr. Wolf,” Ken said in the utmost professional manner. “Now, after you get things squared away with Shannon, I’ll expect you to be present for orientation which will take place in the main work area.”
3
BROOKE READ THE WHITE TAPE ON THE DOOR that bore Shannon Webber’s name in red marker. She’d caught sight of a wild mane of wheat-blonde hair through the glass and the shape of a man who was directly on the other side of the door. Out of habit, she simply walked in without knocking…and encountered a blessedly familiar face.
Her eyes widened in shock. “Roger!”
Roger Kerrigan, her long-time coworker and friend, grinned and then laughed when she threw her arms around him. “Please tell me you still work here,” she breathed.
“I got the same deal as you.” He held her out at arms’ length where she could take in his simple, blessed familiarity. Goofy in many ways, youthfully handsome, and always the loud one at any party, Roger was either loved or hated. “They’re keeping me around to hold the new system administrator’s hand for a while,” he added.
At that moment, Brooke loved him more than anything, no longer feeling awkward and alone. She still had Roger—the twinkly-eyed cad with an oversized grin that some would call lecherous. Despite the empty passes he’d made at her through the years—which left her unaffected yet very flattered—she’d always valued his company.
“Ahem.”
Brooke glanced past his shoulder and got her first good look at Shannon Webber. The new bid specialist was a picture of thick blonde hair and high-shine lip gloss—an all-American shampoo commercial with a neon smile. No wonder Roger was camping in here.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Brooke matched the woman’s smile, hers every bit as counterfeit. “I’m Brooke Monroe.” She grabbed Roger’s wrist in a clandestine death grip and said through her teeth, “Let’s do lunch, shall we?”
Roger gave a nod and backed out of Shannon’s office with notable tension. “Ladies.…”
Before the door shut behind him, Shannon was standing, extending her hand over the desk. “You must be the Monroe on the wall,” the woman said, her fluffy, shoulder-length waves bouncing with the force of their handshake. Then Brooke was handed a piece of paper. “Fill this out so I won’t get any information wrong on your new business cards and marketing materials.”
That was it. No “sorry for the takeover,” or “we’ll take good care of your business,” or “don’t worry, I won’t seduce Roger to the dark side.” Having worked hard to earn the respect she was accustomed to, Brooke was left feeling just as insignificant as she had during her first encounter with Ethan. Shannon Webber was just another invader who’d raided, plundered, and occupied her world within mere days…or so it seemed.
But when Brooke won VP, Monroe Graphics would be hers again. And that would fix everything.
A wave of content swept through her. She sat a little taller as she filled out her form; this time her smile was genuine when she handed it back.
WITH KEN’S PRIVATELY SPOKEN WORDS STILL soaking in, Ethan left the conference room just as Shannon’s door opened. Brooke walked out, looking much too sure of herself, with a tilt in her proud chin. Hands in his pockets, Ethan gestured toward the two cubicles beside them: “Looks like we’re neighbors.”
She visibly stiffened. “Unfortunately.”
He studied her for a moment. Despite the red hair, her skin was surprisingly milky white and free of flaws. Her face was delicately shaped, with a small nose that complemented the cupid’s-bow shape of her mouth. Once again, he
was talking himself out of an attraction to her, something he’d been doing since first spotting her in the corner office that morning.
Yes, any physical appeal that Brooke possessed was dampened by the look of censure blasting from her stark green eyes.
Then again, that was kind of cute too…and Ethan loved a good challenge. “Will it hurt too much when you hear my voice as I secure the biggest client?” he goaded, finding a new appreciation for that look of censure.
In her prim little outfit, Brooke replied, “I’ll be too busy in the conference room satisfying my biggest clients.” He cocked his brow at that, which caused an adorable hint of color to seep into her cheeks. “I meant…going over projects,” she added.
Ethan decided that his competitor was easily thrown off balance, a weakness that should work in his favor.
Starbucks coffee in hand, Shannon came out and joined them. His long-time coworker reached up and straightened his tie for him, giving away the status of their friendship—a friendship that had been sorely tested since his accident. It was no secret that she’d had feelings for him, but Ethan lost a lot the day he crashed, including his sense of immortality. Life had suddenly gotten serious, which meant no room for starry-eyed, sympathy-driven fools. His resulting mean streak had lasted too long, and Shannon had developed one in return, leaving their friendship in a state of awkward limbo.
He’d often wondered if he should take her to bed just to get it out of the way and move on. She had a great rack, and the rest was all slender curves that fitted the blue pantsuit she wore like a department store mannequin…curves he’d always wanted to see without clothes on. But that would mean going against Ken’s strictly enforced code of ethics.
“Are we ready for the big event?” Shannon asked, flaring her big brown eyes.
Now at her desk, Brooke spared the woman a look as she emptied her briefcase. “What big event?”