Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2)

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  He puts air quotes around the word “requested” since it’s not like any of us could turn down a meeting when the big man wants to see us.

  “Why? What did you mess up without me here to fix your mistakes?”

  “Me? Why do you think it’s me? Maybe it’s you.” He knocks on my desk one more time and strides to the door.

  I grab the yellow notebook from the top of my desk and a pen before I follow him out. Six doors down, Jay stops to knock on Mr. Bob Peterson’s office door. Not that anyone calls him Bob, not if you want to still have a job when you’re done.

  “Come in!”

  “The man might be going on seventy, but he still has a set of iron lungs, huh?” Jay says back to me and then opens the door with a fresh smile plastered on his face.

  Mr. Peterson sits behind his big black wooden desk. His literal corner office would be bright and maybe even a little inviting if you didn’t know the man who occupied it. It’s not that our boss is a bad guy. I’ve seen him dance the funky chicken with his wife at our holiday party. No one should be imposing after you’ve seen them cluck and wave their arms like wings, but somehow the guy does it. Impose, that is.

  “My lungs aren’t the only part of me in good working order. I also have impeccable hearing, Miller.” See! Mr. Peterson waves a wrinkled hand in front of him and motions for us to sit in the two green fabric chairs in front of his desk.

  “Sorry, sir.” Jay becomes overly interested in the folder he’s placed on his lap.

  “Right, well, we aren’t here about you, Jay. I wanted to speak with Simone.” He looks to me and I try to keep the panic from my features. “I’m sure you’re aware of all the trouble on the West Coast last week, so I won’t go over it again. But as you know, it's messy.”

  I have no idea what’s messy, but there is no way I’ll ask for clarification now. It’s up to me to fake it and have Jay fill me in later.

  “Until our Los Angeles branch recovers from their walk-out, they can’t offer San Francisco any help in finding a replacement. Walters, the office manager, called and asked me for my best employee. The time table’s short, but I want to offer it to you, Simone. You’ve shown yourself to be dedicated to the Lowry, Lowry, and Fink Company over the last five years, and this is your chance to shine and show us what you’re made of.”

  For the first time since I met Stacy, I’m upset that she didn’t get the chance to fill me in on all this gossip. At least then I’d have half a clue what we're talking about. Of course, even if I did know the horrendous details, most of my thoughts were lost when Peterson muttered the words San Francisco.

  To avoid more awkward silence, I open my notebook. My pen clicks once, the sound too loud in the now quiet cavernous office while both men stare at me. “I’m sorry, sir, and how is it you’d like me to help out the San Francisco branch?”

  The options float around in my head. A month to train a new employee, an inner company audit. There are so many options. Options that will allow me to see Trey again.

  “By moving there.”

  “Excuse me?” Both bosses sigh in unison and I bristle. I’m the one clueless one here. “For how long?”

  “Ms. Stevens, I’m offering you a promotion to Executive Account Manager in our San Francisco office.” His smooth words slice open my entire existence.

  The office falls silent, the soft hum of the laptop the only distraction. Peterson and Jay’s eyes haven’t left me. Both men sit straight and wait for my decision, but I’m back on the beach in Nassau with Trey. What would it mean to be in the same city as him? Forever. How different could my vacation have been if this happened the week before I left?

  Mr. Peterson fills the quiet in a possible attempt to talk me into the position, unaware my answer was decided for me on a jet ski four days ago. “I won’t lie to you, Walters, the office manager is an asshole. He’s half the reason they’re in this mess, but he’ll make the move worth your time. A promotion, pay increase, and our full relocation package.”

  There is finally movement to my left as Jay’s head swings to my direction. “Simone, you’d be great at this. We’ve been more partners than boss and assistant for at least our last three years together. You should do it.”

  “It’s a big decision. If you need a few days to think about it, I understand, but don’t make us wait too long.” Mr. Peterson stands from his desk to usher Jay and me out.

  I stand but don’t move with the sweep of his arm. “I don’t need to think about it, sir. I’d love the promotion.”

  “Great! I’ll tell Walters you’ll be there by the end of the month.” Mr. Peterson claps me on the back to seal the deal.

  San Francisco by the end of the month?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  One month later

  “Your dress is a little stuffy for the west coast. You need to work on updating your wardrobe. You aren’t in New York City anymore, Simone.”

  There’s nothing wrong with my wardrobe or tonight’s little black dress, and my new Rossi red pumps are to die for. The only problem in the room would by my new boss, Roger Walters. At forty-five he’s one of the youngest branch managers in the company, but it’s his need to control his employees like we’re incapable of the smallest decisions that sets him apart. I understand why he’s known as the company asshole on both coasts.

  “Of course, sir.” I brush him off and finish the walk into the hotel ballroom a few steps in front of him.

  I’m eager to get away from my 5’5” tall manager with the face of a bull terrier. With his elongated head and beady little eyes, he'd win one of those “People who look like their pets” contests. If he doesn’t already have a bull terrier, I'm sure the office would all chip in and get him one for Christmas.

  The thought returns the smile I’ve been missing since Roger picked me up from my new apartment thirty minutes ago. Riding in his little red convertible confirmed what I’ve suspected multiple times during my first week of work. Roger is compensating for something.

  “Make sure and stay with me until we leave. I want to know what connections you make,” he takes my arm in his to escort me into the large white building in front of us. The fabric of his black tux scratches my arm, but I resist the urge to remove it.

  The Fairmont Hotel is beautiful on the outside with its large white stone exterior to greet our arrival, but it all pales to the inside of the opulent meeting room we’re in tonight. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling every few feet from one another. The white walls are covered in ornately carved moldings reaching to the ceiling. Tall glass vases display fresh lilies at each table, and their fragrance follows us as we cross the room to a table in the back.

  When I don’t respond to Roger’s latest dig he continues, “The Moore family has been one of our largest clients since this branch opened twenty-five years ago. Their grandson, Grant is set to inherit the operation of the family business, but the rest of the money will stay with us in trust funds.”

  “Right.” I try to take in all the information and categorize it for later use. Basically, don’t screw up at this event because these people have a lot of money. Got it.

  A long table covered with a white cloth and decorated with gold place settings lines the back wall of the room. In front stand two people as they casually greet guests. From this distance they look a little similar, both are shorter and sport greyish white hair in short cuts. Mrs. Moore wears hers in a spikey do and it matches the sparkle of her long floor length dress. Her companion, Mr. Moore has a pouch of a belly, but still looks smart in his tux. It's obvious why these two are a power couple. They still have the spark.

  “The Moores,” Roger whispers in my ear and turns us in their direction. I guess he assumes I’m blind as well as incompetent. We close the distance at a quick pace before he pulls me to the side. “Do you think you’re up to meeting them? I handle their account personally, but it would be nice to have someone on backup if I decide you can handle it one day.”

  My new boss’ lac
k of confidence in me has started to wear me a little thin. I’ve spent the last five years with some of the richest families in New York. If I can handle the stuffy East Coast, I can handle the laid back personalities here in the West.

  My reply is full of annoyance. “Yes, I’ll be fine, Roger. Have a little faith. They didn’t send you a complete moron.”

  “You’re so young, Simone. Old rich people want other old people to handle their money. It lets them know you have experience. Next time don’t wear the red lipstick. You look sweet and innocent not blood thirsty and business hungry.”

  My lip twitches at his continued assessment of my appearance. Earlier this evening he told me I looked like a blonde Snow White with my white hair and ruby red lips. I thought he was hitting on me so I did my best to brush off his compliments. Now I see them for what they were, censure. I’ll have to stay on the lookout for poisoned apples in the future.

  As we approach the couple Roger leans closer. “Make me proud and don’t mess this up,” are his last words before we’re too close to other party guests for me to make a thinly veiled snarky reply. Instead I plaster on my best fake smile to greet Mr. and Mrs. Moore.

  “Ah, Roger. It’s so good to see you, my boy,” Mr. Moore greets him with a strong slap on the back rather than the expected handshake. The move catches my new boss off guard and his face falters in shock. But when I look again his smile is firmly back in place.

  I almost correct the bull terrier when he introduces me as a new account executive and then goes on to explain all the ways he’ll be forced to teach me the business before he lets me out on my own. As if I’m a dog that isn’t quite house broken yet. It takes willpower, but I stand with a straight face and put up with all his degrading talk.

  Right as I begin to consider following through with my fantasies of hitting him and risking animal abuse charges, the topic changes to past charity events they’ve both attended. As a waiter approaches with a tray full of caviar, the conversation moves to mini foods and which ones are the best.

  “We weren’t eating mini hotdogs at our fiftieth wedding anniversary,” Mrs. Moore slowly closes her eyes to show her distress at the idea. When she opens them again, they widen.

  “Simone, have you met my grandson? Grant Moore the third, named after his grandfather.”

  Oh God, if history is anything to go on, he’s forty with a pot belly. I flinch as my memories of the were-doctor on vacation resurface. The worst part of this job has to be every little old lady’s attempts to set you up with their bachelors-for-a-reason grandchildren.

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t.” Another fake smile and I turn.

  To my surprise, he isn’t ugly at all and there definitely isn’t a belly on the man in front of me. Is she sure this is her grandson? Grant Moore the third stands about my height. His medium brown hair is gelled and styled back. He isn't wearing black like the rest of tonight’s guests, but instead a dark green suit with a small gold pinstripe design. It’s a bit outlandish, but together the look fits him. The man could have flown here from Nantucket or something. There’s a worldly old-school charm to him. Hand him a lobster and one of those big round boat wheels and he’d fit right in.

  Before his grandmother finishes our introductions, Grant has my hand in his and places a small kiss on the top. I don’t know if I’ve ever been hand kissed before and I tense as his lips land on me.

  “You work with that snake Walters? It can’t be.”

  Over time our small group moves to the side as the Moores continue to greet guests and the room fills up with invitees. The noise level is higher, but Grant’s comment is heard by that exact snake of a boss who goes rigid at my back, knocking me forward a bit. By the increase of his smirk, Grant is more than happy his insult made it to his intended target. Does no one like the bull terrier?

  “I moved to the area earlier this week from our New York branch.”

  “So soon I can start directing my questions to you?” Grant looks hopeful at the prospect, but before I shoot him down on that unlikelihood, he’s tapped on the back by another guest. “Ah, Finn. Come meet Simone from Lowry, Lowry, and Fink.”

  My heart skips on the name. It’s not a common one, but it surely can’t be the Finn. Finn as in Finnegan, the owner of Dragons Reborn. Finn, best friend to my beach fling, can it? His black suit is similar to what everyone wears tonight. I’m stunned speechless as I reach out and shake his hand. I’m not ready to meet Trey or any of his friends yet. There’s barely been time to formulate my “accidentally meet Trey in the city” plan. It can’t take place in a ballroom with three hundred other people.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. McRyan.” I finish our introduction without needing to be told his last name. Any other situation and it might have come off odd, a sign that I know more than I should, but I figure in this area and with my finance background, it’s expected to know all the up and coming billionaires. My head sweeps the area closest to us, but I don’t spot a tall handsome hottie in the room and breathe a sigh of relief Trey isn't here.

  “Ah, and this is Trey.” Finn looks to the other side of me. Of course he’d sneak up behind me while my back is turned.

  “Trey, come meet Simone. I’m taking her out on a date next week.” Grant flashes a smile at me and steps two spaces closer.

  I’m frozen between Trey behind me and Grant with his date declarations next to me.

  “I don’t think so, Moore.” Trey’s heavy voice slides over our group with determination. “Simone’s mine.”

  Grant, Finn, and I all stiffen at his words, but Trey continues to move toward me as if he didn’t make a monumental declaration. My heart stops beating and my blood sloshes around in there without the beat.

  “But I saw her first.” Grant looks at me with sharper appraising eyes.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Almost a month has passed since the last time I laid eyes on Trey Good’s face. I refused to search him out online like some kind of stalker. Well, at least no more than what I did from our hotel. It might be the strain of the harsh fluorescent lights in the large room, but he looks different than he did under a clear blue sky. The cut of his chin or the trimmed stubble shadowing his face aren't as prominent. His dark colored eyes slant toward me, but they narrow as he notices my appraisal of him. His black hair is a smidge shorter, and he has it jelled back rather than loose like he wore it on the beach. He’s the same man, but harsher and more rigid than the one I remember.

  Grant recovers first. “You know Simone?”

  “We’ve met, yes. In the Bahamas,” Trey responds to Grant’s question but doesn’t remove his eyes from mine where he stopped between Grant and me.

  Grant looks at me again. His eyes rake me from head to toe slowly and he smiles. “She’s the girl, then?”

  “Maybe not.” Trey moves to a position closer to my arm before he discreetly grabs my elbow. “Walk with me.”

  Both Finn and Grant give me a look of pity before Trey pulls me from our small group. Roger notices my missing presence and calls after me, but I’m already in Trey’s grip and don’t attempt to break free. We aren’t far from his friends before his fingers tighten around my elbow and he leads us into a hallway outside the grand ballroom.

  The door closes behind us and he wheels on me until we’re face to face. “Why are you here?”

  I think I’m still in shock from meeting him tonight, but I muster up words to answer with a quick rundown of my promotion and relocation.

  His face loosens a small amount, but then tightens again. “So you didn’t transfer to try and get me as an account because of our connection?”

  “What?”

  Maybe I should have expected the question, but I flinch as if his words have physically hit me. I stand straighter and steel my back against his allegations. “No, you didn’t factor into the questions. You were pretty adamant it was a vacation thing. I deserve this promotion.”

  “So you aren’t going to try and gain my account to solidify
your status here?”

  “Oh my God, no.” I push against his chest to try and get away, but he doesn’t budge. Honestly the fact hadn’t crossed my mind. Mr. Peterson and Jay would be so disappointed in me if they knew I met a multimillionaire on vacation and didn’t try to sign him on the dotted line.

  “They don’t know you know me?” he continues questioning me in disbelief.

  “No, not unless they figured it out from the way you acted. In fact, my new boss is kind of an asshole. It would work better for me if he never learned about our history.”

  He steps closer. “Why? Are you dating him?”

  My eyes widen at his question. How is this the same man I met on vacation? “I am not dating my new boss! I’ve been here a week. He’s a little intense, that's all.”

  Trey’s head drops the inch or so to mine and he smiles, the tension leaving his body. “Small penis syndrome, you mean?”

  His change in topic and attitude sets me off guard again, but I laugh despite my agitation. Wasn’t it exactly what I’ve been thinking all week?

  “Probably. I haven’t seen it, nor do I plan to.” My head tilts to the side as I wait to see his reaction.

  Trey sighs and his posture loosens. “I’m sorry. You caught me on a bad night and seeing you here was a shock. You should have emailed me.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be here and we said—”

  “Yes, I remember what we said,” he answers my comment about keeping it vacation only before I complete it. “Listen. I have to leave. I stopped in to say a quick congratulations. Give me your number.”

  The harsh, demanding way he non-asks makes me want to refuse, but it’s Trey and I’m powerless to ignore a chance to talk to him again. Even if he’s a little tough and challenging on his own turf.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The dark brown chairs in my building’s lobby have to be real leather. They’re steps above my New York apartment. The whole building is a higher class than I've ever lived before. From the marble floor to the crown molding ceilings, I love every inch. The pay increase with my promotion allowed me to upgrade my living arrangements, and so far it’s worth every extra penny I pay to live here.