Copyright © 2013 Stacey Bentley
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in the book review.
Cover design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations
Interior design by Angela McLaurin of Fictional Formats
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Connect with the Author
I pull open the door to my two-bedroom apartment that lines the street of South Michigan Avenue. Racing up the two flights of stairs, I hold on to railing, trying to keep my balance in five inch heels. Walking and running never seem to be an issue for me but throw me in front of a flight of stairs and I’m screwed! Giddy with excitement, I fumble for my keys when the door opens. My mom greets me with a wide smile on her face, the same as she does every day. I toss my keys and purse onto the couch and jump up and down, squealing with delight.
“I think I got it, Mom!”
Her eyes widen and a smile spreads across her face. “You think you got it or you did get it?”
“Well, a decision hasn’t been made yet, but Mr. Keiser told me to ‘prepare’, whatever that means?” I roll my eyes and sit on the couch, unbuttoning my blazer.
She sits down next to me in her white terry-cloth robe. Wrapping her arms around me, she pulls me in for a hug. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could ruin this moment right now.
I’ve been working at Keiser International for almost six years now. I started out as a receptionist right out of high school. My plans had been to graduate and run off to attend college, but unfortunately life had different plans for me.
Shortly before graduation, I was in my room filling out college applications when my mom sat me down to tell me that the money her and my dad had saved up for my college fund was gone. My father died when I was eleven in a car accident leaving my mom with very little. She did her best to raise me but I know that couldn’t have been an easy task raising a teenager with the little money she had.
We had to sell the only home I had ever known and move to a one-bedroom apartment. My mom gave me the bedroom and she slept on the sofa bed in the living room. It wasn’t an ideal situation but my mom made do with the very little she received when she sold the house and the savings she had.
She made sure I never went without, and that’s why she lives with me now. My mom was always there for me and I wasn’t about to turn my back on her. She’s my best friend and my rock. I couldn’t be mad that she did what she had to do to raise me. She did her best and I think she did a great job. She works as a waitress in a posh restaurant downtown, within walking distance of the apartment. The tips are great but she couldn’t make it on her own. I hated to watch my mom struggle so when I was able, I rented us a larger apartment, one where she would have her own room and a real bed to sleep in.
I have moved up pretty quickly at Keiser International. I was a receptionist in the front of the building for three years but I didn’t mind it. I met some great people. I’m currently the Executive Assistant to Mr. Keiser—the President and CEO—and while I couldn’t be happier with my position, I still want more.
Two months ago, there was an internal notice that a position was opening up for a PR Representative. I may not have the schooling and degree to qualify for the job but know I could do it with my eyes closed, so I applied. There’s no harm in trying. I’m a people person and always have been—I think that’s why I’ve gotten as far as I have.
In high school I was on the cheer team, went to pep rallies, dances, and football games. I was your typical “All-American girl,” but that quickly changed once graduation approached. While all of my friends were spreading their wings and forging onto new lives, I was hitting the pavements looking for work.
I still see my friends from school but not as much as I’d like. My social life is pretty non-existent. Most of them have careers of their own and some even have families but that’s the furthest thing on my radar.
“Sweetheart that is fabulous news!! I’ll say some prayers that you get the job. I know that you’ve wanted this for a long time. When do you find out?” she asks beaming.
“I don’t know. I guess I just have to sit back and wait. In the job description it said that they needed someone soon, and that was nearly two months ago so I’m guessing any day now.” I hold up my crossed fingers.
“The second you find out you better call me!” she points her finger in a way that only a mother can.
I breathe out a sigh, “Of course I will, mother. Who else would I share my fabulous news with?” I wink and leap up from the couch.
“Do you work tonight?” I call over my shoulder as I walk into the kitchen. I pull open the fridge and pluck out a bottle of water.
“Yes, at five. I was just finishing getting ready when I heard you trampling up the stairs.” She smiles and walks into her bedroom. I can hear her humming a familiar tune while she gets dressed. It’s a tune that she’s been humming ever since I was a baby, and I’d recognize it anywhere. She says it’s an old song called “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” My mom has a beautiful voice; so angelic, soft, and calming.
After my dad passed, she got me a locket with the name of the song engraved on one side of the small gold circle, and a picture of my dad holding me when I was first born on the other side. I wore the locket every day until a few years ago when I started to accessorize my work attire.
I set the bottle down on the small iron table in the kitchen and walk into my room—or my “sanctuary” as I call it. I designed my room and did all the work myself. I used to sit for hours on the weekends watching DIY shows and it paid off. I painted my room a color that I like to call ‘Storm Gray’ because it looks like a blue sky covered in gray clouds, just before it’s about to storm. I love watching storms pass by, the sound of rain hitting the roof, relaxes me. There’s nothing like a good storm to wash away a stressful day at the office.
The headboard was the easiest thing to make. It took a couple of trips to the hardware and fabric stores, but after a week I had something that I made. I also made a similar one for my mom. I even went all out and bought an expensive sheet set and comforter. My favorite part of any day is being able to slide into my luxurious bed and look around, reflecting on how my life took an unexpected turn. It was a blessing in disguise. I miss my dad, but what my mom and I share is amazing. Sure I would have loved to go to school, but my company has been good to me and I make good money for someone my age.
Some would call me high-maintenance but that couldn’t be further from the truth—I don’t think. I like nice things and that’s that. I only have one life to live and it’s my life so why shouldn’t I treat myself well? I make really good money and my mom pays for the utilities so once the rent is paid each month, I put very little in savings and use the rest to buy myself a new outfit or shoes. I
don’t see the point in saving money when tomorrow is never promised.
I walk over to my closet and stare at the abundance of neatly arranged fabrics. I color coordinate my clothes to make it easier for my morning rush. On a shelf above the clothes are boxes and boxes of shoes. I have a serious problem when it comes to buying shoes. I have to have a pair for just about every outfit I put together and it’s rare I wear the same outfit twice.
My mom always asks how I can manage to walk in heels so high, but it’s easy when that’s all you’ve known for so many years. The way that the heels accentuate my legs—and tone them with each stride—make me feel sexy and confident. Not that I need it—I’m sexy in my own right. But I do find myself lacking on the sex part.
Living with my mom kind of cramps my style, so when I do meet up with someone it has to be at their house. I have three rules that I live by, and I don’t plan on changing them anytime soon.
Rule #1: Only pursue men above thirty (I like my men older and it insures that they know how to show a woman a good time. Well, most of the time).
Rule #2: Only go home with a man that isn’t expecting more. This is key, being on the same page is a must. There’s nothing worse than a clingy guy that after one night of great sex and having them think you’re ‘the one’.
Rule #3: Never stay the night. Staying the night with someone seems far too intimate. I make sure that the guy I’m with knows this as well.
My mom always complains that her friends are becoming grandmothers. I know she wants grandkids but it’s not going to happen. I like my life, I love my job and don’t want to slow down or even quit to become a mom. Plus, babies are whiney, stinky, and they cling onto you like leeches. No thank you!
I unbutton my blouse and toss it aside in the hamper. I hear a faint knock at my door as I slide out of my pants.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“I’m leaving, honey. Have a good night and lock up when I leave...” Mom calls through the closed door. This is the same routine we have just about every day. Never mind that I’m twenty-four and this is my apartment, she still tells me the same thing.
I don’t let her finish because I know what she’s about to say next. We have this game where we try to say the words first. Usually she wins because I let her but now and again I like to try to catch her off-guard.
“I love you, Mom,” I smirk to myself. I hear her giggle through the door before she returns the endearment.
“I love you, too, Pheebs.”
I slip into gym shorts and a tank top and my motivation to workout leaves me. I plop on the couch and flip through the channels until I pass by a show about a 400lb. woman, and suddenly my motivation is back. I pull my blonde hair into a high ponytail and slide a headband on to catch any stray hairs that may fall in my face while I run.
My heart rate is already quickening at the thought of releasing all the pent up frustration from my day at work.
I take the stairs, bouncing on each step, and stick in my ear buds, humming to the tune that fills my ears.
When I reach the gym, I look around to see only one other resident. Thank God, I hate working out around a lot of people. Not that I’m self-conscious, I just like this to be my time.
I pull open the door and smile at old Mr. Watson, peddling on the stationary bike and panting as if he’ll keel over at any minute. He smiles weakly as sweat pours down his face.
“Hi, Mr. Watson,” I wave and walk over to the treadmill and set my things in place.
He stops peddling and takes a drink of water before exiting the bike and wiping it down.
“Hi, Phoebe,” he says breathlessly. “Enjoy your run.” Taking the towel off the handlebars, he wipes down his face and rest for a minute to regulate his breathing before leaving.
I do a silent fist pump, thanking the heavens above that I have the place to myself for the time being.
Two hours later, I walk back into the apartment. My breathing erratic, I crash onto the couch and let the cool leather soothe my scorching body. Closing my eyes, I steady my breathing and relax my sore muscles. My legs always hurt after a good run but it’s worth it for the results. Once relaxed, I tear myself—literally—from the couch and jump into the shower. The warm spray washes the sticky sweat from my body and I feel refreshed and revived.
After I towel dry myself I slip into a pair of pajamas, pull back the covers on my bed, and slide in. Glancing at the clock, I notice it’s almost ten. My mom won’t be home for another couple of hours but that’s nothing new and I usually only wait up for her on the weekends.
Getting up and going to work at 6am during the week is draining and although my weekends don’t usually hold much excitement for me, I still look forward to the two days a week where I get to sleep in.
The next day, work carries on as usual until I get a call from Mr. Keiser asking to see me in his office. I take my notepad and a pen, because this is usually when we go through his schedule for the following day. In this case, as it is Friday, we will be looking at making adjustments for Monday’s schedule.
Opening the door to his office, I glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up Mr. Keiser’s back wall. The panoramic view is stunning. There are large buildings all around but if you stand in a certain spot, you can see Lake Michigan.
I pull out a chair and seat, clicking my pen, I prepare to take any notes that he may have for me. I know his schedule by heart so there’s really no need for me to bring my planner in with me. Mr. Keiser is almost ready to retire so there isn’t much that he does anymore in the way of business. He still takes trips when needed for projects and meets with clients, but anything else, he simply delegates.
“Make yourself comfortable, Phoebe. Can I get you something to drink?” He scoots back his chair and begins to stand, but I hold up my hand and stop him.
“No, that’s okay. Thank you, I have water out on my desk,” I smile.
He sits back down and pulls in his chair. Resting his elbows on the desk, he clasps his hands together and smiles. “No need for the notes today, Phoebe. Right now I just need to talk with you. We can go over my schedule towards the end of the day.”
“Oh, okay,” I put the pen in my lap, cross my legs and sit up a little straighter.
“Relax, Phoebe,” he gives me a reassuring smile before continuing. “The reason I called you in here today is because we’d like to offer you the PR Representative position. It comes with a significant raise as well as many other benefits which I’m sure you’re aware of. If you choose to accept our offer, we would need you to start immediately.”
Bouncing up from my seat, I walk around the desk and wrap my arms around him in a hug. “Yes, yes. I’ll take the job! Oh, thank you, Mr. Keiser.” I look up and I’m surprised to find he doesn’t appear to be sharing my enthusiasm. “Is there something wrong, sir?” I look at him confused.
“No, Phoebe, nothing’s wrong.” He sighs, giving me a sympathetic smile.
“Are you sure?” I sit back down in my chair slowly, waiting for the ‘but’.
“Yes, nothing at all. You do realize that if you take this job, you will be starting the first of May which only gives you a week to prepare?”
“Yes, sir, I can handle it. This is a dream come true, and I won’t let you down.”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “I know you won’t. I just want to make sure you’re prepared.”
“Oh, yes! Mom is going to be so happy!”
“That’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
My smile quickly fades. Why would he want to talk to me about my mom?
“You see, Phoebe, the job isn’t in this office…”
“Oh, I knew there was a chance for a transfer with this job. Mom and I already talked about it and with the extra income, moving shouldn’t be a problem.” I pause for a minute while all of the possibilities race through my head. “So, where is it? LA? Detroit? New York? Miami?”
He shakes
his head after each location I rattle off and my heart drops. That leaves only one possibility.
“Hick—I mean Nashville?!” I nearly choke on my words. I’ve always wanted to go to LA and live amongst the celebrities… well kind of. Detroit has so much culture and a great downtown area. New York, well, no explanation is needed—same with Miami. I would have no problem lounging on the beach almost all year long.
“Yes Phoebe, the vacancy is in Nashville. It’s not what you think. Nashville is a great city with lots of life around. There’s never a dull moment and I’m sure, that soon enough, you won’t even miss Chicago.” He smiles.
Not miss Chicago? What is this guy smoking? There is no way I’m moving to Nashville. Mom said she would be willing to move if we had to, but I never even considered that the position would be in Nashville.
I swallow past the lump in my throat that seems to be growing with each passing second. I nod my agreement, because forming words is next to impossible. I brush back the blanket of blonde hair that lies heavily on my neck where sweat starts to form. I fan myself with my hand and blow out a couple of breaths.
“Are you going to be okay, Phoebe?” Mr. Keiser asks with concerned eyes.
I nod again and stand to leave when he calls to me. I glance over my shoulder and see his round, jolly face light up.
“You’re going to knock their socks off. I have complete faith in you, Phoebe.” He’s always been a big supporter of mine. He’s the one that took a chance on the scared girl that was fresh out of high school, giving me a job that some people in their twenties would be envious of.
I smile. “Thank you, sir. This is such a great opportunity.”
He nods and I make my way back to my desk. I slump in my chair and stare at the blinking red light on my phone, alerting me to my messages. Picking up the phone, I’m prepared to listen to my messages but my mind races with thoughts of the move. I slam the receiver back down and walk back to Mr. Keiser’s office. I knock on the ajar door and peek in. “Yes, Phoebe?”
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