by Whitney G.
TWO
WEEKS
NOTICE
New York Times & USA Today bestselling author
WHITNEY G.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Whitney Gracia Williams.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
TWO WEEKS' NOTICE
PROLOGUE
ONE | Preston
TWO | Preston
THREE | Tara
FOUR | Preston
FIVE | Tara
TWO MONTHS LATER ...
SIX | Tara
SIX (B) | Tara
SIX MONTHS LATER ...
SEVEN | Preston
EIGHT | Tara
NINE | Preston
TEN | Tara
TWO FULL YEARS LATER ...
ELEVEN | Tara
TWELVE | Preston
THIRTEEN | Tara
FOURTEEN | Tara
FIFTEEN | Tara
FIFTEEN (B) | Tara
SIXTEEN | Preston
SEVENTEEN | Tara
SEVENTEEN (B) | Tara
EIGHTEEN | Preston
NINETEEN | Tara
TWENTY | Preston
TWENTY-ONE | Tara
TWENTY-TWO | Preston
TWENTY-THREE | Tara
TWENTY-FOUR | Preston
TWENTY-FIVE | Tara
TWENTY-SIX | Preston
TWENTY-SEVEN | Tara
TWENTY-EIGHT | Preston
TWENTY-NINE | Tara
THIRTY | Preston
THIRTY-ONE | Tara
THIRTY-TWO | Tara
ONE WEEK LATER...
THIRTY-THREE | Preston
THIRTY-FOUR | Tara
TWO WEEKS LATER
THIRTY-FIVE | Tara
THIRTY-SIX | Preston
THREE WEEKS LATER...
THIRTY-SEVEN | Tara
THIRTY-EIGHT | Preston
THIRTY-NINE | Tara
EPILOGUE | Tara
If you enjoyed this office romance, be sure to read:
And stay tuned for the next New York Boss story! | My next release is Forget You, Ethan.
Author’s Confession + Thank You.
ALSO BY WHITNEY G.:
ALSO BY WHITNEY G.:
SERIES & STANDALONES:
STEAMY COFFEE READS Collection
Naughty Boss
Dirty Doctor
Cocky Client
Filthy Lawyer
REASONABLE DOUBT SERIES
Reasonable Doubt #1
Reasonable Doubt #2
Reasonable Doubt #3
FALLING FOR MR. STATHAM Series
Resisting the Boss
Loving the Boss
THE ONE WEEK SERIES
On a Tuesday
On a Wednesday
On a Thursday
On a Friday
On a Saturday
On a Sunday
On a Monday
Sincerely, Carter
Forget You, Ethan
Turbulence
Over Us, Over You
Two Weeks’ Notice
The Layover
For my readers.
Thank you for bringing me back to where I belong.
Love & F.L.Y.,
Whitney G.
PROLOGUE
Tara
“WINNERS NEVER QUIT, and quitters never win ...”
If I had a dollar for every time my mother said those words to me, I would be sipping wine on my own private island off the Amalfi Coast at this very moment.
When I cried about hating ballet, she squished my feet into those ugly pink flats and made me go to practice anyway. When I told her that I wanted to change my major from Business to “something more creative,” she threatened to stop paying my tuition. And when I told her that I was seconds away from telling my first real boss to go fuck himself, she would only sigh and give me her tried and true words of advice.
She insisted that all my late-night emails were “wasteful whining,” that my screams of hatred were “misplaced admiration,” and that all the times he made me work over a hundred hours in a single week were “much-needed character building.”
After two long years of working for him, I’ve finally accepted that none of those things are true.
Preston Parker is an asshole boss. That is it. End of discussion.
My mother can call me a “quitter” all she wants, but she’ll never know what it’s like to work for a man like him. A man whose ego is bigger than all of New York and Vegas combined.
Yes, he can make any woman wet by uttering a single syllable from his perfectly molded mouth. Yes, his deep emerald and grey eyes are downright breathtaking, and the way he’s able to make any suit look like it was made explicitly for him, never ceases to amaze me.
But I’ve had more than enough.
I can’t take working for him anymore, and I’m finally drafting the two weeks’ notice I should’ve drafted the very first month we worked together. (No, the very first week we worked together.)
I’m getting ahead of myself, though. I can’t start this story from the bitter end or the miserable middle. I need to start it from the very unfortunate beginning ...
ONE
Preston
The “very unfortunate” beginning ...
THE BEST PART OF MY day was always four forty-five in the morning. It was the rare moment when New York City was calm and quiet, when I could take a ride through the streets and admire all the buildings that were lucky enough to bear my last name.
There was the Parker & Rose Collection that owned space on every block of downtown, The Grand Alaskan that hosted top-tier guests in unparalleled privacy, and my favorite hotel of them all. The one that had ousted The Waldorf Astoria from its top spot in luxury hotels for the tenth year in a row: The Grand Rose on Fifth Avenue.
It was my hundredth hotel, my twentieth in this city. It was the very reason why I knew that New York was mine, and it always would be. Every luxury hotel in Manhattan wanted my touch, and the newest listings from Hilton and Marriott were poor imitations. I’d invented the modern twist on the luxury brand. Everyone else was simply borrowing it.
“Your daily papers, sir.” My driver handed them to me as he opened the back door of the town car. “Interesting headlines today.”
“I doubt it.”
I unfolded the stack as he pulled onto the street, groaning as I looked over the bold and black words.
MISTER NEW YORK—RUMOR Report
Preston Parker of Parker Hotels (our very own Mister New York for the eighth year in a row) was caught leaving his penthouse with model Yara Westinghouse. This was days after being seen with Marsha Avery and weeks after being seen with Hanna Bergstrom.
Our reporter stopped him outside of his condo to ask if any of the flings were serious, and he responded with a “Get the fuck off my property.”
As always, we doubt the man will ever settle down with one woman, but he does make our annual October cover look stunning.
RUTHLESS CEO, PRESTON Parker, Buys Sonoma Hotel Chain, Fires Top Management
Arrogant and ruthless hotel mogul, Preston Parker, has made his most heartless move yet. Once again, he courted a hotel chain for months—pretendi
ng as if there would be a genuine brand merger, but he has (not so shockingly) fired all of the current employees. The Parker Hotel International Press team has revealed that the Sonoma Hotels will soon be luxury hotels.
MISTER NEW YORK, Preston Parker, Fathers a Secret Child
A mystery woman who claims to have had a one night stand with Preston Parker is insisting that her two-week-old daughter is his. She’s seeking five hundred thousand a month in child support and is insisting that he pay her hospital bills.
WHAT THE FUCK?
I tossed the last paper to the side and focused on the other two, shaking my head at every unverified word. The utter laziness in the headlines was beginning to irk me to my core.
Reporters these days were willing to write anything to sell their papers, and they had yet to send me a check for all the copies I sold for them.
In the past, I was beyond ruthless—gutting hotels for the sake of making sure they never competed with my own and buying properties to make sure no one else would, but those days were long gone. Being at the top of my industry for over a decade meant I didn’t have to be as merciless, and it also meant I didn’t have much to celebrate.
The endless parties on my yachts, the over the top parties on my rooftops had lost their appeal over the years, and the only reason I continued to be seen with supermodels was to distract the media from whatever business deal I was sealing behind the scenes.
If they cared to look a bit closer, they’d see that everything in my life was now a permanent stage of déjà vu, so much so, that I could predict all the conversations I had with people and nothing surprised me anymore. I kept to myself, never made friends, and kept tabs on all my enemies.
Since my relationship with my family was nonexistent, I buried myself in work and expected everyone around me to do the same. If I was capable of working a minimum of one hundred hours a week, they were capable as well. If I didn’t need to sleep, they didn’t need to either.
When I finally arrived at my headquarters, I took a second to admire the silver and grey “P” that was engraved in the center of the marble lobby. I waited to see if my executive assistant would meet me with the required morning reports and my favorite coffee, but three minutes passed, and nothing came.
Of course...
Annoyed, I took the elevator up to my office and was immediately greeted by the floor’s lead receptionist, Cynthia.
“Good morning, Mr. Parker!” She was always too perky for the morning hours. “How are you today?”
“The same as I was yesterday. Do I have any calls waiting?”
She didn’t answer. She just smiled and stared at me, batting her big brown eyes every few seconds.
“Do I have any calls waiting?” I repeated. “Any new files to sign off for morning delivery?”
She still didn’t answer.
“Is there any particular reason why you’re staring at me like that instead of answering my questions?”
“I’ll reply to your questions when you reply to mine.” She lowered her voice. “I texted your personal phone last night. Why didn’t you answer?”
“Because I blocked your number three weeks ago.”
“I was trying to send you a picture that I took on my vacation,” she said. “I wasn’t wearing anything but a bikini bottom.”
“I’m expecting a call from the Rush Estate this morning.” I refused to continue this conversation. “Can you make sure it gets routed to my second line so I can record it, please?”
“The picture made me look like a supermodel,” she said. “I know you used to date supermodels, right? According to all those Rumor Reports anyway.”
“I’m also expecting a file delivery from the new Berkley team. You have my permission to sign for it.”
“I think it’s time you date a woman who actually eats her French fries instead of a girl who just poses with them on social media, you know?” She swayed her hips and smiled. “I also think you should give someone close to you a chance for a change.”
I gave her a blank stare. We went through this shit every other day. If she wasn’t blatantly flirting with me, she was attempting (and failing) to make me jealous by pretending to talk to numerous men on the phone.
“The call from Rush better be on my line when it’s time,” I said. “And you’re lucky that your work is beyond reproach, Cynthia. Otherwise, I’d be forced to—”
“Punish me?” She smiled. “Can you tell me how you would do it?”
Jesus Christ. I walked away and shut the door to my office. She was the youngest receptionist in my company, and she was also the best. If she had a business degree or any law experience, I might’ve given her a try at being my executive assistant.
Then again, with her flirting becoming more reckless and blatant by the day, keeping her at a distance was probably best for the long term.
I took a seat at my desk and realized that there was no Colombian coffee waiting for me. No written notes about the meetings I needed to attend. No emails about why. In other words, my assistant was bullshitting, again.
Sighing, I opened my email to ask when I could expect my coffee and notes to arrive, but an email from my chief attorney appeared onscreen.
SUBJECT: YOUR NEWEST Assistant Is in My Office (Again)
Preston,
Please get here. Now.
George Tanner
Chief Attorney, Parker International
THIS EMAIL FROM GEORGE came like clockwork every other Friday, and the only thing that changed was which “new assistant” he was referring to. I’d gone through so many, that I called them all Taylor since they never seemed to last long enough for me to learn their real names.
I walked to his office and spotted my latest Taylor sitting on the couch. Dressed in a baggy blue suit that belonged in the nearest trash can, his eyes were red and puffy, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“Tell Mr. Parker what you just told me,” George said, handing him a Kleenex. “Go on.”
The latest Taylor looked up at me and let out a long breath. “Mr. Parker, I am overworked and overwhelmed with everything I’m required to do for you, sir. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and I feel like this job is consuming my life.”
“You just started working here two weeks ago.”
“Let him finish, Preston,” George warned, then muttered under his breath, “We don’t need any trouble with Human Resources, do we?”
“I’m just—” Taylor sniffled. “I’m just trying so damn hard to make you happy and it’s never enough. My phone rings constantly, my email inbox is never under five hundred messages, and I don’t think you know my real name.”
I didn’t make a move to act like I did.
He wiped his face on his sleeve. “My girlfriend has to come home and listen to me cry about this job every night.”
“You still have a girlfriend after crying every night?”
George shot me a pointed look, and I crossed my arms.
“I appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me, but even with the high salary you offer, it’s not enough for me anymore.” He sniffled. “I am formally quitting as of today.”
“Most employees usually do this in writing via two weeks’ notice,” I said. “I don’t see why I needed to come up here and listen to your tears.”
“What Mr. Parker means to say is that he accepts your resignation.” George shook his head at me. “And because we want to make sure we’re on good footing for his next assistant, was there anything he ever did that made you uncomfortable? Anything we can improve on for next time?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Last week, he made me update his personal cell phone.”
“Oh, the horror.” I looked at my watch.
“It was horrible, sir. The things that were said in some of those old messages, messages from so many different women ... They’ve scarred me.”
“What exactly did these messages say?” George asked.
“Too much.” Taylor looked away from me. �
�My pussy misses you. How come you don’t come by and pound me with your cock anymore? You have the biggest cock I’ve ever swallowed—Can I swallow it again? I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked the way—”
“Okay, enough.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Thank you very much for all your work here at Parker International, Taylor. I’m sure you’ll be missed by no one.”
“My name is Jim. That’s exactly why I’m quitting.”
“You’re quitting because you’re incompetent.” I pulled out my phone and sent my standard Another One Bites the Dust email to HR. “You can pick up your exit packet and your final check in the basement.”
He leaned forward and gave George a hug—a hug that went on for several seconds longer than necessary, and then he headed to the door.
As soon as the door shut, George let out a breath. “Well, there goes my thinking that a Harvard man would be able to accomplish what so many of your previous let-downs couldn’t. Do you know that you’re the only CEO in the luxury hotel industry who can’t consistently say who your go-to EA is?”
“I only know that I’m the most successful CEO in the luxury hotel industry.” I walked over to the windows. “That’s all that matters at this point.”
“Whatever,” he said, clearing his throat, “before I even begin to address that never-ending issue, we need to discuss your latest amenity change.” He paced the room. “I don’t understand why you’ve decided to give away free gourmet breakfasts at some of your hotels. It’s not like you’re running a Hampton Inn.”
“The Hampton Inn doesn’t serve gourmet breakfast.”
“You know what I mean, Preston. Luxury hotels are branded luxury because of the fact that the guests pay for everything. The more stars and profit for us, the less free things for them.”
“It’s just an experiment,” I said. “It also seems to be working. Revenue is up by ten percent.”