Boss

by Tracy Brown

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  Copyright Page

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  For Madison, the light of my life. Dream BIG!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Sara Camilli, I thank God for the opportunity to work with you. You are a literary lioness! I believe the best is yet to come for us as a team. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you do.

  Monique Patterson, I owe you far more than I can repay. You are an extraordinary woman who inspires me to go further, to push harder, and to dream even bigger. Just when I think I’ve reached my limit as a writer, you go and pull even more out of me, challenging me to dig even deeper. You are one of my greatest teachers. On top of that you are my friend. You rock! THANK YOU!

  Vanessa Karen De Luca, thank you so much for taking the time to offer your insight and knowledge for this book. Despite your incredibly busy schedule, you took the time to answer my questions and to offer me guidance and encouragement to help me bring this story to life. Watching you reign with such grace, class, and humility is an inspiration to many women. Keep making us proud!

  My son, Justin Carruthers, I’m so grateful to you for the countless times you helped me revamp the plot for this book. You helped me brainstorm, offered alternatives, and never complained when I peppered you with questions and constantly asked for your opinion. I appreciate you so much and I love you lots.

  GAME CHANGER

  November 2016

  She glided her lipstick smoothly across her full lips, rubbed them together, and stared at her reflection, admiring the results. Mahogany skin, ebony eyes, and her grandmother’s high cheekbones complemented those lips. She was feeling extra badass today. Her work in the gym was paying off, her hair was acting right, and her pearly white teeth seemed to sparkle with brilliance as she smiled at her reflection in her compact mirror. She knew she was bad. A woman full of confidence, intelligence, and class. She had summoned all of those things in order to rise to the heights she had in her career and in her life in general. She sat now in her office preparing for one of the most significant meetings of her life. She had maneuvered, plotted, and sacrificed a great deal to get here. Sleepless nights and impossible odds were the norm. But now her face shone with a broad grin as she contemplated this moment. She was on top of the world.

  Crystal Scott was the editor in chief of a magazine that was taking the fashion world by storm. Hipster was a creative, bold, and cutting-edge magazine that targeted a fashion-forward and socially conscious reader. She had accomplished a great deal in her career so far. She had already traveled to places she never thought she’d go. It was a source of great pride for her that she had achieved so much all on her own. It hadn’t been easy. She had fought her way here with a mixture of intelligence, charisma, and guts.

  Years ago, when she was fresh out of college, she worked odd jobs before she finally snagged a dream job as a staff writer for Sable magazine. Sable was a monthly publication geared toward an upscale, professional demographic, and had an enviable reputation as the top fashion and beauty magazine for women of color. She worked her way up to editorial duties quickly. In those days, she worked for Angela Richmond. Angela was the editor in chief at Sable, and had a well-deserved reputation as a bitch. She had been in the top position at the reputable magazine for close to twenty years, building solid relationships with black America’s elite. Still, she never seemed to be enjoying herself, even during the most profitable sales years. She appreciated Crystal’s work ethic, though, and promoted her to executive editor. Always stony, never smiling, Angela Richmond was notoriously rigid in the way she worked. She didn’t welcome suggestions, or encourage new perspectives. Instead, she preferred to stick to her same old tried-and-true formula, leaving little room for her writers and contributors to spread their wings. It wasn’t long before Crystal grew tired of that.

  She had quit that job three years ago, against the chorus of protests from her family and friends. They all thought she was crazy to leave her position at one of the top magazines in the world for women of color. Many believed that Angela’s best years were behind her and Crystal was positioned to take over. But there was an opportunity of a lifetime at a new publication that was being assembled by the renowned urban media giant Stuart Mitchell Enterprises.

  Stuart Mitchell was a black-owned publishing, advertising, and marketing company started in the nineties by William “Fox” Mitchell. Known as the “silver fox” around Harlem because of his prematurely gray hair, he had risen to prominence as a community leader and philanthropist. His wife, Lorraine Stuart Mitchell, had been his partner in the business until her death from breast cancer in 2002. In the years since then, Fox had taken the company global, distributing several major urban publications. Hipster was started in 2010, targeting celebrity gossip driven readers. The early years were tough, as sales suffered in a floundering industry. Readers hadn’t been eager to embrace new magazines in lieu of the older, reliable ones like Sable. Several staff members came and went in those years, and for the first time, Fox was facing the failure of one of his magazines. That was when Crystal took a chance, and requested a meeting with the man. It was a shot in the dark as she strolled into Stuart Mitchell headquarters, and met with the man himself. She presented her success at Sable and her ability to gain the trust and respect of the notorious Angela Richmond. She touted the success of her work with Sable’s creative director, Oscar Beane, and alluded to the fact that she could persuade him to follow her wherever she went. And, she offered herself to Hipster as its interim editor in chief. Fox had been wowed.

  “Give me a year,” she had said. “Let me step in and completely change the look and feel of the magazine. There’s a generation out there that is not being served by the old-school magazines we see on the shelves. Their formulas are set in stone. Hipster needs to be a living, breathing expression of the urban landscape. I have the team to make that vision come alive, Mr. Mitchell.”

  He had smiled at her, admiring her confidence. “Call me Fox,” he said.

  The gamble had paid off and the magazine was thriving. She had successfully persuaded Oscar to come on board. Angela’s rigidity had begun to suffocate him also. Oscar wanted to appeal to a younger, more current audience than the one Angela was interested in. He cashed in his retirement fund and followed Crystal out the door. He used the connections he had from his days at Sable, and landed fashion spreads with coveted subjects. Crystal kept the articles engaging and provocative. Now Hipster boasted competitive sales and an imposing online presence. For Crystal, it had been a daring move, leaving such a lofty position at a publication as renowned as Sable. But she was confident in Oscar’s vision as well as her own abilities as an editor. Fox’s faith in her had begun to pay off majorly. Having started out as an online magazine, they were at an advantage. Digital was outperforming print tremendously, and that was where Hipster had its strongest presence. With an aggressive social media presence, powerful articles by up-and-coming writers, and bold print fashion spreads featuring the “It Girls” of the moment, Hipster was giving old-school public
ations like Sable a run for their money. Ad sales were way up, and Crystal and Oscar were enjoying unprecedented success just shy of their thirties. The magazine was a hit.

  Fox was older now and ready to step down as CEO of Stuart Mitchell Enterprises. He was considering a run for city council in Harlem, where he was from. He had established himself as a prominent member of the community there, and was hoping to enjoy a coveted position in his golden years. His late wife Lorraine would have been proud to have her husband serve in political office. As he pondered the idea, he decided to hand over the reins of the company to his youngest son, Troy. Troy Mitchell would head the day-to-day operations of the company, in effect making him Crystal’s new boss. Crystal and Oscar would be meeting him for the first time today.

  Aware that her heart was racing just a little bit, she sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. There was really no telling how this would all play out. She reminded herself that she had come this far, and there was no turning back now. She stood up, and shook off some of the nervous energy, smoothing her black Chanel dress in the process. She smoothed her hair and tightened the clasp on her pearl-and-diamond earrings.

  A familiar knock on her door signaled Oscar’s presence now. She smiled as he stepped into the room. Oscar was always a welcome distraction. A large man with an imposing presence, he stood six feet, two inches tall and weighed a solid two hundred and eighty pounds. At first glance, he seemed better suited as a football player because of his size. But the moment he opened his mouth, it became clear that one should never judge a book by its cover. Fashion, luxury, and flamboyance were all he ever spoke of. Oscar’s tailored and sophisticated flair was unmatched. He took fashion a step ahead without going too far. He had styled some of the most prominent women in entertainment and politics over the years. It made him the most sought-after black fashion insider, and he loved the spotlight.

  He stepped inside her office, shutting the door behind him. Oscar looked and smelled like money. Crystal drank him in as he entered. Dressed in a navy blue bespoke tailored blazer and pants, he looked like he could be the owner of Stuart Mitchell himself.

  He took one long, sweeping look at Crystal and smirked.

  “I see you’re trying to make the man drool before breakfast,” he said. He winked at her approvingly, noting that her cleavage was just perfect and her waistline was cinched. “You look incredible, love.”

  He sat down in one of the chairs facing Crystal’s desk and whipped out a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his blazer. Glancing at her, he handed it to her with a smile. “Lipstick on your teeth, though.”

  Crystal took it gratefully, sat back down in her chair, and reached for her compact again. She loved how Oscar always managed to bring her back down to earth whenever she got too lofty or started to believe her own hype.

  “How’d the visit go with your dad?” Oscar asked.

  Crystal sighed, ever so slightly. Then she smiled. “He’s coming home in two months. Well … not home, exactly. But I got him an apartment a few blocks from me.”

  Oscar’s eyes widened. “You got the place already?”

  She nodded. “As soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect. And at the price, it wouldn’t be on the market long. So I snatched it up.”

  Oscar nodded, impressed. “You do so much to make sure that your family is okay. They must love you for it.” Over the years, Oscar had seen how hard Crystal worked. Once, during a particularly lonely holiday season, he had found himself without a place to go. Crystal had invited him to visit her mother’s house in Maryland that year. He had traveled with her on what was now one of their most memorable road trips. Crystal’s family had welcomed him with open arms, and he had been amazed by the opulent and lavish lifestyle her mother enjoyed. He could only imagine how nicely she intended to set her dad up once he came home.

  “I know he’ll like it,” she said. “But it’s going to take some getting used to for him. It’s definitely not the Brooklyn he remembers.”

  Crystal lived a few blocks away from Brooklyn’s new Barclays Center. The neighborhood had undergone quite a transformation in recent years. But Crystal’s father, Quincy, had even more of a reason to be amazed by Brooklyn’s transformation. He had spent the past twenty-five years locked up in New York’s notorious prison system. He had paid dearly in blood, sweat, and tears for a crime he still maintained that he didn’t commit.

  Oscar glanced at her sympathetically. “I’m sure he’ll get himself together. Don’t try to shoulder it all yourself. You can’t be Superwoman all the time, you know?”

  Crystal nodded. “I know.” She tucked Oscar’s handkerchief into her purse, and made a mental note to launder it and return it later. “He looks good. He’s been working out, reading, getting his head together. He seems ready.” She smiled proudly at the thought of her dad. He planned on wasting no time getting back on his feet after soldiering through a long prison stint. Crystal had no recollection of her father as a free man. She had been just three years old when he was sent away to prison to serve a sentence of twenty-five to life. Over the years, she had gotten to know him mostly through phone calls and letters. Though his correspondence was frequent, there was nothing like the real thing. Having him close by, in the flesh, would be far more fulfilling than the occasional visits she had with him now.

  Quincy went to jail in 1991, when Crystal was a toddler, and her brother, Malik, had been eight years old. Crystal was too young to remember the circumstances surrounding her father’s arrest and incarceration. But she later learned the truth of what had taken place. The circumstances were sketchy and complicated. The topic had always seemed a sore spot for her mother Georgi to discuss. But Crystal had learned a lot more about all of that in the time since her brother was killed.

  Oscar nodded, smiling. It was clear that visiting her dad had done her well.

  “I know I don’t have to remind you. But, please never mention anything about my personal life to this new guy or any of his cronies. Not even Fox knows about my family history. The only one I trust is you.”

  Oscar smiled, honored by what she said. His smile faded quickly. “I would never tell anybody your business. You should know that by now. We know things about each other we oughta take to the grave.”

  Crystal laughed. It was true. Still, it felt good to have his reassurance that her secrets were safe with him.

  Now that they were on the subject, he went ahead and asked, “Are you nervous about meeting this guy—our new boss?”

  Crystal looked at him and shrugged. “Curious, more than anything. You know?”

  Oscar nodded. He waved his hand as if it didn’t matter anyway. “So, are you personally interviewing Alicia from Black Lives Matter later on today, or are you sending Dana?” he asked. Dana was the executive editor at Hipster and Crystal’s right-hand girl.

  “I’m taking the lead on the interview. But I’m bringing her with me,” Crystal said. “I want to make sure this is one of our boldest issues yet.”

  Oscar nodded. His idea for the accompanying fashion spread was fabulous. He had styled Taraji, Kerry, Viola, and Uzo as iconic black women in the struggle for civil rights. Coretta, Betty, Angela, and Assata came to life amid Oscar’s elaborate backdrops and flawless styling. Crystal wanted to make sure that the black history month issue wasn’t all flash and little substance. Personally conducting these interviews was her way of ensuring that. Although Thanksgiving was just a few days away, they were already preparing their February issue. Like most other publications, each issue was finalized months in advance, making it even more difficult to keep their fingers on the pulse of pop culture. But Crystal and Oscar managed to do just that.

  “Great,” Oscar said. “I’m going to send Tonya with you to take some candid pictures.” Tonya was his assistant and Hipster’s social media manager. Her position at Oscar Beane’s side was a coveted one and she knew it. Tonya was the type to arrive early and work late in order to ensure that her boss had everything he needed before
he even asked for it. Crystal often referred to Tonya as Oscar’s “work wife.”

  Crystal realized that she was much calmer than she had been before Oscar’s arrival. She marveled at how easily he could set her mind at ease. He was a great friend, the two of them having grown in their careers together over the years they’d spent working together. Their work camaraderie had blossomed into a close friendship.

  Tonya, Oscar’s young assistant, knocked on the office door and then peeked her head inside.

  “Oscar, you told me to come and get you when the new boss arrives.” She stepped inside quickly and shut the door behind her. “Well, he’s here. Him and his entourage.” Tonya smiled brightly. “Fox is giving him a tour of the building and then he’ll bring him down to the conference room for the meeting.”

  Oscar didn’t budge. “Tonya, what’s he like?” he asked, one eyebrow raised curiously.

  Tonya smiled, a bit sheepishly. “He’s handsome! Oh my God…” She was blushing. She seemed flustered by her brief encounter with Mr. Mitchell’s son. “He’s tall, nice skin, a solid build. He looks good in his suit. Like it was custom-made just for him. His complexion is like … he looks like a Hershey’s Kiss. Nice teeth, clean fingernails—”

  “Well, damn!” Oscar mumbled. “I didn’t ask for a forensic profile. What was he like? Was he friendly? Rude?”

  Crystal stared at her wordlessly, pondering her description. Tonya was embarrassed now. She hadn’t meant to go on and on like that. But in the brief moments she had spent in his presence, Tonya had become intoxicated by him. She had not expected to meet the muscled stallion dripping with sex appeal who walked through the doors of the magazine, rightfully, as if he owned the place. Tonya was already smitten. In fact, he had all the women in the office struggling to keep their professional masks on.