Chapter Fourteen
Terese groaned and slammed her hand on the snooze bar at eight a.m. Friday morning. Just one more minute. Reluctantly, she let go of the alarm clock and slumped back onto her pillow. Lying still, she drank in the quiet morning sounds of her apartment—the hiss of the radiator, the faint chirping of chickadees, and the absence of a certain handsome man. Until she remembered the interview. All thoughts snapped into focus. She didn’t care Drew blew her off again last night. She’d have exciting news to tell him tonight. Hopping from the bed, she bubbled with excitement.
Her outfit hung from the closet door. A Chanel-style suit, gray with white trim and black buttons. Terese had shopped hard to find it second hand. Her matching bag and heels sat in a chair by the closet. She admired the whole ensemble before hitting the bathroom.
Walking on air the entire time, she showered, ate, and dressed, her body humming and a song on her lips. Today, her life changed, one way or another. Today, she’d take the step forward she’d avoided for years. No more mopping up puke or getting her ass slapped by frat boys. Today, she’d get the job and become a professional.
Giddy, she grabbed the new briefcase and headed toward Drake Industries.
****
At eight a.m., the shrill tone of Drew’s phone startled him from a deep sleep. Sitting up, he glanced at the clock and cursed. He’d slept through his alarm. Interviews started at nine thirty. No way he’d be late. Not merely out of concern for George’s mental state, but because his father was watching also. Crunch time always brought out the best in Spencer, and Drew too. Success was his only option.
He grabbed the phone as he dashed into the kitchen to start some coffee. “Yeah, Drew speaking.” He hadn’t glanced at the caller ID, so his father’s voice surprised him.
“Drew,” Dad said, his tone cool and tight. Drew stopped in his tracks, his shoulders sagging. How did his father know he’d overslept? Probably guessed he spent the night with Terese and… “Did I wake you, son?”
“No, Dad. I’m running late. I’ll be there, on time and ready.” Mentioning that George refused to give him the dossiers for today’s interviewees was a moot point. Drew had spent half the night reviewing the junior candidates. He fiddled with the coffee maker, willing it to go faster.
“Son, I need you to get in here on the double.” His father’s words sounded strained and formal. It wasn’t like him. Even with his business-driven mind, Dad epitomized the kind, caring boss. He never threw cold impersonal orders at someone without a reason.
Drew halted as he headed to the bathroom. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
Spencer sighed—not good. “George had a heart attack last night. He’s at Iverton General, under observation. I pushed the man too hard.” He grumbled something else into the phone. Drew knew better than to ask for clarification.
Slumping against the wall, he asked, “How bad is he?”
“He’s going to be fine, with some time off, a new diet, and exercise program. His wife gave me the full report with a few choice words about how her husband has been treated these past few weeks. She wasn’t wrong.” The disappointment in his father’s voice caused Drew to cringe.
An image of George’s red face and wide eyes appeared in Drew’s head. He should’ve known something was wrong, done more than hand him a water. He should’ve told his father the situation hit critical. Instead, he obsessed about his date with Terese. A sour taste rose in his throat. Jesus, poor George.
Drew stood for a moment, mouth open, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. He’d been such a pompous jerk to George throughout the whole thing. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. What had he done?
“You sure he’s going to be okay, Dad?” A tremor rose in his words, escaping before he could bite it back.
“Yes, his wife said he’s stable and resting. Will be home from the hospital in short order.” Dad sounded overtired, and he never sounded like that, ever. Drew sat on his bed, guilt piling up at his door. He sucked in a breath and counted to ten.
He could do this. Interviews weren’t that hard. George had taught him something over the past few days. He’d do it for Dad, for the company, for George.
“I’ll be in soon, Dad. I’ll call George’s wife and get those files. We can handle it.” He hid the terror in his voice. His father didn’t need any more on his plate, so Drew crushed down his fears and complaints.
Until reality hit. No George for the interviews. Fuck. His stomach tightened.
Dad cleared his throat, and Drew could tell he stood up straighter. “Good. I can loan you Maura for the day. She can help organize the interviewees and make coffee.” Standing, Drew sighed in relief, wiping his sweaty palms on his boxers. His father’s pregnant pause signaled he trusted Drew to do the job.
Pacing the room, he said, “I’ll come find you if I have any trouble, Dad. The important interviews are today and Monday. George’ll have notes on who he likes and who he thinks is best.” As he reassured his dad, Drew’s stomach refused to untwist from the tight knot.
They exchanged a few more words, instructions and well-wishes before ending the call. Drew slowly slid down the wall. He could do it, just one more fourteen-hour day and probably most of the weekend.
Terese.
He wouldn’t see her for three or four days at least. An ache bloomed across his chest, which surprised him. Expecting his downstairs brain to complain, he was pleased his heart was the one straining for her.
~*~
At the office, Drew did his best not to panic at the pile of resumes, files, and personnel folders—a royal mess. Maura managed to find most of George’s backup files, excluding the list of times, but the names were crossed out and rewritten so many times neither of them could discern who was who. Sorting through the “upcoming” files, he couldn’t make head nor tail of George’s system. Drew tried calling him, but his wife refused to let the man on the phone. He didn’t blame the poor woman. She was only protecting him.
Drew was on his own.
Letting out a long breath, he examined the chaos in front of him. If he pulled this off today, his dad owed him a huge bonus.
At nine fifteen, clueless as to who might arrive for an interview, he called Maura in for a huddle in the conference room. “All right, here’s the plan. You’ll meet and greet everyone. Take their names. See if they brought resumes.”
“They probably won’t have any of that stuff with them. They already submitted them to get the interview.” She rolled her eyes, making him feel stupid and amateurish. Which, of course, he was. He’d never conducted an interview on his own. But team players, remember? He resisted the urge to thump her over the head with a file folder.
“They probably won’t, but get anything that will help me narrow the mess of information.” He waved at the mass of paperwork. “Anyway, get a name, give them a seat. Then come in here and tell me who it is. I’ll need time to find their file. If they fuss, make some excuse.”
She raised an eyebrow, and Drew thought he should clarify. How did she ever make it to executive assistant? Pain in the ass should’ve been stamped on her forehead. “Don’t tell them about George. I’ll call you when I’m ready. Understood?”
She tapped her lip, considering. Angling her hip to the side, she slowly licked her lips. She leaned over the conference table, displaying her ample cleavage. “In other words, you want me to cover for you.” A statement, not a question. “What’s in it for me?” Batting her eyelashes, she stroked a finger down his chest. Drew’s temper tap danced.
Backing away from the table, he kept his tone cool and calm. “I’m not in the mood to play games, Maura. Do what I ask, and I’ll put a good word in with Dad.”
She laughed, slinking closer to him. Her breast pressed against his arm, as her hand slid down over his ass. “What kind of promotion are we talking? Head Executive Assistant? Or maybe he’ll assign me to a cushy job with an up-and-coming hottie?”
Plucking her hand off his butt and shifting his body away, Drew gritted his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “No. Cooperate and I’ll make sure you stay Head Executive Assistant.” He hated throwing his weight around, but given the situation… He wasn’t going to play footsie with his dad’s assistant to force her to do her job. He locked his gaze on her, his mouth in a tight line, and hoped she read “business only.”
Lifting her chin, she almost sounded resigned. “Whatever you say, boss. Give you a name and a minute. I can handle that.” She plunked down on the table in front of him, her blouse top blooming open in invitation. They were lovely… He did a slow blink, thinking of Terese, and quelled his jangled hormones. What a piece of work Maura was. He wondered if his dad even noticed her behavior. Probably not, or he would’ve fired her long ago.
Clearing his throat, he said, “And try to behave professionally.”
His directive received a huff, and she pursed her lips. “Look, kiddo, I know how to do my job. You’re new at this whole thing, but you need to learn how to treat your employees.” Her stiff body and stony expression challenged him.
Enough.
His assistant, Donna, never played games, especially on a day with so much at stake.
He leaned in. “Maura, you’re an extremely capable assistant, but do you need to go through the sexual harassment training again? We can schedule it today. I can pull Donna to help me, and you can get educated.” He gnashed the last few words out between his teeth.
She blinked at him, attitude gone. “Whatever you say, sir.” She spun on her heel and left the room. He hoped he wasn’t burning a bridge, but no man should be groped like that. Not when he had a thousand interviews to conduct and no one competent to assist him.