I hung up the phoneand gripped my travel mug with two hands, bringing it to my lips for asteadying gulp of lukewarm coffee. “Is it too late to call in sick?”
Emily glanced downthe aisle and then back at me. “What is going on, Molly? You’re making menervous.”
“I’m fine.” I lied.“I’ll be fine.” Another lie.
The heat kicked onover my head, sending a puff of stifling air all around me. Beads of sweatpopped up around my hairline and I desperately wanted to start shedding layers.I immediately regretted the rose pink blazer I wore over my white blouse. Icouldn’t take it off because I’d stupidly worn a paisley print bra that my thinshirt would be helpless to hide.
Why did I make suchbad decisions before coffee?
With one last longsip, I stood up from my desk, grabbed my notebook, thick planner and a Tic-Tac.I stuck a pen in the base of my high bun and waved goodbye to Emily. She stayedat my desk to watch me walk away, a look of worried consternation on her prettyface. Shooting her a confident smile, I had to admit that I was acting a bitcrazy—even by my standards.
Mr. Tucker’ssecretary, Teresa, waved me through to his office where my worst nightmarecametrue. I tried not to make a face even though Imentally admitted to myself that I should have seen this coming.
I should have knownhe wouldn’t take no for an answer.
I should haverealized that as a general rule, STS would be thrilled to land a high-profileclient like him.
Ezra Baptiste.
He sat across fromMr. Tucker looking way too suave for his own good. His long legs were crossedcasually showcasing his tailored charcoal dress pants. His hands rested in his lap,an expensive watch blinking from his wrist. His strong torso leaned back in thechair, clothed in a layered black sweater that molded perfectly to histoo-toned body, a white dress shirt poking out at his wrists and collar. Hishair had been styled, laying in expert waves that begged fingers to run throughit or brush it back or grab it and pull it and...
I licked dry lipsand met his concentrated gaze. He stood up as I entered the room, acknowledgingme with all his somber intensity. Mr. Tucker reluctantly stood too, and I wasthankful for an excuse to look anywhere but at Ezra.
“Hi, Molly.” Mr.Tucker’s eyebrows rose subtly with surprise. He hadn’t been expecting me. I hada feeling he only knew my name because Ezra had asked for me specifically. I imaginedMr. Tucker waiting impatiently to find out which one was Molly. Now he knew.
Next week he wasgoing to make us start wearing name tags. I could feel it.
“Hello, Mr.Tucker,” I returned professionally, unruffled, completely and utterly in myelement.
Or at leastpretending to be.
“Have a seat.” Hegestured at the chair next to Ezra. “This is Ezra Baptiste,” Mr. Tucker wenton. “He and his company EFB Enterprises are interested in our marketingservices and he’s requested your assistance. Seems he’s aware of youroutstanding reputation.”
Mr. Tucker smiledproudly at me as if he was also aware of my outstanding reputation. The outstandingreputation that didn’t exist. And even if it did it would not be importantenough information for Mr. Tucker to familiarize himself with.
Ezra didn’t jump into corroborate the claim, so there was a heavy minute of awkward silence inwhich I refused to speak and Mr. Tucker didn’t know what else to say.
Finally, unable to withstandthe tense pressure, I crossed my legs, looked at my boss and said, “Thank you.”
That also left Mr.Tucker scrambling for the appropriate response since he wasn’t sure if I wasthanking him or Ezra for the compliment or for the job.
Finally, Mr. Tuckercleared his throat and nodded. “You’re welcome.”
We fell intosilence again.
If this hadhappened to anyone else, I would have found the entire meeting entertaining.Instead, as the victim in this situation, I tried to discreetly scope out theunderside of Mr. Tucker’s desk in the probable chance I decided to crawl underit and rock myself back and forth until everyone left for the day.
Mr. Tuckerscratched the underside of his chin and glanced desperately back and forthbetween Ezra and me. He wanted so badly for one of us to take over theconversation. Poor, naïve, Mr. Tucker.
“You’re in therestaurant business, isn’t that right?” Mr. Tucker asked Ezra.
“That’s right,” Ezraagreed,finallyspeaking up. “I own fourfine-dining restaurants around Durham, but my logo and website are dated. I’minterested in working with Miss Maverick to revamp my image, give thecorporation a fresh look. I’m also interested in hearing her thoughts on abetter social media approach, running a few commercials for the differentrestaurants and whatever else you have to offer. I want the whole package.”
Mr. Tucker smiledand I could swear dollar signs started floating in his eyeballs. I resisted theurge to kick Ezra in the shins.
Was this even areal conversation? Did he honestly want all of those things from STS? From me?
If he had beenanyone else, I would have understood his motivation. I was awesome at my job.Especially if he wanted a big social media package. I would kick seriousinternet ass for him. But this was Ezra we were talking about.
