Preston Cartwright. Of course, that had to be him. The man that was better looking than anyone should be, and the one that had already managed to irritate me multiple times in one day. And of course, he'd have a preppy ass name to go along with everything else about him that screamed money and entitlement. And he couldn't just be a manager of some sort. He had to be the freaking CFO. The one I had a meeting scheduled with, and one of the people I'm here to support.
Wonderful.
He reminds me of a spoiled frat boy, and I wonder how old he is and if he's truly capable of handling all the financials for the Cartwright empire, or if he's just gotten the job because his daddy owns the company.
Alana snickers as she walks back to her desk while I stand there, like a fool, watching Preston freaking Cartwright pull a freshly brewed cup of coffee away from the coffee machine I still don't know how to work. I'm too shocked to move, so I don't do anything until I smell the freshly brewed coffee.
"Oh," I say and inhale the delicious aroma.
Preston takes a sip from the steaming cup. My mouth is watering. It smells heavenly and I can't wait to finally, finally have some. I take a step towards the machine when he barks, "Let's go."
Seriously?
He deliberately ignores my questioning expression and strides confidently towards the hallway, in a way that he just knows that I will follow because there is no other option.
I squeeze my hands at my sides and give the coffee machine one last longing glance before I turn around and follow him over to his office. Knowing I have a piece of shit car that needs fixing, and I'm in desperate need of groceries, I bite down on my tongue until I taste the coppery flavor of my own blood. I can't lose this job before it's barely even started.
Preston sits down behind his desk, and I sit down in a chair across from it. As I do, I check out his office. It is not what I expected. I assumed there would be a lot of chrome and blacks, similar to Barbara's office, but in a masculine bachelor kind of theme, but there isn't.
The room is large, but not as big as I thought it would be. It's more intimate in a way. Maybe to give the illusion of a friendly atmosphere. I force myself to hold back a snicker because again; I need the job, but it seems to be far from the truth. Preston Cartwright is not very friendly. He is, however, gorgeous, and I can image the hordes of women that want to get intimate with him in his office. Or anywhere, really.
The desk looks like it's made of reclaimed barn wood. It's thick and long and based on the home improvement shows I used to watch when I had time, I believe it's very, very expensive.
Preston has it set up so that his back is against a wall of bookcases made from the same reclaimed wood, which gives him a side view of the downtown area through several large windows and a view of his office door. Behind where I'm sitting is a couch in a soft brown leather and two wingback chairs. I hate to admit it, but Preston Cartwright has style.
"Do you approve?" he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice. There is a glint in his steel-blue eyes when my head swings back and meets his gaze head on.
"Yes, I do. It's very nice," I respond honestly.
He nods and taps a couple of keys on a keyboard I can't see and turns his attention towards the large computer monitor in front of him. "Your resume says you worked as an office manager at Glasgow's Auto shop." He snickers. "Kind of ironic, don't you think?"
I know he's referring to the state of my car, but I keep my face neutral.
"So, you're familiar with," he continues, and lists a whole slew of programs he expects me to know. Some of them I do know, but there are ones I've never even heard of, and my back is starting to sweat.
I'd hoped I'd get a chance to familiarize myself with their system before I got quizzed on it.
I was the office manager at Glasgow's but it was over ten years ago, not that my resume says that. I was in charge of the financials, including the payroll and taxes, but I was also the secretary, the cleaning lady, and the assistant to the owner, since he was the only other person who worked there. But my resume doesn't say that either. It's more vague and hints to Glasgow's being a much larger operation than it was. The owner has since passed away and the business no longer exists.
I only listed my waitressing job as a side note since it has nothing to do with the kind of job I was searching for, but that was where I spent the last few years of my life. Waiting on people who exited the Interstate in search of a quick meal at the nearest diner before they got back on the road towards their destinations.
But I square my shoulders and nod at Preston. "I'll manage," I say and force a smile. I don't know if it's true, but there is no way I will admit that.
He cocks his head to the side and studies me. It feels intimate and a bit unnerving. Preston Cartwright is young, the youngest of the sons, in his late twenties, if my guess is right. But the way he appraises me shows he knows more than what I expected from someone his age. It's both irritating and impressive, and I realize he's not a man that should be underestimated.
"I'm sure Barbara already told you what your responsibilities will be," he states, and I nod. "Lydia primarily handles my father's work, and Alana has Andrew and Hayes. You will assist me and Easton."
I nod again even though Barbara did not specifically share that piece of information.
"There's additional support staff on the third floor," he continues, and I nod because I was l already advised of that when I interviewed. They handle more of the general tasks, while my primary job, he explains, will be to balance Preston's and Easton's schedules.
I search my memories for what Fiona told me about the Cartwright sons. If I remember correctly, Easton is the second oldest, about my age, and the CMO.
"Easton is not here today."
"Okay."
"Alana will help you get all set up. Then I need you to pick up my dry cleaning, schedule the barber for Friday afternoon, reschedule the meeting with Mr. Demer for Wednesday instead of Thursday, and make a reservation for four at Lucena's for lunch tomorrow. Make sure Easton is available."
"Okay."
He cocks an eyebrow. "You'll remember all that?"
I look down at my hands, which are folded in my lap. I have no pen or anything to take notes with and my phone is in my bag in the closet. The coffee incident must have thrown me off, but then again, I expected this to be a rather informal introduction meeting, but I guess that is not Preston Cartwright's style.
Fuck.
Not willing to show defeat, I nod and hope to God Alana or Lydia know where these places are located and how to access Easton and Preston's schedules.
"Alright," Preston says. "Get to it."
And I'm dismissed.
Alana does know where the dry cleaner is located and shows me how to get into Preston's and Easton's schedules so I can coordinate them and reschedule the lunch and the meeting. Easton is out of town, so I don't get to meet him, but that's okay because Preston keeps me busy by throwing new things at me all afternoon while I struggle to learn the system.
By the time the clock strikes five, I'm so overwhelmed I can cry. I don't want to be the first to leave, but I have to get to the daycare center before they close. So, when Alana shuts down her computer and gets up, I let out an exasperated sigh and go retrieve my bag.
I'm unloading my lunch bag and purse on the passenger seat of my car when I hear someone exit the building. A quick glance over my shoulder shows it is Preston. He has his phone pressed against his ear while he unlocks and starts the car from the remote key fob in his hand.
"Yeah, seven is good," he says to whoever he's talking to. "I'll see you at Santorini's."
Figures he goes to the most expensive place in the city.
I open the door to my car and as soon as I do, the smell of old grease and dirty socks comes over me. It doesn't matter how many times I clean the car or how many air fresheners I get. The car still smells.
Preston backs the car out with a loud roar, and a second later he's pulling out of the garage with the stereo blasting, but without even as much of a glance my way.
Not a "good night," or "thanks for today."
Fine. That's fine. Not everyone can have a personable boss. And it is just my luck to get a shitty one.
I get in my car and turn the key, and nothing. No click. Not even a little hum. Just silence.
"No, no, no," I groan and look down at my watch. I have forty minutes until the daycare closes and it will take me almost half an hour just to get there in the rush hour traffic.
I try again, and again and again until I know for certain it's not going to start.
I get out of the car and start to pace the pavement as I picture Bella's scared look from this morning and the way her little bottom lip trembled. How freaked out she'd be if she and Rory were the only two kids left.
Shit.
Fiona is a sales representative, so she drives a lot and if she's in the area, she can usually help me out. I call her, but she isn't this time.
"I can't babe," she says. "I'm about an hour out."
My hands start to shake, and I don't know what to do. I have eleven dollars in cash in my purse and $543.26 in my bank account, thanks to the daycare tuition. My rent is due in two weeks, and I need this job to pay for it. And in order to pay for it, I need to get to this job, so I need my car to work. But more importantly, I need to get my kids before the center closes, and they leave my kids alone on the sidewalk. Well, not actually, but it's not like I can afford the extra charges.
I swallow down the panic and do the only thing I can. I order a ride share from my phone and am advised it's about five minutes out. Then, I call my brother.
"Hey Val," he shouts in an attempt to overpower the screeching background noise. I know he's at a worksite, and that he's busy, but I'm in desperate need of help.
"Hi Paul. I know you're busy, but my car died again."
He sighs, and then the background noise quiets down like he's walking away. "Where are you?" he asks.
"At my new job. The car is in the parking lot."
He sighs again.
"I have to get the kids..." I tell him and my voice breaks.
"I know, Val, but I can't get out of here for at least another hour."
He needs his job almost as much as I need mine, and at this point I'll take anything I can get.
"I can swing by on my way home," he offers. "Do you have someone to get the kids?"
"I'm taking a ride share car," I say at the same time as I see a car pull around the corner and into the parking lot. It's a few years newer than mine but sounds like it's about to fall into a million pieces at any second. Just great. I'm really hoping it will get me where I need to go, and on time.
"Val," he starts, but stops himself and lets out a loud exhale. "If you need me, I'll see if I can get out early so I can swing by and get you all from the daycare before I go see your car."
The tears I've been fighting all day overflow despite how much I try to blink to keep them back. His offer is genuine. I know he means it, but he can't afford to do it. He can't risk his job for me again.
Paul's life hasn't been easy. Neither of ours have, but despite that he was always there for me, whenever he could be.
"Okay." I swipe under my eyes and clear my voice. "I'll text you if I need help." Even though I know I won't text him until he's done working. I will not be the one to get him in trouble ever again.
The ride share car holds up. I make it to the daycare with less than five minutes to spare. There's only one other kid in the room except for mine. The afternoon teacher gives me an annoyed look, and I feel guilty for keeping her late at work, but it's the tired smile on my daughter's face that hits me hard.
"Hi, Mama," Bella says in her melodic voice and bounces over to hug my legs, despite how tired she seems. Rory looks up from where he's sitting on the floor playing with blocks that are so worn the numbers are barely visible any longer. The entire center is on the shabby side, but it's all I can afford.
I drop to my knees and squeeze my daughter against me. "Come here, Rory," I call for my son. He fumbles but manages to get up onto his stubby legs, and then he waddles over to me. His mouth is open in a grin, which shows his two bottom teeth.
"Hi, baby," I whisper as I pull him into my arms and hold both of them. The most valuable things I have. My beautiful babies. The best thing I've ever made, even if their father turned out to be a jerk.
There's a lump in my throat as I allow myself a minute to just hold them. "I love you," I tell them and press kisses to their cheeks. The giggles I receive in return are priceless.
I make a promise right then and there on the dirty floor of the shabby daycare center that I will do whatever it takes to care for my children. To make a better life for them. To give them the kinds of opportunities me and my brother never had.
I will push down my pride and, if that means I will have to dance to Preston freaking Cartwright's tune, sign me up. I'll do it. I'll even do it with a smile, because these kids are worth it. They are worth everything.