CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

PARKER

My Jimmy Choos clack against the floor as I head to Mr. Clarke’s office for my ten o’clock meeting. I better get this promotion because I can’t handle being overlooked again.

I hate to brag, but I’m exceptional at my job. I eat, sleep, and breathe interior design, so I should be good at it. I’ve brought more clients into this company than any five people combined. So yes, I deserve a promotion and the accompanying salary increase. If I don’t get it this time…

I stop in front of Marlyn and smooth down my skirt, feeling the silkiness of the fabric under my fingertips. I casually glance at the bottled blonde sitting behind the desk, giving me the side eye. Her dress…well, I’m uncertain if showing more skin is even possible. She reminds me of the secretaries Dad hires: all show and no substance.

“Please have a seat,” she says in an acid tone.

She’s never liked me. She sees me as a rival, a threat to her coveted position as Mr. Clarke’s mistress––a role I have no desire to claim.

I sit on one of the upholstered chairs and cross a leg. After ten minutes of thumb twiddling, the intercom rings with a sharp buzz. “Show her in.”

Marlyn moves to stand.

“Don’t bother,” I tell her. “I know the way.”

I rise from my chair, square my shoulders, and prepare for battle.

Mr. Clarke perches on a custom-made spiral desk crafted from six different kinds of wood. I found it for a client at an estate sale, and he confiscated it. The same goes for the Picasso hanging on his wall and the Charles Dickens collection on his bookshelf. I could go on, but I won’t.

My boss is in his sixties and hasn’t seen a gym in years. He wears Tom Ford suits with purple ties and gets his shoes shined by a kid down on the corner.

“Have a seat, Parker.” He’s positioned a chair dangerously close to where I may have to touch him to sit so he can gawk down my blouse. I don’t think so, pervert. “No, thanks. I’ll stand.”

He glares like I’ve ruined his fun. Which I’m sure I have.

“All right,” he says and shoves off the desk, lumbers around to his leather chair, and plops down. Examines me as if I’m a ten-ounce sirloin.

I clasp my hands and wait.

“I’d like to discuss a promotion,” he says.

This is it!

“However, I don’t have time at the moment. How about dinner tonight? We can talk then.”

A sour taste coats my tongue. “Excuse me?”

“Dinner and drinks tonight. At Sammy’s. See how it goes.”

See how it goes? At Sammy’s? The dive next to Benny’s Motel, where they charge an hourly rate, and the faint smell of stale beer always lingers.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” I cut to the chase. “Am I getting the promotion?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

He shuffles files around the top of his desk.

“Mr. Clarke?”

“You know. Tiffany might be a better fit for the position.

If steam could roll out my ears.

“Tiffany is half the designer I am,” I blast. “Is it because she sucks your dick and I won’t?”

He shrugs. “Look at it how you will.”

You fuck! I’ve been here two years working my ass off, and because I won’t have sex with him, I don’t get to advance.

I step forward and place my hands on his desk. Lean in. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on earth. And what about your wife, huh? You make me sick.” I wheel sharply, march to the door, pull it open, and turn. “By the way…I quit.”

I slam the door with a bang and ignore everyone watching. Trudge back to the elevator, Jimmy Choo’s clacking, and stab the button. Whispers behind me, but I don’t look. A ding and a swish, and the doors slide apart. I step in, punch down, and descend to where all the associates work.

I head straight to my desk, staring at the floor. I shove everything into my bag that’ll fit.

“How did it go?” Ann asks. She belongs to the small group of my friends here.

“Bet she got it.” That’s Gerald, my other friend. “She was a shoo-in.”

He’s right. I was a shoo-in––at least I thought I was.

“How did the meeting go, Parker?” Oh, Tiffany. You…

She knows how the meeting went. She’s probably ready to leave right now to meet Mr. Clarke at Sammy’s.

I speak so everyone can hear. “I did not get the promotion, ladies and gentlemen. I was unwilling to get down on my knees and suck his teeny, tiny dick.” I hold Tiffany’s gaze. “Not like someone I know. Congratulations on the promotion. I’m sure you’re qualified.”

“You bitch!”

“Better a bitch than a whore.”

Tiffany gasps and makes a fist. Come on, do it. Do it.

She doesn’t. Just wheels around and dashes off.

“Sorry you didn’t get it,” Ann says. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” I repeat. “No. I’m done!”

And with that, I leave with my chin up.

I’m trembling as I arrive at the garage and crawl into my truck.

What did I just do? I can’t believe I quit.

I slam my head against the steering wheel. “Ouch!” That was stupid. I rub it and check my forehead in the rearview. Not noticeable. I take several calming breaths and then jam my fist into my mouth. Another mistake. How many am I allowed in one day?

I relax in my seat, wondering what to do because I clearly didn’t think this through. But I couldn’t take it anymore and had to let it out. Now I need a job, and good luck with that because there will be no reference from Dallas Designs after this incident. I shouldn’t have said anything about the boss’s wife. I was projecting a little.

I grab tissues from the glove box, blow my nose, and dry my eyes.

God, how could this happen?

I start my truck and drive out of the parking garage. By the time I get home, I’m feeling better.

I drop my bag on the island, snatch a water bottle from the fridge, and plod over to my couch. Grab my phone and make a call. It’s time. I need a change, and nothing is keeping me here.