CHAPTER ONE

AVERY MONAGHAN

A piercing ring breaks the silence as I grab my lunch from the small refrigerator in the corner of Design Time"s workroom. Ignoring my growling stomach, I punch the blinking green button on the cordless phone hanging at my waist—forcing a professional tone rather than annoyance at my disturbed break.

"Design Time. This is Avery."

"Put me on with Mike." An abrupt male voice comes over the line, and my mouth twists into a frown at his brusque demeanor. No greeting. No please. Just a sharp demand meant to intimidate.

Unfortunately for him, I'm used to rude callers and have handled my fair share of pompous asses. "May I ask who"s calling?" The baggies containing my sandwich and baby carrots deflate on the counter as I drop them and reach for a pen, ready to write down his information.

"Dominic."

A miniscule crack appears in my composure at the one-word answer. Everyone expects my boss to know who they are—failing to realize that there are a million other Tom, Dick, and Harrys out in the world.

"And who are you with?" I prompt, digging for more information, knowing Mike will want to know before accepting the call. He's forced me to switch back and forth between him and previous callers before to gather pertinent details in pieces, rather than him just taking the call and finding out for himself.

Reason #47 for why I'm itching to quit this job.

"Will you just put Mike on the phone? He"ll know who I am." The man's irritation becomes more obvious, and all I can think is join the club, buddy.

Because these kinds of calls are the worst.

No one is ever as memorable as they think they are, which flips the conversation into interrogation mode—always a fun switch when dealing with a frustrated stranger on the other end of the line. If I liked pestering people with personal questions, I would've joined the FBI instead of winding up here.

"Well, just in case, what company are you with?"

"I don"t have time for this. Are you going to get him or not?" Shocker. This guy is rude and arrogant—a winning combination from hell.

"Give me a second." Fed up, I page Mike. "There"s a Dominic on the phone. He won"t say who he"s with, but he"s getting upset, so you might want to talk to him."

Mike sighs over the phone. "Fine."

And just like that the line is picked up, and I don't have to handle Mr. Rude Caller anymore. I conjure a mental image of the middle finger to entitled customers everywhere.

"Let me guess." Kristina, a part-time coworker, stops steaming the stack of polos by her side to face me. "Another delightful encounter with a Design Time customer?"

"Something like that. Why do people have to be so rude?" Neither of us have an answer, but we share a look of commiseration before I grab my lunch and book it out of here before something else keeps me from my break.

Lunch is one of the highlights of my day—it ranks right after clocking out at 5 PM every evening.

Sighing, I plop into the driver's side of my car, roll down the windows for the early summer breeze, and start eating, retracing the steps that led me to the rut I'm currently in.

Because I didn't always feel this way. Didn't always have a band around my chest that tightened each time another workday dawned.

When I first walked into Design Time four years ago, I'd been hopeful. Excited. Graduation was coming quickly, I needed a job, and applying for a graphic design position seemed like a good idea.

I figured a custom screen printing and embroidery company could use another designer, considering the demand in our small town—a demand I'd witnessed throughout college, with numerous orders for athletic team apparel, staff shirts, and the like.

After my first interview where Mike outlined the myriad tasks, every employee took on at Design Time, I even accepted the expectation to pitch in with the retail side of the store, since I'd be fresh out of college with no prior professional experience. For the longest time, I've chalked up my frustrations to paying my dues—that if I waited a little longer, I'd be promoted to where I wanted to be.

However, that dream has gotten further and further away as the years have passed, and it's obvious my path will never take that direction, at least not here. Which is why I've been saving for over a year in preparation for leaving Design Time.

Fortunately, living in a small town like Suitor's Crossing and having no social life has allowed me to save a sizable nest egg. All that really holds me back now is figuring out where to go and what to do. After all this time, I'm not even sure I qualify as a graphic designer anymore, or if that's where my passion lies.

After lunch, I return to stitching the logo of a local grain company on a large order of caps when Mike enters the workroom, interrupting my thoughts about the future. I have a terrible habit of daydreaming while working, since it doesn't require much thinking once the embroidery machines are set correctly.

A bad habit considering the number of times my poor fingers have been nicked by needles.

Change can't come soon enough.

"Next time Dominic Stone calls, put him through. He's interested in renting one of my commercial properties," Mike says as he stops beside me, looking over my shoulder to study the pattern created by the needles. His micromanaging has improved over the years, and truthfully, he gives me more leniency than the other embroiderer, Tony, but his hovering still makes me nervous.

"Will do!" I chirp, hoping he returns to his office soon.

Mike has a lot of different business ventures, so I field a fair share of calls about available rentals. A while back, I thought he might include me in his other businesses as an official personal assistant, since a lot of my duties revolve around helping him as CEO. While not my dream job, at least it would have been different enough to keep my interest.

But it's never come up, and if I'm honest, I don't want to get more entrenched here than I already am. It's going to be hard enough to quit. Something I'm still working up the courage to do.

Not because I'm second-guessing my decision, but because I hate letting people down.

Mike gave me a chance after college, and despite my issues with his managing style and the job, there's still a sense of loyalty to him and Design Time. Which makes my choice to leave feel more personal than it should be.

It's just business, I remind myself. You have to do what's best for you.

Easier said than done.