CHAPTER ONE

AVERY MONAGHAN

A piercing ring breaks the silence as I grab my lunch from the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. Since we’re a small family-owned business, there isn’t much space allotted for a break room, so most of the time, I pull my lunch from the fridge only to eat in my car or at the conference table near the front of the store.

Ignoring my growling stomach, I pick up the cordless phone and hit the blinking green button. ”Design Time. This is Avery.”

”Mike, please.” An abrupt male voice comes over the line.

”May I ask who”s calling?” I set down the baggies containing my sandwich and baby carrots and reach for a pen, ready to write down his information.

”Dominic.”

I roll my eyes at the one-word answer. Everyone expects my boss to know who they are—failing to realize that there are a million other Johns, Sarahs, and Toms 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 getting disgruntled now, and all I can think is join the club, buddy.

Because these kinds of calls are the worst. I guarantee you are not as memorable as you think you are, and now you’re forcing me to basically interrogate you. Always a fun task 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.

”Just 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 throw up a mental image of the middle finger to entitled customers everywhere then grab my lunch and book it out of here before something else keeps me from my break.

When I walked into Design Time four years ago, I was looking for a graphic design position. Graduation was coming quickly, and I needed a job.

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.

I even accepted that I’d be expected to pitch in to help 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 chalked up my frustrations to paying my dues—that if I just 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, since I haven’t kept up with the latest software and design trends.

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 the needles are creating. 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 with the added responsibility of managing this store that he might include me in his other businesses as a more personal assistant type. While not my dream job, it’s something I enjoy, and at least it would be something different 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.

***

Find the rest of Avery and Dominic’s story in book two of the Hearts Collide series, Hidden Hearts!