Plush Book 1: A Billionaire Romance (5 page)

Eventually, I got the box open and started to dig through the contents. There were a dozen smaller boxes inside. It looked like the entire line of Plush products according to the also-enclosed catalogue. I wasn’t sure what it was all for, but I decided to take Bryce’s advice and get to know the products I was supposed to be trying to market.

The first step was to read each product label. A few years back, I had had a nasty reaction to one of the ingredients in a bottle of perfume and broke out in a horrific rash. When it first happened, I remember being extremely irritated, but once I did further research on how nasty some of the common beauty product chemicals are, I decided to accept it as a blessing that my body was allergic. Since then, I’d been a bit of a freak about reading labels of everything I put in, or on, my body.

I scanned down the listed ingredients and gasped when I saw BHA listed. Back when I had done my initial investigation into the different chemicals used in most make-up and body products, I had read about BHA and BHT’s, but found it hard to believe it was actually allowed to be used on humans in the first place. My memory was slightly foggy, but I remembered that it had shown very serious side effects in independent research trials, not to mention the un-environmentally friendly way it was created.

I dumped the pile of bottles from my lap back into the box and immediately shut the lid, sticking it loosely back down with the bits of tape I had cut off. The knot in my stomach that had hardly let up since two days ago when Mr. Brighton was first thrown into my world, now felt two times bigger. How could I possibly be expected to work on his account now? Knowing about the use of BHA changed everything. Again.

Sam cocked his head at me, as if waiting for an answer to the problem.

“I’ll just have to smooth things over with Rita tomorrow. The ads should be fixed. I did my part, now it’s time to move on.”

Sam stretched and started to lick his paws, clearly not concerned about my ethical dilemma.

I looked up at the red, vintage-looking clock on the kitchen wall, groaning when I realized it was already past ten o’clock and I would barely get six hours of sleep in before I would have to wake up and do it all over again. I dragged myself up off the floor, collected the protesting Sam in my arms, and trudged back to my room to get to bed.

***

“How can I help you, Allison?” Rita stared me down across her desk.

This was going to be harder than I had anticipated. I took a deep breath and did my best to lay out my case in a logical manner. I explained that the meeting with the design team had gone well, and that the new sketches I’d been shown earlier that morning looked great, and then I ever-so-gently reminded her that really, my job—or rather, the job I was hired to do—had nothing to do with client relations and managing accounts. In closing, I wanted to be done with the Plush account and go back to training on the coding work.

When I finished my defense, I sat silent, waiting for her to reveal my fate.

“I understand Mr. Brighton can be an exceedingly difficult client to work for. The Plush account has gone through more account managers than I can count in the short three years that Mr. Brighton has been with our company. And I’m also aware that this isn’t what you expected when you were hired. Truth be told, it’s not what I need you doing. Bryce touted you as a computer genius who would be able to be groomed to run the technological side of our marketing efforts. Something we desperately need, since right now it’s all a bit fly by night and not even close to organized.”

A little bubble of hope rose up in my mind, the feeling my ticket to freedom was close.

“But, that being said, I can’t risk making Mr. Brighton lose his faith, fragile though it may be, in what we have here because if he goes, so do his millions of dollars in advertising. And, he wants you to run things. Possibly you learned a valuable lesson about knowing when to interject, and when to remain silent. Your words can get you into a lot of trouble.”

That last shred of hope I had been clinging to washed away from underneath me at her scolding. I knew I deserved it. Keeping my mouth in check had never been a strong suit. But having her lecture me only made me want to rebel even more—until I remembered the paycheck.

“In other words, Allison, your talents and skills are on loan to Mr. Brighton until he says otherwise.” Her expression did not change but a shimmer in her eyes gave away her delight at resigning me to Mr. Brighton’s will.

“Understood,” I said, once I was sure she was done speaking. I rose from my seat, preparing to leave.

“One more thing,” Rita continued, right as I set my hand on the doorknob.

I turned back to face her. This time she did smile.

Oh, shit.

“Mr. Brighton has requested our presence tonight at a company event for Plush. The official launch of their fall line, I believe. I trust you will be able to rearrange your schedule in order to attend.”

I felt my hand involuntarily ball into a fist. The voice in my head rattled off a quick speech that started with a “fuck this” and ended with an “I quit”, but I reined it in and tried to focus on the fact that if I did that, I would likely cost Bryce his job as well and that wasn’t something I wanted to be responsible for.

“That won’t be a problem,” I answered, through gritted teeth.

“Excellent. Do keep in mind that even though it is a private event, you will be representing our company tonight, so please adhere to the black tie dress code and don’t abuse the open bar.” She smiled sweetly at me and folded her hands atop her desk.

My nails were cutting into my palm and it took every last shred of self-control to turn and leave the room without flinging myself across her desk and sinking them into her skin instead.

I stormed back to my desk and saw Bryce perched on the edge of it. He reared back at my entrance. “What the hell happened to you? You look like you’re ready to explode.”

“That pretty much sums it up. Listen, I’ve got to get out of here. If Rita asks where I went, just tell her Cinderella had to go get ready for the ball.”

“Cinderella? The ball?” Bryce’s eyebrows creased. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Never mind. Just cover for me, okay?”

“Okay. See you tomorrow,” he answered. “Have fun at the, uh, ball.”

“Oh, it’s going to be delightful.”

Chapter Six

By the time I got home, ravaged my closets, and subsequently came to the conclusion that I had nothing suitable to wear, I had less than two hours to get to the event. It would actually be helpful if my sarcastic comparison to Cinderella came true and a fairy godmother would come to rescue me. At least then I would have a killer dress and proper transportation. I checked my bank account balance online and sighed at the numbers staring back at me. Pitiful.

Short on time and cash, I decided the best plan would be to hit up the consignment shop two blocks down from my apartment. Before leaving, I sent out an SOS text to one of my friends, Hannah, begging her to meet me at the shop. Most of the girls I knew were girlfriends of the bikers who hang out in the same bars I do on the weekends. I’d met Hannah a couple years back. She had been dating a guy named Lou, and we hit it off. Lou and her ended not too long after that, but we managed to stay in contact. Hannah had a Hollywood glamour vibe to her, and I knew she’d know what to wear to something like this and she’s great with hair too.

I darted from my apartment, hauled ass down to the shop and was frantically digging through the jam-packed clothing racks when I heard Hannah’s voice ring out across the shop. “Allie!”

We embraced quickly. “Thanks for coming. I know I sound like a total crazy person.”

“Well, yeah. What are you trying to do? Your text said something about a black toe party? I know you hang with some sketchy people, but what the hell?”

“Black toe?”

She dug out her phone and showed me the text. I started to laugh. “Black tie! It was supposed to say a black tie party.”

Hannah looked at the screen and then back at me and started to giggle. “You know, it’s pretty sad that I honestly didn’t even consider that it was autocorrect gone horribly wrong. I really thought it was something to do with toes! I was picturing…well, never mind, you don’t even want to know. Anyways, I raced down here to save you!”

“Holy shit, Han, my friends aren’t that bad!” I said after I caught my breath from laughing so hard. I held my stomach and explained the actual reason I needed her help.

“Man, I don’t see you for two weeks and all hell breaks loose.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So when you say this dude’s hot, like how hot?” Her eyes were sparkling with interest as she begged. “I haven’t gotten any in way too long, so I need all the yummy details.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “He’s crazy, stupid hot. But that’s not the point! Hannah, he’s also arrogant, cold, and a complete control freak!”

“I bet you could loosen him right up,” she said, throwing me a wink. “I can’t believe you didn’t go out with him! Come on, a hot, rich guy wants to take you out to a fancy dinner and you said no? You should have at least gone to get a free steak—err salad— out of the deal—or whatever it is you vegetarian people eat.”

“Hannah, focus!” I flipped my phone on to check the time. Less than two hours now.

“All right, all right. What do you need my help with?” She started picking through the racks of clothes, as if just realizing she was in a clothing store. “If you don’t give a shit about this guy, then why is it so important that you look all sexy tonight? That’s only going to make him chase you more and you know it! Haha! I was right, you do want him!”

“Oh, yeah, I’m dying to be another one of his bimbo models he won’t even remember in a week. The only reason I’m playing his game is because the sooner I get this job done, the sooner I can go back to my real job, and get him and his drama out of my life. So if that means playing dress up for a night, so be it. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

Hannah studied me for a moment, her eyes narrowed with consideration.

“Please?”

She laughed. “Of course I’ll help you, but I’m still keeping my money on you two knockin’ boots before this is all over.”

“Noted. Now what about this one?” I held up a long-sleeved, floor length, deep navy dress for her to inspect.

She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe if you were my grandmother. What’s with the sleeves?”

I hung the dress back up. “I have to wear sleeves to cover my tats. I don’t think they would go over too well with this crowd.”

“Hmmm.” She nodded and dug back into the rack she was standing by. “What about this, then?”

She held up a short, black cocktail dress. The dress itself was strapless, but it had a separate wrap that I could wear over the top that would cover my arms and shoulders but still show off a small panel of skin on my back, adding a little extra flair to an otherwise simple look.

“With your hair curled, some red lipstick, and black-winged eyeliner,” Hannah explained. “You’ll be a knockout.”

I flipped over the tag, surprised to see it was only thirty-eight dollars. “Sold!”

We raced through the check-out process and went back to my apartment where Hannah effortlessly applied my makeup and gave my normally sleek, black hair some soft, natural looking curls. I slipped into the dress, making sure all my ink was covered, and did a final twirl in the mirror.

“Thanks again, Hannah. You’re a lifesaver. Way better than any fairy godmother!” I waved as we both parted ways in front of my apartment building as she went left and I went right.

“Stay out of trouble tonight!” She waved back.

I strode down the street, knowing that if anyone was going to be in trouble tonight, it was going to be Mr. Brighton. If I got a chance alone with him—and there was a 99.9% chance of that happening—I was going to make sure he knew exactly what I thought of him and his carcinogenic product line. Once he knew how I really felt about his products, maybe then he’d realize I’m not the right girl for the job after all and this nightmare could finally end.

***

I made my fashionably late—thanks to my screwy GPS system—entrance about twenty minutes into the event. I was escorted to a front table and seated just as Mr. Brighton was introduced and brought out on stage to give his presentation. I nursed a cocktail and tapped my fingernails along the edge of the table, unable to contain my irritation.

“Good evening. Thank you all for being here with me to celebrate the launch of the Plush fall collection. This company was my father’s creation, and I would hope that he would be proud of this latest reincarnation if he were here to see it.”

His father died? At least that’s how it sounded. I stopped tapping the table and leaned forward to focus on his face as he spoke. The arrogant cloud I was so used to seeing around him seemed to have vanished, for once. He looked humbled and authentic. I had expected his suit and tie persona to be magnified when all eyes were on him. It threw me off to see him like this.

“I want to thank all of you here tonight for being a part of this company and for helping my father’s legacy to grow and evolve. Thank you. I won’t bore you all with a lengthy speech. Just please enjoy yourselves.”

He nodded at the crowd and right as he turned to exit the stage, his eyes met mine and he froze, offering a warm smile. My stomach dropped and my heart started doing double-time. I smiled back and then dropped my gaze to the table in front of me. I didn’t have to see him to know that he was headed in my direction. Something about the air, the room, told me he was getting closer. However, when I finally dared to look up, he was gone.

“Good evening, Miss Rand,” his voice purred in my ear. I jolted upright in my seat and whipped around to find him seated next to me.

I hated how jittery I felt, being so close to him, but I couldn’t help it. He overwhelmed me. He smelled like heaven and the warmth of his body radiated from him and seemed to engulf me, even though we weren’t touching. I sat back in my chair, hoping some physical distance would help me to think more clearly.

“Allison is fine, Mr. Brighton.”