Читать книгу Seduced by Mr. Right - Pamela Yaye - Страница 11

Chapter 3

Pathways Center was in an attractive plaza filled with glitzy boutiques, cafés and beauty salons. It had several high-end stores, and as Sharleen left Samson’s Gym on Friday morning, she noticed the parking lot was packed. It was only ten o’clock, but the plaza was filled with couples, well-dressed businessmen and children begging their parents for toys and ice cream.

It was another warm spring day, and Sharleen felt invigorated by the signs of the season. The air held the scent of flowers; the sky was free of clouds and gleaming with sunshine. Strolling down the street, soaking up the sun, Sharleen greeted everyone she passed with a nod and a smile. Exercising always improved her mood, and even though she wasn’t as flexible as the other women in her Stiletto Aerobics class, doing high-kicks in her favorite pair of Jimmy Choo shoes made her feel invincible, as if she could conquer the world. And I will, she vowed, fervently nodding her head. I’m going to get that VP position if it’s the last thing I do!

Reaching Pathways Center, Sharleen pushed open the door and strode inside. Attractive furniture, European artwork and vibrant area rugs decorated the waiting area. Waving to the receptionist, Sharleen collected her messages and continued down the hallway, anxious to get down to work.

Entering her office, she dropped her tote bag on the couch and opened the window blinds. Sunshine spilled into the room, making the space feel warm and bright. Her gaze landed on the red sports car double-parked in front of the bank. Emilio Morretti’s face popped into her mind, and try as she might, she couldn’t get rid of the sexy image. She’d thought of him last night and wondered how he was doing. Had he given any thought to what she’d said, or was he still in a miserable funk? Sharleen considered calling Antwan to find out but struck the idea from her mind. She had a busy day ahead of her, and she didn’t have time to shoot the breeze with her friend.

At her desk, she turned on her computer and took out her leather-bound journal. For the rest of the morning, Sharleen reviewed client profiles, updated her schedule and edited her online newsletter. Hours slipped by, and when lunch came and went she decided to take a break. Eager to speak to her colleague and best friend, Jocelyn Calhoun, she scooped up her desk phone and punched in her number. She’d left Jocelyn two messages yesterday, but still hadn’t heard back from her. That was unlike the social-media queen. Her iPhone never left her side, and she always responded to texts within seconds—unless she was watching Dating in the City.

“Hey, girl, it’s me,” Sharleen said, tapping her pen absently on her desk calendar. “I haven’t heard from you all day and just wanted to touch base. Give me a ring, or swing by my office when you get in. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, so stop by. We really need to talk.”

Hanging up the phone, she glanced at the wall clock above the door. Her next session didn’t start for an hour, but if she was going to survive her conversation with the disgruntled housewife from Malibu, she needed to meditate. Like exercising, it was an unshakable part of her daily routine, and she felt ineffective without it. Sharleen loved her career and couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else, but being a life coach was emotionally and mentally draining.

Unbuttoning her blazer, she kicked off her sandals and sat back in her chair. Blocking out the noises around her, she closed her eyes and exhaled every stress, every anxiety. Sharleen turned toward the window and welcomed the sunlight as it warmed her face. As her thoughts cleared and a sense of peace washed over her, she reflected on the events of the past week. There were plenty of lows, but only one high. Desire flared inside her body. Forty-eight hours after my disastrous consultation with Emilio Morretti, and I’m still thinking about him. That’s insane! He’s curt and serious and...and...oh, so dreamy. I wish he was my man.

For the second time in minutes her thoughts went off track. In her mind’s eye, she saw Emilio stalking toward her. His gaze was intense, and he was wearing a broad grin. One so captivating it made her skin tingle and her heart soar. Emilio took her in his arms, held her close to his chest and caressed her cheeks with his fingertips. Licking her lips, she waited anxiously to feel the pleasure of his kiss. He lowered his mouth to hers, and—

“Ms. Nichols, are you okay?”

Her eyes flew open. Embarrassed that her boss had caught her daydreaming, Sharleen stuffed her feet back into her shoes and stood. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fontaine.”

“May I have a word with you?”

Adjusting her glasses, she fervently nodded her head. “Yes, of course.”

“This won’t take long.” Her boss, a petite woman with mocha-brown skin, had a no-nonsense demeanor and impeccable style. As she marched into the office, her wavy hair and leopard-print scarf flapped around her. Her colleagues gossiped that Mrs. Fontaine and her second husband, Jules, were having serious marital problems, but Sharleen didn’t believe them. Her boss looked chic and well put together, not like a woman having man trouble.

“Please have a seat.” Coming out from behind her desk, she gestured to the glass table beside the window. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Mrs. Fontaine sat down on one of the wrought-iron chairs, and Sharleen did the same.

“Over the years, you’ve become good friends with Ms. Calhoun, and I want to ensure her departure doesn’t cause you any unnecessary grief.”

Confused, Sharleen furrowed her brow. “Her departure? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“You’re surprised she didn’t tell me what?” she repeated, wishing her boss would quit talking in circles and tell her what the hell was going on. Sharleen knew Jocelyn was worried about her mother’s health and wondered what had happened.

“Has she taken a leave of absence?”

“No. Ms. Calhoun has been relieved of her duties.”

Sharleen struggled to find her voice. “B-b-but everyone loves her,” she stammered. “She’s the best life coach here and—”

Mrs. Fontaine scoffed. “No, she’s not.”

Oh, that’s right. Brad is. He’s your favorite. He’s everyone’s favorite. Sharleen despised Brad McClendon, and that would never change. When he wasn’t talking trash about her to their colleagues, he was stabbing her in the back and trying to steal her clients. All because she’d spurned his sexual advances at last year’s Christmas party. His boy-next-door charms fooled everyone—including their boss—but Sharleen saw through his phony, I-love-everybody facade. He was a know-it-all, with an ugly attitude, and she didn’t trust him.

“I didn’t come here to gossip. I came to discuss your career.” Mrs. Fontaine clasped her hands around her knees. “You’re a valuable member of the Pathways team, and I have high hopes for you.”

You do? Really? Then why are you so hard on me?

“I hope you’re not still upset about your performance review last month...”

Sharleen was, but she would never admit it. She didn’t want Mrs. Fontaine to think she was overly sensitive, so she dismissed her boss’s concerns with a flick of her hand. “Of course not. I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Fontaine, and your thorough assessment of my performance. I love working here, and I’m going to do everything in my power to promote this wonderful, life-changing center.”

Mrs. Fontaine’s face came alive and visibly relaxed. “That is wonderful news. You looked upset after our meeting, and I feared you were going to quit.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she joked. “I’m one tough cookie!”

Mrs. Fontaine laughed, and Sharleen did, too. Her joke lightened the mood, and the tension in the air abated. They spoke about ways to attract new clients and how to boost staff morale. Moments of levity with her boss were few and far between, and she enjoyed their one-on-one time. Finally, after working together for years they were starting to make some headway.

“I look forward to working with you and the rest of the Pathways team for many more years to come.” As Sharleen spoke, her boss’s smile got bigger, brighter. Encouraged, she went on. “I’ll miss working with Jocelyn, but her departure won’t have a negative effect on me. I’m committed to my clients, and I’d never do anything to impede their personal growth.”

“As you know, I’m expanding our services and planning to open centers in Seattle, Houston and LA later this year,” she said proudly. “I’m going to need someone I can trust to be my vice president, and I wanted you to know you’re one of the top contenders for the job.”

Sharleen wanted to break out in song, but she squelched her excitement. “When will you make a decision about the position?”

“By the end of May, if not sooner.”

Great! That gives me eight weeks to prove I’m the perfect woman for the job.

“I better go.” Mrs. Fontaine glanced at her gold wristwatch and rose from her chair. “I need to speak to Brad about Emilio Morretti before he leaves for the day.”

Oh. Hell. To. The. No! Sharleen surged to her feet. She didn’t want to get on Mrs. Fontaine’s bad side, but she had to set her boss straight. “I met with Mr. Morretti on Wednesday morning, and he made it very clear that he doesn’t want a life coach.”

“He’s still grieving the loss of his nephew. He doesn’t know what he wants.” Her tone was brisk, matter-of-fact. “Mr. Tate has given us a lot of business over the years, and we can’t afford to disappoint him.”

Sharleen wanted to roll her eyes, but she nodded her head in understanding. One minute we’re sharing a laugh, the next she’s taking jabs at me. Go figure! Mrs. Fontaine’s words were a veiled insult, a slap in the face, but Sharleen didn’t argue. She saw the bigger picture, understood what was at stake, and knew if she played her cards right there’d be a promotion in her future. Listening with half an ear, she considered her next move.

“Mr. Tate is a successful business manager, and every time one of his celebrity clients is photographed leaving our center the phones ring off the hook!” Dollar signs twinkled in her eyes. “Brad is a stellar life coach. He can get through to Emilio Morretti. I know it.”

And what am I? Chopped liver? Her body tensed, and her mouth curled in disgust. Pressing her lips together to trap a curse inside, she fumed. If I lose another client to Brad I’m going to scream! On the surface Sharleen remained calm, but she was annoyed with her boss and angry at herself. If she’d signed Emilio on Wednesday, instead of making googly eyes at him, she wouldn’t have to go toe-to-toe with Brad for her client. “I deserve to be Mr. Morretti’s life coach. I specialize in grief and trauma, and furthermore, I booked the initial consultation.”

“But he dismissed you shortly after you arrived at his estate.”

Sharleen winced, as if in physical pain. What the hell? Is Antwan my friend or not? She didn’t appreciate him talking to Mrs. Fontaine behind her back and planned to tell him just that the next time she saw him.

An idea came to her in a flash. Bingo! That was it! She’d have drinks with Antwan and Emilio at the Halftime Bar and convince Emilio to sign with her. It’s either that, or lose him to Brad-the-blue-eyed-schemer! Sharleen felt guilty about missing her uncle’s retirement party, but she couldn’t give Brad the upper hand, not with the VP position at stake.

“I’m meeting Mr. Tate and Mr. Morretti tonight to finish our consultation.” The lie came out of her mouth in a breathless, nervous gush, but she continued full speed ahead, before her boss could question her. “I’m confident Mr. Morretti will sign with us once I tell him more about our top-notch, award-winning agency.”

Her boss gave her a bewildered look and scratched her head. “I’m confused...”

Sharleen gulped. Her palms were slick with sweat, but she maintained her poise. She desperately needed another crack at Emilio Morretti. But when she opened her mouth to plead her case, Mrs. Fontaine raised a hand to silence her.

“I spoke to Mr. Tate at length this morning, and he never mentioned your meeting.”

“He’s a very busy man. It must have slipped his mind,” she said, shrugging her shoulders good-naturedly. The fib fell off her lips with ease, sounding plausible, convincing, too. “Since Halftime Bar is only a few blocks from here, I’m planning to head straight over once I finish my last session of the day.”

Her boss’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “You’re going to meet Emilio Morretti dressed like that?”

“Is there something wrong with my outfit?”

“Not if you’re going to a funeral!” she scoffed, her thin lips curved in disapproval. “Emilio Morretti is an international superstar and one of the sexiest bachelors in the world.”

“And?” Sharleen asked, puzzled. “What does his relationship status have to do with me?”

“I want you to knock his socks off, and that boring, navy blue suit isn’t going to cut it...”

You’re a fine one to talk! You always wear pantsuits!

“Your outfit does nothing to enhance your curves.”

Sharleen touched a hand to her fitted, three-button blazer. “But this is Chanel!”

“I don’t care,” Mrs. Fontaine snapped, sounding exasperated. “Put on some makeup, get rid of that hideous hair bun, and for goodness’ sake, show some cleavage!”

Sharleen cracked up. She couldn’t help it. Mrs. Fontaine was in her thirties and was a chic dresser with a unique sense of style, but the more her boss encouraged her to “sexify” her look, the harder she laughed.

“You have a great figure, but you dress like someone twice your age,” Mrs. Fontaine complained. She paused, as if deep in thought, then adamantly shook her head. “I take that back. My mother’s sixty-one, and she dresses way sexier than you.”

Oh, my goodness, she’s serious; I thought she was joking!

“I’ll give you one more crack at Mr. Morretti, but if he blows you off again, Brad’s in, and you’re out. Understood?”

Sharleen nodded and stepped aside to let Mrs. Fontaine pass. She was happy to see her boss go. Her next session was about to start, and now she had a business dinner with Emilio Morretti to prepare for, too. Mrs. Fontaine marched down the hall without another word and disappeared into the staff room.

Slumping against the door, Sharleen released a deep sigh. This was her last chance to impress Emilio Morretti, but she wasn’t going to dress like a Pussycat Doll to get his attention. She was better than that. And besides, she didn’t own any tight, low-cut dresses.

I’m not sexy, that’s why. I could never pull off that kind of look.

Sharleen dismissed the outrageous advice Mrs. Fontaine had given her seconds earlier. More determined than ever to prove her worth—and land that coveted VP position—Sharleen stalked over to her desk, snatched up her phone and punched in Antwan’s number.