Oh, and yeah . . . you were expecting the book before Christmas. ( Please picture me holding my head in shame). About that - I got sick. For 2 months, I was super, super sick. I have Hashimotos and my immunity is a little subpar to put it nicely. On top of bad health, my son got married! So I was stretched thin and ill and my book was late. So please know that I'm very sorry about that and that I hope the book itself makes up for it.
About the book? I finished it!! It's being edited as we speak. I'm working on the cover too, so things are wrapping up. So I need 2 things from you guys. I need help picking a title. Again. Yes, I know, I always seem to need help with that and you guys are always the best at helping me! Whoever helps me - of course will get a free copy of the book, kindle or paperback. Your choice.
The second thing? I need you to check out this sneak peek, and let me know what you think.
Thanks again for being patient!
- Shannon
Chapter 1 – Karma
Why did life have to suck so much? Riley
thought, as she stared hopelessly at the coffee running down her cream colored,
silk shirt.
“Sorry
about that,” Frank Wallace shouted back at her, as he rushed down the hallway,
his wispy, brown hair, floating in the breeze.
Riley
grumbled a few brutally honest words under her breath and then took a calming
moment before pushing through the heavy, glass door of Chance Bronson’s office,
the one guy who held her future in his hands.
Also, her boss. She’d heard that Phillip Carter had decided to retire,
which meant that there was a promotion in store for whomever Chance thought was
most deserving, and since she’d been working her tail off, and spending most of her weekends doing his pet projects, it better be her.
“Hi,
Chance,” she said with a confident smile, before setting the coffee cup down on
his desk. “Your secretary thought you
might be in the mood for some coffee, so I saved her the trip,” she added,
before sitting down in the luxurious black leather seat.
Chance
Bronson was a man in his late fifties, who was holding on to his youth by the
tips of his fingers. He was so tan, he
was slightly orange, and he’d obviously been to his stylist this morning
because she could see the tell-tale marks of his dark brown dye job on his neck
still.
Chance
smiled and took a sip of his coffee. “Amber must have ESP. I was dying for a
cup. Thank you. Now, the reason I wanted to see you . . .” he
said, while glancing down at his phone with a frown. “Hold on. This is important.”
Riley
nodded serenely, sensing the promotion was close. She
could taste it. She could
practically feel her credit card debt disappearing with her new promotion. She’d be able to take that trip to Europe
next summer if she played her cards right. Never mind those shoes she’d just
seen on Instagram that morning. Strappy and sexy and so her. She sighed happily and closed her eyes for a second, as she
imagined walking through the fields of Ireland, and spending days perusing castles
and art galleries.
“Yes,
it’s being done as we speak. Yes,
Sir. I understand.”
Riley
blinked quickly, and sat up straight.
Chance Bronson never used that subservient tone with anyone. He sounded stressed out and nervous. He
didn’t sound like he was in the mood to give anyone a promotion . . . She felt her stomach tip and dive and cleared
her throat nervously as he set his phone on the desk and then looked at her
with bleak, washed-out, blue eyes.
“Riley,
you know I’ve always valued your employment here at Bronson, Smith and Cohen .
. . however, because of a situation with one of our partners, we’re going to
have to let you go. Immediately.”
Riley’s
mouth fell open as she stared at her boss and mentor of the last four
years. “You’re kidding me,” she
whispered, as the taste of the promotion disappeared completely and the taste
of desperation and failure took its place.
Chance
shook his head, pursing his lips and looking away. “Mistakes were made on the Paulsen account,
uh, . . . wait, what deal were you working?” he asked, turning red in the face.
Riley
narrowed her eyes and sat forward. “I didn’t even work the Paulsen account. That was Frank and Jeff,” she said, her
throat feeling tight and stiff.
Chance
rifled through some papers on his desk.
“My mistake. I meant the, uh, the
um . . . oh yes, the Perfume deal you were working on,” he said, sighing in
relief.
Riley
shook her head. “Danielle and Austen
love my ideas for their new ad. I’m not
buying it. You know I’ve been working myself to death for you and for this
company. If someone messed up on the
Paulsen job, fire them. Not me.”
Chance
cleared his throat and sighed as if his soul were already gone. “Look, Riley.
Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’m sorry, but nothing you can say right now,
will save your job. Mistakes were made
and someone has to pay the
piper. And that person, is you,” he said
grimly, not blinking. “HR will of course have some paperwork for you to fill
out. I could have had them take care of
this mess, but I wanted to do it personally since you’ve always been such a
hard worker.”
Riley
stood up with a sneer and walked towards the door. “And this is the thanks I
get. Chance, if this is how you want to run things, based on, what? Who goes golfing with you and out
to drinks after work? Then fine. You
don’t deserve me. But if you keep firing the best employees you have to keep
the party going, you might want to start looking for a new job yourself,” she
added, her voice thick with acid.
She
looked back one more time and noted her words had hit her mark. A look of shame
was on his face. Well, shame and relief.
Instead
of walking to her office and grabbing her things, she took a detour into the
women’s lounge and walked over to the sink, leaning her hands on the counter
and staring at the woman in the mirror.
She looked as she always did, perfect, except for the coffee stain on her shirt and the crazed look in her
eyes. Her hair was an acceptable
length at just below her shoulder blades, not too much longer or she’d be seen
as too feminine for the work
place. Her shirt and blazer were right
from J. Crew. Nothing too sexy or showy
in case she accidentally distracted the men.
Her heels were plain and low. At five feet seven, she didn’t want to
tower over the men and make them feel inferior.
She knew she was
perfectly boring, but that’s what she had to do, that’s what she had to
be, to get ahead. Get rid of any and
all personality and don’t make a stir.
Work harder than the boys did just to get three quarters of the
pay. She knew the rules. Heck, she had
them memorized. And she’d never once complained. She played by the rules, she took the knocks
and she kept going, no matter what.
And
still, she’d lost.
Riley
felt her heart twisting in her chest and knew she was going to either have a
panic attack or begin throwing things. The complete and total unfairness of the
situation was drowning her. She felt her hands begin to shake and stood up
straight, glaring at the woman in the mirror.
Grow up, chick. Hold your head up
and know how unworthy they are of your talents.
It
was time to go.
She threw the
bathroom door open and glided smoothly down the hallway with the iciest sneer
she could muster. Riley strode into her
office to see that security was already there, boxing her things up and rolled
her eyes as acid slipped up her throat and into her mouth.
Donald,
the security guard looked at her sorrowfully.
“Sorry about this, Riley. I heard
the boys talking earlier about what was going down. Not right, if you ask me.”
Riley
felt tears threaten to leak at the unexpected kindness and nodded her head,
unable to talk. She grabbed her purse
and her laptop, slipping it into her laptop bag and took one last look at her
office. It had been her first office and
even though it didn’t have a view, she’d loved every inch of status it gave her.
“Paulsen
deal?” she finally whispered.
Donald
nodded, looking disgusted. “That Jeff
and Frank are a disgrace. They’re usually drunk by the time they get back from
lunch. You’re better than this place.”
Riley
tried to smile and nodded. “Thank you for that. Let’s go, Donald,” she said
calmly, with only a slight quiver in her voice.
As
they reached the elevator, of course,
she’d have to come face to face with Frank and Jeff. Life refused to make any of this easier. They
were coming back from lunch and already looked bloated and red in the cheeks. They
had the grace to look away, reeking of guilt as much as they did of the onions
and whiskey they’d had for lunch. She
sneered at them as she walked around them, not even bothering to speak to them.
“Karma,” Donald whispered, as they turned
and watched the elevator doors shut.
Riley
shut her eyes and felt a small sob slip up and out. Donald’s comforting hand on her shoulder was not
helping the tears. But he was right
about Karma.
Because she’d just gotten her own dose of
it.
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