The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (24 page)

She’s so sweet. I appreciate her vote of confidence in me, but I think she’s off the mark. I can’t quite admit to her that I don’t suspect Alex will keep me around long enough for such a visit. What a pathetic comment to make. Instead I feign acquiescence, “That would be lovely,” I reply, smiling warmly.

Standing back, I watch in awe as Alex holds his sister in a lingering embrace before turning to shake hands with Gerard. I absolutely love that he’s so close with his family.

With our final goodbyes, Alex wraps his arm around my shoulder as we walk aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asks, placing a swift kiss on my head.

Taking his hand at my shoulder, I give it a gentle squeeze, “I did. Thank you for including me. Anna and Gerard are wonderful. It’s great that you’re so close.”

“I love my family deeply and am extremely grateful for them,” he smiles down at me.

“I’m glad you have them.”

“And I’m glad you were able to meet them,” he admits. “My sister and her husband at least.”

“At least? Are you saying you don’t plan on introducing me to your parents?” I tease, though the thought terrifies me.

“Would you like to meet them?” he stops, turning towards me, taking in my open-mouthed silence. “Even petrified, you’re adorable. But, yes, I plan on taking you to meet them,” he places a sweet, gentle kiss on my lips, lingering against them. “There are a few other people I would like to introduce you to though.”

“Oh?” I manage, swirling in the erotic bliss of his lingering lips brushing mine.

“I have a publicity event to attend this week,” he pulls back to look into my eyes. “I would love for you to join me.”

“A publicity event?” I stammer slightly in surprise, looking up into his glorious baby-blues. “I . . . well, I don’t think I’ve ever attended anything like . . . that.” I have visions of what such an event would entail, but I really have no idea. “It sounds very . . . I don’t know, actually,” I continue my bewilderment aloud. “I wouldn’t even know what to wear.”

“That, you won’t have to worry about, Miss Ryan,” he grins devilishly. “I took the liberty of taking care of that for you.”

“What?” What does that mean?
Oh my God . . . the dress.
“Alex! You bought the red dress too?”

“Without seeing you in it, yes I did.” His eyebrow does a mesmerizing, teasing lift. “Now, if you’ll say yes, I’ll get to show you off wearing it. So what do you say? Will you be my date Wednesday night?”

“Yes, of course I will,” I can’t hold back my toothy grin.

He bought the red dress!—
my inner dreamer twirls in remembrance of the beautiful, silk frock.

“Then it’s a date,” he smiles, melting my heart at its boyish sincerity. “Well, I should get you home. You have a big day at work tomorrow,” he takes my face in his strong hands, kissing my forehead before leading us towards a waiting taxi.

Every day with you is a
big
day, Alex Tate,
I swoon silently.

ASHLEY-FINES DMA. The large silver letters impressively lace the beautifully sculptured building. Standing on the concrete curb, I take in its surprisingly large span, my hand shielding the sun from my eyes.

Thomas Fines has done very well for himself.
And thankfully so
—pipes my inner actress—
you need the paycheck.
The damn reminder is perfectly timed with the bright ray of sun that blinds me through my imperfect fingered visor. Despite the subsequent flashing of my
To Do List
through my mind—
pay Amira the deposit
and
first month’s sublease rent; coordinate the utilities; buy groceries . . . ugh—
I decide to not allow anything to darken this gloriously sunny day.

Turning, I wave towards Alex as he pulls into traffic. Like the sun, that man can brighten anything.

Entering the building, I make my way through the magnificent reception, the massive walls of windows filling it with daylight. It boasts an open contemporary concept, with its endless open sky-lighted ceiling surrounded by floor upon floor of open metal railings.

I take in the inspiring architecture with an unconscious spin. It’s almost overwhelming, in a good way. What a wonderful environment to work in. You can’t help but feel positive towards your day ahead—although it doesn’t quite cure the spell of nerves I suddenly seem to be under.

I arrive at the front desk promptly at nine.
Great timing Aby Ryan,
I pat myself on the back for my perfectly timed maneuver—something I’m not always known for achieving. Particularly this morning, given Alex’s attempts to delay our departure. It was incredibly difficult to refrain from his tempting touch. The thought of being late on my first day of work winning out over my lustful want, it had been a battle of wills against my unending desire for giving in to his temptation.

Smiling, I shake off the images of the gorgeous Alexander Tate, as Thomas greets me at the shiny white reception counter. “Good morning, Abigail,” he holds out his hand in a very professional manner. Returning his handshake, he cups our hands with his left, a relaxing gesture, more well-suited to the brash & funny man I’ve been previously accustomed to. “Welcome to Ashley-Fines Digital Marketing Agency.”

“Thank you, Thomas,” I smile. “Your offices are incredible . . . very
posh,”
I wink, before catching my slight unprofessional turn.

He smiles back, unfazed. “Why thank you, Miss Ryan. Nothing but the best here at Ashley-Fines,” he replies with a jesting stance of pride.

“You have done very well for yourself, Thomas.”

“Ah yes, well, it’s my father and his partner who have done very well. I am merely a pawn, a well-paid pawn, in their empire,” his hands motion a span of our surrounding domain, directing my gaze upon its grand architecture once more. “Come, I’ll show you to our lowly quarters,” he winks, bowing regally in the direction of the elevators.

Reaching the fifth floor, he makes way for my exit of the elevator ahead of him with a gentlemanly hand gesture. He joins me at my side as we make our way down the open hallway, the shiny metal railings our only barrier of safety from the grand reception below.

“Good morning, Emily.”

My attention is turned to a young blonde woman at Thomas’s greeting. “Good morning, Mr. Fines,” she replies with a smile.

“Emily, I would like you to meet Miss Ryan, Abigail Ryan. Abigail this is Emily Haverstock.”

Emily stands, her hand outreached. “Lovely to meet you, Abigail,” she offers sweetly.

“Please, call me Aby,” I return her gentle handshake.

“This will be your desk, whenever you would like to work in the office,” Thomas informs me, directing my attention to the partial cubical-style desk joined to Emily’s. “And that is my office, just behind you,” he gestures towards the glass encased room bearing his name in silver etching:
Thomas Fines, Marketing Director.
“Why don’t you get yourself settled, we have our usual Monday morning meeting in the boardroom at nine-thirty, that will give you a chance to meet everyone in the department, and should bring you nicely up to speed on what we’re all working on,” he smiles, turning towards his office, calling back to Emily over his shoulder, “Any messages for me Miss Haverstock?”

I take a seat at my new desk, laying my bag underneath, and begin getting settled in my new ‘office’—its absence of walls and my own previous Director title sarcastically noted by my inner actress. I choose to ignore the negative sway, however. I’m thankful for this wonderful position. The freelance option is a godsend.

Everything is magically falling into place. I’ve secured a great job, found the perfect apartment—or, more accurately, was offered the perfect
flat,
thanks to Mr. Alexander Tate, the sexy-as-shit man I get to fall into the arms of daily. Yup, everything is magical, right out of a dream.
My
dreams.

Returning from Thomas’s office, Emily begins explaining the typical protocol, going over everything from current client requirements to handling the details of each campaign. I also learn that she’s worked for Ashley-Fines for just over a year, having just graduated from ‘Uni,’ as she calls it, before securing the position. Leaving me to guess her to be in her early to mid-twenties. I like her enthusiasm and bubbly persona, it’s refreshing.

“So, that’s about it. I hope I haven’t overwhelmed you,” she smiles. “If I haven’t, your head might be spinning by the time we’re done in the boardroom,” she finishes with a playful worrisome expression.

“Maybe I should read through these minutes from the meeting last week,” I turn my attention to the report, hearing the muffled chirp of my cell phone in my bag. Retrieving it inconspicuously, I find a message from Alex.

Subject: At the gym

My workout this morning is not nearly as inviting as yesterday’s.

How’s the morning ‘Fines’-grind? I do hope your new boss is not treating you too well. I wouldn’t want to have to stop by and remind him who owns what.

Did I mention how incredibly sexy you looked in your business attire this morning?

Alex x

I giggle at his suggestive word pun towards Thomas.

“Your man?” Emily questions, nodding towards the phone in my hand.

“Ummm . . . yes, I guess you could call him that.” I ponder the sudden labeling of the famous actor/god-like specimen I’ve been spending a surreal amount of time with. “We just met a week ago,” I continue, noting the short amount of time I’ve been under his spell.

“Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it!” she gushes. “My love life is pathetic. Does your man have a friend?” she laughs.

That’s a good question. I haven’t even met any of Alex’s friends yet. At least, not formally. There is Ben, but I have no idea if he’s available. “I’ll be sure to let you know,” I smile, returning to Alex’s message, contemplating my reply.

“Shall we make our way to the boardroom, ladies?” Thomas questions, startling me.

Scrambling, I open the desk drawer, dropping my cell phone inside, closing it quickly. I feel like a schoolgirl almost getting caught by the teacher passing notes in class.
Ha,
I laugh to myself at the time-warped analogy—today’s generation don’t pass notes, they actually
are
texting.
My
texting to Alex, however, will have to wait.

Stepping up from my desk, I join Thomas and Emily to head to the meeting.

The boardroom is located further down the hall in the corner of our floor. In keeping with the rest of the building’s open and bright design, the rectangular shaped room boasts one large glass wall overlooking the interior of the building and reception below. The other three walls are covered in white textured, fabric wallpaper, all adorned with professionally framed marketing images.

My attention is taken away towards Thomas and the commencement of many introductions he makes as the room begins to fill.

Taking our seats, the meeting ensues with Thomas and the team diving into discussion. I make notes about this campaign and that, noting the clients’ names and their pre-requisites, where everyone in the department stands in the plans to date, and all of the ideas they wish to share.

It’s nice to see Thomas is the same pleasant, funny man in his boss role as he enlightens his staff with one of his jovial tales. Smiling, I glance at the framed images hung on the wall. On closer inspection they’re all from a British Tourism Campaign—each image portraying a different British celebrity, or well-known British personality. I glance from one frame to the next . . . Jamie Oliver, dressed in a dark blue suit, holding open his British flag-lined suit jacket; his well-suited suggestion advertised to ‘Invite the World to Britain.’ Dame Judy Dench, sitting leisurely on a British flag-upholstered settee, under the slogan ‘Keep Calm and Visit Britain.’ Daniel Craig, dressed as his famous character, gun in hand, standing in front of the British Flag; captioned ‘Bond is GREAT Britain.’

Others I’m unable to recognize—their names I can’t recall or place, however their slogans remain in line with the shared theme: ‘Culture is GREAT Britain,’ ‘Memories are GREAT Britain’ . . .

In one heart-stopping glance, the next one halts my scan in its tracks. Alexander Tate dressed in a dark suit, jacket open, bow tie hanging untied, standing in front of the British Flag—His sexy chiseled jaw, gloriously beautiful face, sparkling baby-blue eyes and fuck-me lips all sending a heated eruption through me. The caption is perfect, ‘Gentlemen are GREAT Britain.’

Oh, you certainly are a British gentleman, Alexander the Great,
I sigh, leaning my head in my hand on the table. The sudden visual of his naked, perfect body devouring mine flashes through my mind as the heat rises in my cheeks. I can’t tear my gaze away from the image, despite my conscious awareness of the conversation around me, and its return to business matters.

What does lure my attention, however, is the sudden sense of a penetrating stare. Sitting up straight, I look in the direction of the prying eyes of a stunning brunette. She wasn’t among the crowd during my introductions. She’s beautiful. Her long hair is perfectly secured in a bun, large blue-green eyes peering at me through sexy secretary glasses, a professional, though alluring, off-white silk blouse set against her flawless olive skin. Despite catching her ogling, she hasn’t broken our gaze.