Page 1 of Yours Temporarily

CHAPTER 1

Jeremy

“What do you mean—you’re not so sure?” Shifting in my black leather chair, I press cold fingertips against my temples and try to massage away the day’s tension. “The purpose of this meeting is to go over the projections you sent.”

Screen silence? Seriously? Why’s he so bent over a minor issue rather than the sloppy reports?

I clear my throat. “You’re a branch manager, and I expect you to handle whatever program you prefer. Should you think I wouldn’t approve, that should’ve been an earlier question before this meeting.” My face reflects at me. The glow from the computer screen casts me in a harsh light, highlighting the exhaustion etched into my features. As COO of one of the nation’s top financial firms, I must maintain a firm persona as part of the job. Now, I bounce my knee under the table, my role being tested.

A silence passes before Kahale’s face pops to the corner of my monitor, and a spreadsheet occupies the rest of the screen.

“I’m sure you already saw this. What do you think?” His voice cuts through the monitor. His grin wide, he’s oblivious to my simmering impatience. This virtual meeting with the Hawaiian branch has dragged on far too long.

“If this is the copy you emailed, these projections won’t work.” I lean forward, giving the spreadsheet a cursory glance before I refocus on the man’s tan face in the pop-up. “I need them revised and resubmitted by the end of the day Tuesday.”

Surely, he can hear my urgency. He has an entire weekend, plus Monday and Tuesday. More than enough time to get the job done. These aren’t mere numbers on a spreadsheet. They’re the compass by which we’ll navigate this fiscal year. Now, nearly halfway through January, the delay is more than a hiccup—it’s a threat to our strategic posture. I’m only letting him off the hook because he wasn’t the branch manager last January and he’s yet to learn my expectations.

“I’ll resubmit it by the end of Monday.”

A day sooner is even better.

“Thank you.” Given the circumstances, I try for the positive reinforcement I use for those who get their jobs done.

After the call, the silence in my office feels more profound. I drum my fingers on the desk, the noise set against the hum of the small fridge by the bookshelf and the faint sounds of the city below. The diminishing light casts the San Francisco skyline in subdued hues, signaling time’s passage in the world beyond this glass building.

The city’s building lights begin to sparkle like far-off stars, breathing life into the evening as the day’s commotion subsides. From my vantage point on the fifty-eighth floor, it appears as though life itself is drifting by.

I stifle a yawn. My fingers brushing against heavy eyelids, I battle a relentless fatigue that’s become my unwelcome shadow. My gaze drifts to the table nestled among the sofas, the spot where my assistant lately insists I sit for my lunch break.

My stomach sends a plaintive rumble at the sight of the covered container Jill brought earlier. But a single email spiraled into a phone call, and then the afternoon was a blur of back-to-back commitments. With my many office hours of sitting still, the twice-daily escape to the penthouse gym is a necessity to my routine.

My phone buzzes from beside the computer. It’s probably my mother again. Whatever she has to say can wait. I still need to recover from her unsettling call earlier today, which disrupted my composure and left me wary of any further calls from my cell phone for the day.

My jaw tightens. Just the memory of our conversation sends me off track once again. I reach for my pen from the blue sticky notepad next to my keyboard. Sitting up straighter, I tap the pen on my jaw. The metal is cool against my flesh as I ponder the story I had concocted—a lie that’s still gnawing at me.

At thirty-one, I’m my own man, answerable to no one. Yet, every conversation with my mother resurrects my inherent timidity. She was overenthusiastic about my brother’s impending wedding, or rather, more excited about reuniting me with Sonya at the upcoming ceremony. The moment she laid out plans for accommodations, ensuring my ex and I would be under the same roof, my tongue slipped.

Now, the task looms over me. I need a girlfriend before the end of March—no, earlier. I’ll need to familiarize her with my world and shield her from becoming my mother’s new project during the one-week visit.

For many, navigating dates comes naturally, but for me, it’s almost a Herculean task. Social engagements are not my forte, except with my friends, so I avoid such interactions like a bad investment. I tap the pen against my lips, my thoughts drifting to the last woman I interacted with. Clarissa. Undeniably beautiful, she displayed a clinginess right from the start. Our first lunch outing felt less like a date and more like an obligation. Nothing could compel me to call her back.

Until now.

A knock interrupts my thoughts. Before I can respond, the door swings open.

“Damien Blackwood.” I adjust my shirtsleeves as he enters.

“Jeremy Kress,” he responds with a curt nod, his darker skin tone, unlike mine, seems to hide the tiredness of his eyes. I gesture for him to take a seat across from my desk.

A palpable skepticism adds tension to his posture as he sits, likely stemming from our heated discussion yesterday about the promotion he expected but didn’t get. His eagerness to excel reminds me of my early days as a stockbroker. He’s one of the few team leaders who consistently meets his objectives without needing reminders.

“Do you have a moment?” His bright eyes scan me intently.

“I wouldn’t have offered you a seat otherwise, would I?”

Damien exhales. “I hear Smith’s retiring at the end of the year.”

Wow. How quickly the rumors spread about our financial-planning analyst.

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