Page 1 of A Small Town Risk

CHAPTER ONE

PARKER

My Jimmy Choos clack against the floor as I head to Mr. Clarke’s office for my ten o’clock meeting. I better get this promotion because I can’t handle being overlooked again.

I hate to brag, but I’m exceptional at my job. I eat, sleep, and breathe interior design, so I should be good at it. I’ve brought more clients into this company than any five people combined. So yes, I deserve a promotion and the accompanying salary increase. If I don’t get it this time…

I stop in front of Marlyn and smooth down my skirt, feeling the silkiness of the fabric under my fingertips. I casually glance at the bottled blonde sitting behind the desk, giving me the side eye. Her dress…well, I’m uncertain if showing more skin is even possible. She reminds me of the secretaries Dad hires: all show and no substance.

“Please have a seat,” she says in an acid tone.

She’s never liked me. She sees me as a rival, a threat to her coveted position as Mr. Clarke’s mistress––a role I have no desire to claim.

I sit on one of the upholstered chairs and cross a leg. After ten minutes of thumb twiddling, the intercom rings with a sharp buzz. “Show her in.”

Marlyn moves to stand.

“Don’t bother,” I tell her. “I know the way.”

I rise from my chair, square my shoulders, and prepare for battle.

Mr. Clarke perches on a custom-made spiral desk crafted from six different kinds of wood. I found it for a client at an estate sale, and he confiscated it. The same goes for the Picasso hanging on his wall and the Charles Dickens collection on his bookshelf. I could go on, but I won’t.

My boss is in his sixties and hasn’t seen a gym in years. He wears Tom Ford suits with purple ties and gets his shoes shined by a kid down on the corner.

“Have a seat, Parker.” He’s positioned a chair dangerously close to where I may have to touch him to sit so he can gawk down my blouse. I don’t think so, pervert. “No, thanks. I’ll stand.”

He glares like I’ve ruined his fun. Which I’m sure I have.

“All right,” he says and shoves off the desk, lumbers around to his leather chair, and plops down. Examines me as if I’m a ten-ounce sirloin.

I clasp my hands and wait.

“I’d like to discuss a promotion,” he says.

This is it!

“However, I don’t have time at the moment. How about dinner tonight? We can talk then.”

A sour taste coats my tongue. “Excuse me?”

“Dinner and drinks tonight. At Sammy’s. See how it goes.”

See how it goes? At Sammy’s? The dive next to Benny’s Motel, where they charge an hourly rate, and the faint smell of stale beer always lingers.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” I cut to the chase. “Am I getting the promotion?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

He shuffles files around the top of his desk.

“Mr. Clarke?”

“You know. Tiffany might be a better fit for the position.

If steam could roll out my ears.

“Tiffany is half the designer I am,” I blast. “Is it because she sucks your dick and I won’t?”

He shrugs. “Look at it how you will.”

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