Page 49 of Tempting Frankie
I swallow hard, trying to channel my inner badass. “Absolutely. I'm here to work, not warm a chair.”
Miranda's lips quirk into something resembling approval. “Good. I'll have my assistant send over the brief. Welcome aboard, Francesca.”
And with that, she's gone in a whirlwind of designer perfume and clicking heels. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Meredith clears her throat, drawing my attention back. “Well, I think that about covers everything.” She hands me a sleek badge on a lanyard. “This is your company access card. It'll get you into all the relevant areas.”
I finger the rectangular badge, feeling like I've just been handed the keys to a very expensive kingdom.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Meredith adds, tapping something on her tablet. “There's a company cell phone on your desk. We've programmed a map of the building into it, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding your way around.”
Thank fuck. At least I won't spend half my day lost in this labyrinth.
“Thanks, Meredith.”
As her heels click-clack away down the hall, I'm left standing in my ridiculously lavish office, feeling like an imposter in designer clothes. I half expect security to burst in and drag me out for trespassing. But the silence stretches on, broken only by the muffled sounds of the bustling office beyond my door.
Ping!
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sudden noise. Right. The computer. Miranda’s brief. Time to actually do some fucking work and prove I'm not just here because I'm screwing the boss.
I slide into the buttery-soft leather chair, which cradles my ass like it was made for me. Probably was, knowing Alexander. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside.
The computer screen blinks to life, displaying a desktop so clean and organized it makes my chaotic brain hurt. There'san email notification flashing in the corner, and I click it with trembling fingers.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Campaign Brief - URGENT
Francesca,
Attached is the brief for our upcoming campaign launch. I need your initial thoughts and a rough concept outline by end of day. This is your chance to show us what you're made of.
Don't fuck it up.
- M
Well, that's cheery. I download the attachment, a PDF that screams 'important.' As it loads, I take a deep breath, trying to channel all those pep talks I've given myself before in grimy bathroom mirrors.
You've got this, Frankie. You didn't claw your way out of foster care and the streets just to choke now. Show these corporate assholes what you can do.
The brief materializes on my screen, and I dive in headfirst. It's for a new line of luxury smartwatches, aimed at the kind of people who probably wipe their asses with hundred-dollar bills. The kind of people I used to serve overpriced cocktails to.
But as I read, ideas start percolating in my caffeine-addled brain. Images flash through my mind. I start scribbling notes furiously, my fingers flying across the keyboard. Knee-deep in market research, comparing competitor strategies and jotting down half-formed taglines.
Time becomes a blur as I lose myself in the work. The sun crawls across the sky outside my window, painting the city inshades of gold and amber. I barely notice, too caught up in my creative frenzy.
It's only when my stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead that I realize I've been at it for hours. I lean back, stretching muscles stiff from hunching over the keyboard when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call out, hastily smoothing my hair and praying I don't have pen marks on my face.
The door swings open, and there's Alexander. His eyes sweep over the chaos I've created. Papers strewn everywhere, my shoes kicked off under the desk, and what I'm pretty sure is a coffee stain on my blouse.
“Working hard, I see,” he says, his voice a low rumble that does things to my insides.
I straighten up, trying to look professional despite the fact that I probably resemble a caffeinated raccoon. “Just getting started on the brief Miranda sent over. Did you need something, Mr. Steele?”
His lips twitch at the formal address. “I thought I'd see how you're settling in. And to remind you that it's past seven, Francesca. The workday ended two hours ago.”
