Page 2 of The Love Audit
Cassie retook her seat, shot me a wink, and whispered, “You got this,” before I disappeared into the conference room.
The meeting was just as short as it was terrifying. Edward Mason cut an imposing figure, sitting at the head of the large black table, flanked by two men in suits who looked equally menacing. He flipped open a file and scanned it for a long, heavy silence that dragged on for what felt like days before he spoke.
“Jasmine Morgan.” He called my name unnecessarily, since I could see he was glancing at an open file with my corporate headshot attached to it.
I nodded.
“You graduated in the top ten percent of your class at Columbia, recruited by Westwood, spent the last eight years in public relations, working your way up to the head of the department when you were only twenty-seven.” He paused and looked up at me.
“Yes, I did.” I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. Was I supposed to defend my position, sing for my supper?
“You’ve done some impressive work, and it’s clear that you’d be an asset to any corporation.”
“Thank you.”
“Unfortunately,” he continued, and my heart stopped again, “when one large company absorbs another, tough decisions need to be made. Do you understand, Jasmine?”
“I’m not sure I do,” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. It definitely sounded like I was being fired, but if Edward Mason was planning on firing me, the words would have to leave his lips. I wasn’t going to do the work for him.
“Your career achievements were exceptional for Westwood”—he closed the file and leaned forward—“but Westwood was a sinking ship. My first order of business is to toss the deadweight, and there’s a lot. There’s waste in nearly every division. I need to know if you have what it takes to survive at MasonCorp. I’m going to be watching your division very closely for the next thirty days. If I like what I see, we can discuss your future at MasonCorp. If you can’t show me that your division can be profitable…” He didn’t need to say what would happen if he didn’t like what he saw, but he did anyway. “I hope you can swim.”
I exited the conference room feeling like there was a leadweight in my stomach. I calmly told Cassie that I had thirty days to perform a financial miracle in order to save our department.
“Mr. Mason will see you now,” the receptionist called into the waiting room. My voice died away as Cassie and I watched the man I’d been trying and failing to avoid in the suit and wire-rimmed glasses cross the room and enter the conference room. He didn’t look at us as he walked past, but an intoxicating scent that was a mixture of soap and cologne followed him through the room. It was so faint that I had to restrain myself from leaning forward to make it last longer. My gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“I know, right?” Cassie whispered conspiratorially with a smirk, completely misreading my reaction. “He must be from MasonCorp. I would know if someone that fine worked here. I wonder who he is.”
“Derek Carter,” I muttered, still staring at the door he’d disappeared through.
“Wait. You know him?” Cassie grabbed my arm and turned me to face her.
“Knew him,” I corrected her. “A long time ago.”
I let myself into my parents’ Manhattan townhouse and was greeted by silence. I breathed a sigh of relief because even though I would obviously have to face them eventually, I wasn’t quite ready. Instead, I slipped out of my heels and into a pair of house shoes and headed to the service kitchen.
“Hey, if it isn’t my little sous-chef!” Claudia greeted me withthe nickname she’d been calling me since I was a child sneaking into her kitchen, despite the fact that it had been years since she could accurately refer to me as “little.”
Claudia was a stout woman with light brown skin and waist-length dark hair that she’d worn in the same single braid for as long as I could remember. She had a deep Southern accent that made her sound like she was laughing even if she was, in her words, “fussing at you.”
She had been working with my family for as long as I could remember. The years had dusted the edges of her hair with silver streaks and carved subtle laugh lines into the corners of her eyes and framing her smile.
Whenever my parents worked long hours, leaving me in the care of nannies and au pairs, I used to slip away to spend time with Claudia, helping her prepare our meals, but mostly slowing her down or getting in the way. She used to joke that I kept her company, which was a very important job, but I got the feeling that she knew how lonely I was as a child with no siblings and no pets.
“Hey, Claudia.” I gave her a smile and a hug.
“So, how was your big meeting?” she asked and continued polishing the silverware. Instead of answering her, I grabbed a cloth and got to work scrubbing the forks.
“That bad, huh?” She chuckled and reached into a nearby paper bag. “Here, take a cookie.”
She handed me what looked like a chocolate chip cookie, and before I could take a bite, I added quickly, “I have thirty daysto create the most spectacular PR project to impress the CEO of MasonCorp or I’m getting fired.”
“Hmm,” she mused and dug into the bag again, “you better take two cookies.” I chuckled and took a bite. My eyes immediately closed, and an involuntary moan escaped my lips. The cookie was firm as I held it, but as soon as I took a bite, my mouth was assaulted with a sweet, buttery softness as the cookie nearly melted in my mouth. There was also another flavor. What I thought were chocolate chips were actually berries. They had the texture of raisins, but the flavor was indescribable.
“Oh, Claudia,” I said through a second mouthful of cookie. “Where did you get these?”
“My sister gets them for me.” She laughed as I bit into the second cookie. “They’re from this little town in Florida that she drives through on the way to visit our parents in Miami. Apparently, it’s the only place you can get them, so I make sure she stocks up.” She took a cookie from the bag and took a bite. “Both ways,” she added.
We spent a few more minutes polishing the silver while she gave me updates about her children. Her daughter had had her first baby, and she showed me photos of the most adorable and chubbiest brown baby with shiny black curls. She also didn’t miss a chance to remark that she’d like to see me with a baby of my own, and I rolled my eyes in response. In thirty days, there was a good chance that I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself, much less another person. Not to mention, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on a date.
