It was crazy. It was job-suicide. It was borderline cruel.
All I know, is that I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face. The Dior bag tucked safely beneath my bed.
Chapter 13
I got to the office early the next morning. A place that I hadn’t been since the afternoon before my tragic date. My team hadn’t even arrived yet, and for a few rare moments, I had the place all to myself.
It was well-suited to me. The entire floor of an office-building in Manhattan within walking distance of either coffee or alcohol—depending on the day. Designed to fit my tastes.
Elegant. Professional. With just a touch of flair to add that extra pop.
In my case, the ‘flair’ was a gourmet espresso machine that I’d written off for tax purposes, claiming it was a necessary tool for my job.
A little excessive? Perhaps. But that was my life now. It had been my life ever since I’d signed my new contract and come to work that very first day.
Working with the Hunter Corporation, meant a professional upgrade. And in the land of public relations, a professional upgrade meant you got yourself a team. With the Hunter family behind me, it wasn’t hard to do. For people in my line of work—the Hunters were the dream, and not two weeks after I started working with Nick, I had an office with a full-time staff of twelve people at my beck and call.
Of course, Nick had refused to work with any of them himself. But when it came to crafting a public image, much less an image as convoluted and high-profile as his, there was a lot of behind-the-scenes work that needed to be taken care of.
For that—I had the team. For everything else—I was your girl.
“Morning, Abigail!” Jake Harmon, the first person I’d hired after I’d been granted a discretionary budget to do so, interrupted my quiet contemplation. “Didn’t expect you in today.”
I glanced up at the clock.
“Thought I’d get an early start. Plenty to do, after all.”
I’d texted my team late last night. It might have been about two in the morning when I’d made my final selection—but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in my mind that all twelve of them were still awake and working. If they weren’t—they’d better get awake and working.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, making a beeline for the coffee maker, “I got your text.”
I handed him down a mug and took a sip myself.
Not the best. Certainly nothing like Nick’s. We could do with another upgrade.
“But that’s exactly why I’m surprised to see you here,” he continued. “I’m working up a full press packet for the girl, but don’t you have to go meet her?”
I shook my head, shrugged an innocent shoulder, and waltzed into my office with a secret little smile. The same smile that had been dancing around my face since two in the morning.
The girl’s name was Ella Campbell. She was from Oklahoma. And I would be meeting her here. In this office.
The location might have been seen as a slap in the face by those sensitive enough to take it that way. To an up-and-coming model like Ella, a person with a giant egotistical chip on her shoulder, it would most certainly be taken that way. But considering that of the two people in the equation, I represented Nicholas Hunter—I felt I had the leverage to call the shots.
And to be frank, a little slap in the face might be exactly what the doctor ordered if I was introducing her to Nick later that day. I wanted her bitchy. I wanted her fuming.
I circled around my desk and leaned back in my chair with that same little smile. Already, I could hear an argument at the security gate, as I’d failed to put Campbell’s name on the list.
Time to make a little mischief...
* * *
Ten minutes and a lot of shouting later, there was a tentative knock on my office door. I closed the book I was reading, set down my mug of coffee, and folded my hands upon my desk.
There was an art to it. This throne-like posture. I had picked it up from Mitchell.
“Who is it?”
Alison, my secretary, popped her head inside. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out over her forehead, and her dilated eyes locked nervously onto mine.