Page 23 of Takeover

Unfortunately, I don’t think I would be a good fit at this particular ad agency. But there’s no rush. I can more than afford to take several months off. Ethan Bradford’s words play in my mind. I denied it at the time, but he was right. I am a rich girl who had a job handed to her, after getting a very expensive education paid for by her father. I never had to worry about paying bills or getting student loans to pay for my education. But my dad’s business is gone, and I’m determined to do it on my own.

I look around the store and start the familiar walk to the shoe department when I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. Eager to see if the headhunter I hired is calling about a new opportunity, I pull the phone out to see who it is.

I scoff when I see the familiar name on a new email. Gretchen Wells, the Human Resources rep at BradCo. She left me a couple of messages before the holidays, and we ended up playing phone tag until I left for vacation, but I’m out of time. I can’t put this off any longer.

I’ve put it off this long because it was a reason not to think about Ethan Bradford and the moments we had on Thanksgiving. As fucked up as that day was, his behavior confused me the most. Since then, I’ve thought of him more than I’ve thought of Michael, who is now a person whose calls I refused to take.

The subject of the email catches my eye. Job offer. Odd since I’ve already received an offer. As soon as I open the email and read the first few lines, I see red. I find an empty chair in the shoe department and promptly take a seat. The comfort of the chair does nothing to calm the fury rolling inside of me. Without so much as trying on a single pair of shoes, I stand.

I don’t give myself time to reconsider. I don’t text Vickie and Alan and give them a chance to walk me off the ledge. The combination of the lack of food, rage, and fatigue are all the fuel I need to walk out of the Macy’s.

The fact that his office is a walkable distance is either good luck or just a case of the worst misfortune imaginable, but I don’t care. This time, I don’t feel the harsh January wind against my face. The dusting of snow that fell this morning is no match for my angry strides, even in a pair of obscenely expensive Gucci pumps.

I don’t know how long it takes to walk to the swank building. I know the exact floors of his headquarters. I made it a point to find out everything about BradCo the minute my dad told me they were buying us out. By the time I get inside the waiting elevator, my hands are shaking, and I know I’m only minutes away from a pounding headache.

Several people step in after me, and it takes longer than it should have to get to the thirtieth floor. I’m the only one left in the elevator by the time I get off, and even though I’ve never been here before, I know he must be hiding behind the glass double doors.

There is no one at the receptionist’s desk, and I don’t take time to admire the chic surroundings, but I know I’ve come to the right place. There are no cubicles on this floor, but offices line both sides of the hallway. I walk to the back, towards another set of doors, and I feel myself grin when I see the sign directly in front of me.

The office of Ethan H. Bradford. Chairman and CEO.

Too bad for him, the doors aren’t locked. There’s a perfectly coifed woman sitting behind a desk outside the door, and her head snaps in surprise when she sees me.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“No,” is all I tell her.

She gets up and starts to follow me, but before I reach my destination, the oak door in front of me swings open and a tall man with an iPad walks out, nearly bumping into me.

I slide around him and step inside the office only to find it empty.

“Who the hell are you?” the man, who I presume is Bradford’s personal assistant, asks. “I don’t have time for this shit today,” he says under his breath. “Amelia, you’re supposed to be manning the door.”

“Where is your boss?” I ask him, eyeing him up and down. He returns the favor. “I don’t have time for this shit today either,” I practically growl. “If he’s not here, I’ll wait.” I unbutton my coat and throw it along with my purse on a couch.

“You have one minute to get your stuff before I call security.”

I ignore him and take a seat, but before he can make good on his threat, his boss walks out of a door in the back of the office.

“Where the hell is my lunch, Hunter? It’s already two o’clock.” He doesn’t notice me until he takes his throne behind his desk. If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. The fact that he looks so good in his designer suit, draped just perfectly across his broad shoulders, makes me hate him more.

“Boss, she practically broke in here. Of course, Amelia never does her damn job like she’s supposed to, but I’m going to call security right now.” The words come out rushed and stammered. When I lean back on the couch, fire shoots out of his eyes. The smile I give him doesn’t seem to help his mood.

“It’s fine, Hunter. You can leave.” Hunter gives me one last withering glare before he walks out of the office.

“To what do I owe the honor, Ms. Taylor? Will you be joining me for lunch?”

I rise from my seat and slowly walk to his desk. He leans back in his chair, his eyes on my body as I take the short walk. His eyes light up, like a kid at Christmas eager to unwrap his favorite toy.

“Rat poison, remember?” I say to him.

“How could I forget? I can send Hunter out for some.”

“Are you aware, Mr. Bradford, that I have an MBA from Columbia University? That’s an Ivy League school in case you didn’t know. There are only twelve of them in this country, and I went to one of them. Did you know that?”

He sighs, leans back in his chair, and rubs his eyes with the bottom of his hands.

“Yes, I’m aware. I went to two Ivy League schools myself. Have you heard of Princeton and Harvard?”

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