Little Beginning by Eva Marks
CHAPTER ONE
Avery
San Francisco’s spring flaps against my long, brown locks as I pedal through the last uphill road leading to my new workplace on a beautiful Friday morning. I don’t slow down, not even as I pass by mouthwatering scents permeating from a nearby bakery.
The thrill of getting to work surpasses everything.
It’s been a week since I became an official Whitlock Beverages employee, yet the buzz and excitement of the first day hasn’t left me for a second.
Being accepted for the job I’ve coveted for the last three years. I’d counted the days until my senior year of my marketing BA to be able to apply. The amount of knowledge I can acquire in such a monster company is limitless. To top off this huge advantage, they hold the reputation for treating their employees like family, which so far has turned out to be the truth.
I fought hard—and threw mental punches at the rest of the twenty-one-year-old candidates—to land this associate-level job.
Now that it’s mine, I’m never letting go. And I plan on enjoying every second of it.
My content smile lingers on my face, when I reach the entrance to the company’s offices at the high-rise building. I take off my helmet, slide off the bike, and lock them in the designated area by the entrance.
Since it’s still relatively early—seven thirty in the morning—there aren’t too many other bicycles, people walking in the building, or cars slowing down in front of the parking lot’s gate to drive inside.
Being here before everyone else doesn’t bother me. It gives me a head start on the day, and as a bonus, Stan—my boss and head of marketing—seems to appreciate it.
During the first hour and a half of the morning, I read the materials Rina—another marketing associate—and I went through, memorizing them by heart. The rest of the day and into the evening when Rina leaves, I’m glued to her ass. I soak up her knowledge and teachings like I’ll starve without them. She explains thoroughly how to present our department’s reports, how the work is distributed between the team members, what steps we take in terms of market research, and much more.
I smooth my hair and pat down my light gray blazer. I have a pale blue blouse beneath it to match the color of my eyes, and matching slacks that help my five-foot-three inches look a tiny bit taller, along with the two-inch black heels I’m wearing. I’m nervously readying to go inside the building.
As I stride on the pavement, I summon that little extra courage I’ve been calling on the past twenty-four hours. Today is the day I’ll bring up the improvement suggestions from what I’m learning at school.
I’m confident in my ability to improve our work process, and thus benefit Whitlock, my new favorite place. My new home.
Archer, the elderly security guard smiles and waves as I walk in and swipe my employee card to get through the revolving doors leading to the elevators. I clutch the strap of my messenger bag on the ride up, memorizing the script I planned for when Rina arrives. It’s respectful, and I won’t hesitate to deliver it.
Despite the disadvantage I have as the youngest member of the team, I’ll prove to them what a fast learner I am, that I’m worthy of this opportunity, and their trust.
The elevator stops on the nineteenth floor, and I step out like I have this entire week since Monday. I’m greeted by the office’s administrator, Britney, stride by the modern glass offices, nodding at the other two employees who made it here before me, until I reach my team’s open space.
With no one around, I settle into my cubicle and begin studying.
“Avery, this is how we’ve been conducting our research for years,” Rina, a touch frustrated at my inability to accept her instructions blindly, says to me.
“Meaning, no one bothered to search for new ones.”
Shit, that came out differently than I intended.
“What exactly are you implying, new girl?”
For the past thirty minutes, Rina has been reluctant to so much as consider any of my suggestions. Her blatant and repeated nos have gotten under my skin, obliterating the speech I worked on, and with it, my remaining composure.
A deep breath in, and another one out, help me bury the indignance continuously rising to the surface.
“Sorry.” I wipe out any signs of being upset from my expression. “I wasn’t implying the ones we currently use are bad. What I meant to say is, there are new, updated research methods.”
Rina’s harsh expression softens, though it isn’t where I want it to be. Yet.
“It’s really not my ego speaking.”
Though I lower my voice, I hold onto the self-assured tone I’ve applied throughout our conversation. My logic begs me to take it down a notch, so I won’t get myself fired, but if I chicken now, neither Rina, nor anyone else here, will ever respect me.
“It’s for the benefit of the company. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”
Rina studies me, then says what I’ve been longing to hear. “Go on. Just know that however good they are, Stan will still have to approve them.”
“I know, but if you think it’s helpful, you can pitch it to Stan, right?”
Her lips twist into the tiniest smile and she nods.
I’ve gotten through to her.
“This new method I learned in school can cut the process of collecting data in half.” Gaining more confidence, I begin using my hands for emphasis. “Shorter times will be cost-effective to the company, and our department will be able to invest our time into other assignments.”
As I’m talking and explaining away, the air in the open space suddenly changes. The temperature in the office takes a nosedive, while my blood curdles hotter than ever in my veins.
“Hello there.” A rugged, authoritative voice booms above me. Its timbre sends an unfamiliar thrill down my spine, its commanding tone echoing in my head seconds after the man has quieted.
“Mr. Kent,” Rina addresses him, looking up.
Hudson Kent. I remember him from my research before my job interview. The company’s CFO, who at thirty-four years of age is the youngest in the company’s history to assume the position. The incredibly somber and handsome face stood out from Whitlock’s leadership page.
Standing here.
While I’m using hand gestures and pointing out the faults of the company he’s been working at for years.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
For all my earlier bravado, I’m not feeling so confident anymore. Matter of fact, I find it hard to raise my head as I swallow down whatever it is that’s lodged in my throat. If my profound humiliation isn’t enough, I’m getting tingles from Mr. Kent’s cologne. I want to resist smelling it, but I can’t as it wafts to my nose, fresh and decadently virile.
What is this man—whom I haven’t even looked at yet—doing to me?
“Rina,” he says, then the echo of his voice gets louder as he addresses me, “And you are?”
When I finally lift my eyes to meet his green ones, I’m positively certain I’m screwed. He looms high above me, six-foot-three give or take, broad-shouldered and well-composed in his navy-blue tailored suit and perfectly styled short, darkish-blond hair.
Authority and darkness encapsulate him, drawing me to him. I stare at him for long, embarrassing seconds, starting to wonder whether these characteristics are him, or if he is the definition of them.
To my surprise, and further humiliation, he glares right back at me. Powerful and confident in his stance, self-possessed and powerful.
The longer I stare, the deeper I get lost in him. A surge of searing heat pools at my core, my legs clench, thighs clamping on the trickle of dampness in my panties.
Mr. Kent’s strength seeps from his pores into my soul, warming me from the inside out. I’m hypnotized by him, swiftly transforming into a lost puppy, eager for her owner to tell her what to do.
This inexplicable, yet unstoppable, barrel of emotions eliminates any previous desire I had to be right about the research methods. I don’t want to be the star employee, the best and brightest. I don’t want to help this wonderful workplace.
Not now.
With Mr. Kent in my line of sight, I’m desperate for one thing and one thing alone—to get him to like me, to have him approve of and appreciate me.
To be what he wants.
It’s irrational as fuck, nothing I’ve ever felt in the past. There’s no denying it’s there, though. This need to appease him clings tight to my lungs, latches onto me like a vise.
But for any of this to happen, for the slightest chance to be close to this magnet of a man, I first have to talk.
Calling on the humility and abdication inside me, I bow my chin, gazing up at Mr. Kent beneath my eyelashes, and reply, “Avery, sir. Avery Myers.”