Mid Life Love (Mid Life Love #1)(17)



There has to be a better word than “sexy” to describe you...

“Do I like what?”

“Your job, this company.”

“You want me to be completely honest?”

“That would be nice.”

“I absolutely hate it here, but the offices are decorated quite nicely. The interior designers did one hell of a job.”

“Good to know.” He laughed. “I take it that since you haven’t called, you’re not interested in going out with me?”

I nodded weakly. “Clearly.”

“May I ask why, Miss Gracen?”

He needs to stop saying my name like that...

“There are several reasons why.”

“Name the best ones.” He stepped in front of me and looked deep into my eyes. “But your age and the fact that you have kids aren’t good enough reasons for me.”

Poker face...Poker face... “Well, as I’m sure you already know, it’s against company policy.”

“I can have that rewritten by the end of the week.”

“It’s also completely immoral and highly inappropriate.”

“That’s...debatable.” He reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from my face. “Is that all?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything.

I was too busy getting lost in his incredible eyes. I realized that they weren’t entirely blue; his irises were outlined in a wispy cloud of charcoal gray and there were speckles of emerald green gleaming within them.

“Miss Gracen? Are there any other excuses?” He inched even closer to me, slightly rubbing his nose against mine.

Why am I so turned on right now? I shouldn’t be feeling this way...He’s way too young for me, way too young for me...

“I’m not attracted to you.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“Hmmm. Well, I guess that is a good enough reason.” He looked at his watch. “I have another meeting to go to...” He stepped away from me. “It was nice running into you again. I’ll see you around?”

“I guess so.” I nodded and watched him leave the room.

I wrote a few notes in my “Zen” journal and sighed. “I love my job....I love my job...”

Nope. Still not working...

No matter how many times I said it aloud, I still hated my job. With an undying passion.

I went through another stack of proposal campaigns and tossed them all into my “No way in hell” pile. My associates were really starting to annoy me. All their recent ideas were more terrible than usual; it was like they weren’t even trying.

I started typing yet another inspirational email to invigorate them, to inspire them to think of something that didn’t suck, but an email flagged as “important” popped up on my screen.

From: Statham, Jonathan

To: Gracen, Claire

Subject: Employee Relations

Date: January 8, 2013 2:30 PM

Miss Gracen,

I know you rejected my earlier proposal, but there are a few things I would like to discuss with you. Would you happen to have any free time this Friday evening?

Statham Industries CEO,

Jonathan Statham

From Gracen, Claire

To: Statham, Jonathan

Subject: Re: Employee Relations

Date: January 8, 2013 2:35 PM

Mr. Statham,

Once 5:00 pm arrives on Friday, I will have no desire to discuss anything related to Statham Industries, especially since I am paid by the hour and overtime is strictly forbidden. The next hour that I will be available to discuss these so called “employee relations” will be Monday morning. At 8:00.

Please make an appointment with my secretary,

Executive Marketing Director,

Claire Gracen

I hit send and shut down my computer. I walked over to my wall calendar, sighing at the date that was circled, and crossed off yesterday’s date with a red marker.

Four more days ‘til the big 4-0...

“Miss Gracen!” Mr. Barnes rushed into my office. “Is there any chance you could run our latest board up to the art department? The other directors and I have just been called into an emergency strategy meeting with Mr. Statham.”

What! Why wasn’t I called? Is he going to blackball my career because I turned him down? How immature...

As if he’d read my mind, he gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sure they’re not letting you go...I’d put up a hell of a fight to get you to stay.”

“Thanks.” I stood up and took the board from his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! We can’t use this!”

“What? Why not?”

“Are you kidding me? This is racist!”

“How so?”

I sighed. This was yet another reason why I hated working here.

We were supposed to be coming up with ways to market the new “sPhone Blue” but my department had missed the mark, once again: On the board was a picture of a cotton field, but instead of cotton blooms growing atop the plants, there were sPhones. There were slaves with baskets at their hips, smiling widely as they “picked” the crop. At the bottom of the picture were the words: “Bring back the good old days, the new sPhone Blue.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Barnes, I’m not taking this shit up there. We need to come up with something else.”

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