I was the executive director of the Commercial Loan Workout Division at Financial State Bank in Manhattan. For companies not making a profit and were about to be kicked out of the bank, I would help them by either cutting expenses or getting rid of their line that was no longer profitable. That meant firing employees if I needed to. I knew how to get the company from the red and back into the black. That was what I did, and I excelled at my job.
I knew I could do this. There was no heart in this transaction. It was simply a favor to my nana, the woman who had basically raised me by herself because my parents were never home, working to build this company up.
I’d do this job, like I’d promised Nana I would, just as I did my job at Financial State, within the allotted time period and get back to my life in New York.
“I met a girl.” It was so random, yet it had everything to do with branding. “She hated the name Colby Chocolates, hated the packaging and how our original chocolate bar tasted.”
“Hate is an intense word,” Kyle scoffed.
Maybe I was exaggerating. A chuckle escaped as I thought of her face when I’d opened the candy bar and torn off a piece.
“She actually doesn’t care too much for candy and chocolates. But she does think the branding is off.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Tell me you’re not dating this girl because that would be an interesting dinner conversation topic, especially when you invite her to meet the parents.”
I laughed without humor. “Maybe she has a point though. Colby’s is everywhere. It’s the name of every candy bar instead of embodying the candy bar itself.”
Kyle shrugged. “Well … yeah. Dad grew this company to where it is today, and I’m sure he is pretty damn proud of his name and believes it should be plastered everywhere. On our uniforms. On trucks. On all the candy bars. A logo on the back of our other branded candies. Anyway, I don’t see him changing it up anytime soon.”
That was the problem.
“He has to think of what is best for this company, not feed his ego.” I moved my mouse to fire up my computer.
I had gotten her first name but not her last. All I knew was, she had started recently, and Casey knew her. I wondered if she worked in our marketing area, and if so, that would make sense because she had an eye for things. If I had trouble locating her, I could always ask Casey.
Kyle peered over on my screen as Charlie’s picture popped up. “She’s cute. Big bro, why are you stalking the new girl?”
“I’m not stalking the new girl.”
Interesting. So, she was our new computer tech person. I would have never guessed that.
When I shut my screen, Kyle reached for my mouse and moved it, so her picture would pop up again.
“So, what are you gonna do? Are you going to ask her why she doesn’t like our chocolate?” Kyle asked, breaking me from my thoughts.
It hadn’t crossed my mind, but that seemed like the brightest idea my brother had ever come up with—to pick her brain a little more.
“I think I’ll do that.” My voice was soft, reserved, as my eyes took in the woman on my screen.
Charlotte Grayson had the brightest smile I’d ever seen on a company photo. Two dimples were set deep in her cheeks. It was the first thing you noticed about her. That, and the green in her eyes, the lightness in her wavy, blondish hair.
“Big bro. Connor!” He waved a hand in front of my face, and then his smirk widened like he’d caught me doing something inappropriate.
“What?”
“What’s that look?” With a little shake of his head, he poked me. “Man … I think you might like this woman who hates our chocolate.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I was simply here to turn this company around.
My leave of absence at Financial State Bank had an end date and start date back to work. My job and my life were in New York. There could be no distractions. Especially not the green-eyed, blonde-haired beauty.
Chapter 3
Charlie
Casey pulled back her brown hair over her shoulder. “This is where we eat. Not very fancy, but it’s okay.” She motioned around the area. “What I like about it is that the coffee room is separate from the break room.”
Casey, being the good hostess that she was, led me to the vending machines that outlined the far end wall of the break room, specifically pointing out what each vending machine sold, which was not Colby Chocolates. I guessed that made sense, as chocolates were free.
There were five round tables that could seat maybe six people each. Vending machines. A sink. A fridge and a microwave. A water dispenser at the far end.
“Did you bring a lunch, or should we buy lunch? But if we buy lunch, we’ll have to go out.” She waved a hand in the air. “That’s fine with me, but that kinda cuts into our time, so in the summer, I usually just bring a lunch. Not like we can’t go out and bring our lunch. If that’s what you decide to do.” Her mouth was like a nonstop machine gun but with less noise.
Part of me wondered if she needed a drink of water or if her throat was dry because I always needed a drink of water after speaking too fast in a short period of time. Also, I wondered who “we” was.
“No … it’s fine. I brought my lunch and plan to bring my lunch every day.”
I didn’t mention the fact that I was broke. Hence this job. Hence I also needed to save money within a short period of time because I had plans of my own. I wasn’t here because working as a tech girl for the largest candy and chocolate manufacturer was my dream job. It was by far not my dream job. This was simply a job to pay the bills, and I had bills to pay.
“Okay. If you do, don’t keep your lunch at your desk. This location carries smells. One time, someone had curry at their desk, and chocolate and curry and … yeah, no.” She scrunched her nose.
“No … I already put my food in the fridge.”
She peered behind her at the only fridge in the room. “Oh. Did someone give you a tour of the break room this morning?” Her voice was tinged with slight disappointment.
I linked my arm through hers. “No, Casey. I found it on accident.”
She smiled then and patted my hand. Then, she almost skipped us to the table.
There was an aura around Casey. A joyful one, a cheerful one, and one I needed in my life. Especially now.
We were seated at a table when Casey jumped to a standing position and waved her hands in the air like we were at some big gymnasium-style cafeteria. “Alyssa, Alyssa, Alyssa. Over here …”
Alyssa—a sophisticated woman with sleek, straight Pantene black hair, warm olive skin tone, wearing very high heels and a form-fitted suit—strolled toward us at a leisurely, not-in-a-rush pace.
She dropped to the seat next to me and extended her hand. “Alyssa, as you know already. And you are Charlotte, also known as Charlie. You’re an implant from Wisconsin. Your mother just got married, and you are living in the elite town of Inverness with your new family. You have an evil stepsister, who in all aspects of the term is evil, and a doting stepfather, who is perfect. The end.”
I blinked up at her. Is this woman psychic?
Alyssa laughed. It was one of those worldly laughs that sounded perfected and practiced in front of the mirror. “Casey told me all about you. As you can tell, she can’t shut up.”