Meet Me at Midnight

“How are things going with Dalencia and Sonar?” my dad asks from behind his massive desk, one ankle crossed at the knee and his elbows resting on the arms of his vintage black leather Egg chair my mother spent twenty grand on for part of his Christmas present five years ago.

He’s put together as always, his more salt than pepper hair combed neatly from his part and wearing a crisp gray suit.

I’m slightly less vibrant this morning, the lack of sleep starting to catch up with me, and I fake a cough to cover a yawn.

“Dalencia just launched their winter campaign,” I explain, leaning back in the leather chair across from his desk and interlacing my fingers. “It’s too early to pull any data, but their runway show in Paris did well.”

“Did well?” He quirks a brow, and I smile, knowing full well that, to him, “did well” means nothing. Neil is a fan of hard data, not supposition.

“They just released their first run into stores. Thirty of the forty-two Saks Fifth Avenue locations are already requesting more inventory. Nordstrom is doing much the same. And their couture inventory at Bergdorf Goodman and Bloomingdale’s is no longer available.”

Neil smiles, enjoying the shop talk just as much as I do. While his relationship with Avery is one of coddling and comfort, he and I share a very different bond. In this building, we’re not father and son—he’s my boss, and he demands a level of excellence.

I don’t resent the difference, but rather, I thrive on it. Nepotism got me in the door, but I’ve been fighting for every success since then, just like everyone else.

My first campaign was for dog biscuits. Kibble Treats was a small, family-owned company that grossed just under one million a year. I realize that sounds like a lot of money to most people, but in terms of business, especially the kind of major corporations that Banks & McKenzie works with, Kibble Treats’s revenue was peanuts.

And now, because of my hard work and the achievements of my first campaign and the campaigns that followed, my father and Chris promoted me to an executive position and let me run campaigns with some of the biggest corporations in the world.

I’m at the top of a ladder I built, which is something I’m incredibly proud of.

My father nods in approval, a small grin curving his lips upward. “That’s more like it.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes sometimes, sir.”

My dad laughs. “That’s a great perspective in life, but not in business. We should be ten steps ahead all the time.”

“Last I counted, we were twelve steps ahead.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’d better be if you’re going to beat out Seth on the Midnight venture.”

Ironically, I’m way more aware of the need to be ahead of Seth than my father knows. He’s still sniffing around my people on a regular basis, and a feeling in my gut tells me he’s already gotten plenty of information. To get ahead of him now, I’m probably going to have to go back to the drawing board completely, but I’m not dejected. Two years ago, a marketing executive named Doug Stamper held my job. He had a lot of Seth’s personality traits, and, as is obvious by the fact that he’s no longer with the company, karma caught up with him. I just have to stay my own course.

“We’re well equipped to handle everything Seth McKenzie throws at us and then some.”

“That’s good.” He fiddles with a glass paperweight from his desk, passing it back and forth in his hands. “You know, sometimes hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m just wondering if I was a little overzealous in my agreement to pit the two of you against each other for this so-called friendly competition.”

“Why?”

He eyes me knowingly. “Come on, Beau. You and I both know why.”

Everyone in the office knows why. Within thirty days, Bethany went from stopping at my office for lunch to stopping at Seth’s. Even if you’re not the type to dive into the office gossip, it was kind of hard to ignore.

“I appreciate the concern, Neil, but there’s no need for it.”

My dad’s eyes are warm with affection. “I don’t know if I tell you this enough, but I’m proud of you, Beau. Really proud of you.”

“Is this my dad or my boss telling me this?”

He smiles. “Both.”

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s appreciated.”

The sound of the door swinging open behind me pulls my attention to over my shoulder, and June strides in with a stack of files in her hands.

“Hey, June,” I greet, making her head jerk up and her eyes jump to mine.

“Oh!” she says in a rush. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting. Denise wasn’t at her desk, and I just assumed you were free, Mr. Banks.”

“You’re not interrupting anything, Juni,” my dad says with a gentle wave of his hand. “It appears you have quite the stack there. Please tell me it’s for Beau,” he teases, and the sweetest-sounding laugh escapes her lungs.

“Well, sir, Beau didn’t ask me to get every paper contract we’ve ever signed with Clover Athletics. You did.” She pauses and shrugs. “Though, I guess I could pretend he requested it if you let me go back outside and start over.”

“First of all, Juni,” my dad interjects with a big smile, “how about we drop the ‘sir’ stuff? It makes me feel a hundred years old.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re my boss.”

“True. But you’re also my Junebug, and if you’re old enough to be calling me sir, I must be getting close to retirement.”

“Hi, June,” I say again, pulling her eyes to me once more. She blushes a little and waves, adorably annoyed with my cries for attention.

“Hi, Beau.”

“Just call him Neil,” I add. “That’s what I do.”

My dad laughs, and June’s cheeks turn even rosier. A lock of red hair falls in front of her face, and she tucks it behind her ear.

“Well, Neil,” she says, overemphasizing his name for good measure. “Where should I put these files so I can get out of your hair?”

“Put them on Denise’s desk.” He offers her a little wink. “They’ll be a nice surprise when she gets back from lunch.”

I guffaw, and June’s eyes jump to mine again, bemused. I hold them for longer than necessary, watching with fascination as her embarrassed grin turns into a gorgeous smile. All the pretty, girl-like features of Avery’s best friend I used to know are gone, a full-fledged, beautiful woman in her place.

I don’t know when it happened, but the transformation is definitely complete.

“No offense, Neil, but I’m glad I won’t be here to see that,” she remarks, and I bite my lip and look down at my lap to smother a smile.

My dad laughs.

“Need anything else?”

“No, Juni. I’m all set. Beau?”

I shake my head and meet her eyes. “I’m good, June. Thanks.”

Her long red hair swishes along her back as she turns on her heel to exit, and I allow myself a small peek at how long her legs look beneath her black skirt. Her skin is creamy and freckled, and a bolt of something runs through me I can’t quite place.

It’s like searching for the right word in a sentence while your brain whirs around it.

There’s a crunch and a groan as she makes it to the doorjamb, my sister’s voice echoing around us as the two of them run into each other head on.

June stumbles back, dropping several of the files in her arms to the floor in a chaotic flurry.

“What the hell?” Avery asks, walking right around June and settling her hand on her hip. I jump up from my seat to help collect the files for June.

“Sorry, June,” Avery finally apologizes, noticing the scene a bit better, now that I’m helping. “But color me a little shocked that there’s a family reunion going on here and no one invited moi.”

“We didn’t even know you were at work today, princess,” our dad comments with a tickled smile. It doesn’t matter that she’s twenty-three, shit at being an intern, and basically milking his fucking payroll—he’s never, ever angry with her.

“Daddy!” Avery protests with a roll of her eyes. “Of course I’m at work today.”

“Sorry, love. I hadn’t seen you. What time did you get here?”

“Does it matter?” she tosses back, lifting her fresh cup of Starbucks to her lips. “I’m here, and I’m ready to roll!”

“Oh, great,” my dad comments. “Then you won’t mind running a few errands for me?”

“Actually, Daddy.” She frowns. “I already have, like, two other things I need to do today. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

My dad laughs. I give June the last folder and stand, offering her a hand when she struggles to get up in her heels. She looks up at me from under her lashes, her blue eyes shining with gratitude.

Her hand slips out of mine, and she waves, heading out the door once again.

“June, where are you going?” Avery questions then, just realizing her sidekick is leaving her behind.

“To do work,” June calls over her shoulder, setting the files on Denise’s desk and disappearing down the hall. I follow her out with a wave to my father, and Avery stays behind to give him a little more hell before her next spa appointment or whatever.

I stop briefly at Madeline’s office to get a quick influencer list update, and then I head straight for my office. I need an energy drink—or five—and then I need to churn and burn on storyboard approvals for five different campaigns.

A small container sits on my desk as I round my way to the back of it, along with an attached note that I see on closer inspection.

I pull the note off the top and lift the lid, revealing three fist-sized chocolate chip cookies.

Now these are 10/10 chocolate chip cookies.

-Mystery Woman

My smile is practically too big for my face—seriously, I should be ashamed of it—as I feverishly snatch up a cookie and take a taste.

Moist, chocolatey, and just a tiny pinch of salt—they’re fucking incredible.

God, that’s good. And just what I needed to get me through the next several hours.

I pick my phone up off my desk and swipe into our chatbox, the blinking cursor waiting on my words. Taking this chat from after hours to during work is not the smartest idea.

It’s risky. It’s questionable. It’s all the you-shouldn’t-be-doing-this things.

But I do it anyway. I can’t wait for tonight. I have to thank her now.

ThunderStruck: Where’d you get these cookies from? Heaven?

Not even a minute later, ElizaBeth has reentered the chat appears on the screen.

ElizaBeth: LOL I didn’t get them anywhere. I made them. Good, huh?

ThunderStruck: 10/10.

ElizaBeth: Yeah?

She’s messaging me during office hours. Which means she’s somewhere in this building watching the screen of her phone like I’m watching the screen of my phone. My eyes flit out of my door, scanning the other offices along the edges and the giant cubicle area in the center.

I don’t know what I think I’ll find, but with ninety-five percent of the workforce on their phones, I come up with nothing. Damn, I wish I could just figure out who she is.

ThunderStruck: I can only think of one single thing that would make them better.

ElizaBeth: What?

ThunderStruck: Having them hand-delivered.

ElizaBeth: By, like, a courier?

ThunderStruck: Don’t be cute.

ElizaBeth: Sorry. Cute’s all I know how to be.

Oh, ElizaBeth, I know.

Her cuteness is like quicksand. And I’m in so deep, I don’t know if I’ll ever get out.