Awkward in Trouble (Awkward #4)

  Awkward in Trouble

  An Awkward Novel

  Rachel Rhodes

  Awkward in Trouble

  Rachel Rhodes

  First published 2019

  Copyright text ©

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover design by Canva

  Edited by The Writer’s Block

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Also by Rachel Rhodes

  About the Author

  1

  “Chloe is such a slut!” Megan announces, dropping into the chair beside me and taking a huge swig of champagne. I follow the line of her narrowed gaze to where the company secretary is dancing on a black-boxed speaker, her hands roving all over her body, while most of the IT department gather eagerly around to watch.

  “I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Megs. She’s not the one banging the boss.”

  “Shhhh!” Megan casts a furious glance around, checking that no-one is within earshot. “I’ve put an end to all that crap!”

  “Since when?”

  “I made a resolution yesterday morning.”

  “It’s been a whole forty-eight hours? I’m impressed.”

  “This time I mean it,” she insists and, although I know better, I find myself hoping that she does. Megan and I have been inseparable, ever since we both joined the sales department for Focus Media four years ago. Focus is an advertising company and, between us, Megan and I handle public relations, advertising, and media marketing for some of the biggest firms in the country. Megs is the complete opposite of me, and not only in character. She is dark where I am fair, and her blue-black hair is long and sleek, a shiny curtain that falls halfway down her back, whereas my hair is white-blonde and cut in a messy bob. I was going for get-up-and-go, but most days my hair gets up and goes without me. I’ve been trying to grow it out.

  Megan’s eyes are the color of chocolate – the real dark stuff, not the cheap kind. My own are a dirty Smurf blue, and, given that they dominate most of my face, could really afford to be a bit more impressive.

  We both gaze across at Chloe as her performance increases in tempo.

  “Dave the whizz-kid has the most enormous hard-on,” Megan remarks drily, and I give a screech of laughter. Dave looks a bit like Steve Carrell in the 40-year-old Virgin, and he has the personality to match. I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend. Megan laughs along with me until Jack Pendleton enters the room. Then she sobers instantly, leaving me cackling alone like a maniacal hyena. I give her a kick under the table but miss, stubbing my toe on the table leg instead.

  Jack is the Company Director, young for the position at thirty-seven, married with two children – aged seven and nine – and too handsome for his own good. He glances around the room, shakes his head at Chloe, who has progressed to a spectacularly uncoordinated floss, and then his eyes come to rest on Megan.

  “Don’t do it,” I murmur, thinking that if the heat in Jack’s gaze is anything to go by, Megan’s resolution is about to go up in flames.

  “Oh God, I can’t help it, Emma!” she sounds forlorn as Jack looks away. “I mean, look at him.”

  “He’s married, Megs,” I point out.

  “Not happily.”

  “They all say that when they want leg-over. Ask him to leave his wife.”

  “He can’t. He says he couldn’t bear to leave the kids, at least not while they’re so young.”

  “God, what a cliché.” I take a slug of champagne. It’s not that I don’t respect my boss. Jack is an extremely astute businessman, and he is fair and pays us well. I do respect him, I just don’t like him very much, and I hate that he has this hold over Megan. I can understand the physical attraction, given that Jack looks like a young Benedict Cumberbatch, but I know it’s not going to end well.

  “Hey, new guy!” Megan shrieks, and I turn my head to see the new sales executive who joined the company last week, making his way toward us. He hasn’t been assigned to a team yet, so the jury’s still out as to which Accounts Manager he will be reporting to.

  “Hi Megan, Emma,” he nods at each of us in turn and then pulls up a chair.

  I return his smile. “It’s Oliver, right?”

  “At least one of you remembers.” His hazel eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

  “New guy has a nice ring to it, I think,” Megan teases. “But if you insist, Oliver it is.”

  Oliver chuckles as he leans over and refills our glasses. He’s probably only a year or two older than I am, twenty-nine, thirty at most. He has nice hands, I note, as he sets the champagne bottle back in the ice bucket. I notice hands. Hands and eyes. And Oliver has a nice pair of both.

  “Are office functions always like this?” he asks, gesturing over his shoulder at Chloe, who is now weaving around Dave like a Siamese cat on poppers.

  “With her, it’s always like this,” Megan says. “I suggest you keep your head down, Oliver. Chloe loves fresh meat.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” He grins again, and I find myself smiling too.

  Megan has stopped paying attention. Once again, I follow the line of her gaze and I’m not surprised to find Jack at the end of it. He inclines his head discreetly toward the door and without waiting for confirmation, walks through it. I’ve barely opened my mouth when Megan is on her feet.

  “Do me a favor and keep Emma company,” she tells Oliver, swooping up the half-empty champagne bottle. “There’s something I need to take care of.” She winks conspiratorially at me and heads for the door.

  Oliver watches her leave, a bemused expression on his face. “What was that about?”

  I shake my head, draining my glass. “It’s safer not to ask.”

  “Right.” He flags down a passing waiter and orders another bottle of champagne and a light beer.

  “So, are you married?” he asks, but it sounds more as though he is simply making pleasant conversation than prying.

  “Divorced.” I hold up my bare left hand as proof.

  “Ah,” he holds up his own. “Snap.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “She left me for someone like Chloe.” His face is deadpan, and I choke back my laughter until I see the amusement in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t really know how to respond, but he just shrugs.

  “I’m not, although I was a little jealous at first. Her girlfriend had the most incredible boobs.”

  “They could’ve at least given you a preview.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Do you have any children?” I ask.

  “No, thank God.” His eyes widen as the obvious thought occurs to him. “You?” he asks, far more somber.

  “One. A little girl – Alyssa. She’s four.”

  “Beautiful name,” he says, accepting the bottle from the waiter and setting it in the empty bucket.

  “Thank you. It suits her.”

  “What happened?”

  I take a moment to consider the question. My standard response is a simple, “it didn’t work out” but the champagne has loosened my tongue.

  “He drank too much.”

  “Ah,” he nods thoughtfully, although there is
no fake pity in his honest, open gaze. “My dad was an alcoholic. It’s a disease, they can’t really help themselves.”

  “I know, but when you have a child to consider, your tolerance goes out the window.”

  “Understandably.” He raises his beer. “Well, here’s to new beginnings for both of us.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  An hour later, with the buzz of the champagne still warming my body, I cast a quick glance around for Megan. She’s still missing – as is Jack. So much for Megan’s resolution. I check my watch. It’s time I checked on Alyssa. “I need to fetch my purse,” I say.

  Oliver gets to his feet a second before I do, old-school manners on full display. “I’ll walk with you.”

  “No need. I need to make a call anyway. I’ll be right back.”

  My office is down the hall, only a few doors down from Jack’s, and I tiptoe toward it, praying I don’t meet Megan and Jack on the way out. Jack’s door is closed, his blinds drawn, and I heave a sigh as I retrieve my purse from under my desk. I’m bent over, my ass to the door when I hear a throat being cleared.

  “Emma.”

  I whirl around to find Jack standing behind me, with an extremely attractive man at his side. Taking only a second to appreciate his tall, athletic build, mussed up blond hair and tanned face, and a few more to accept that he no doubt got an eyeful of my ass, I quickly turn my attention back to my boss. He looks agitated, and a small muscle is going in his cheek. I daren’t ask him where Megan is, not with this stranger standing here.

  “Yes, Jack?” I ask politely.

  “Emma, this is Gregory Daniels. Greg, this is Emma Johnson. Emma handles the Nanosec account.” He gives me a look that I assume is supposed to mean something important, but the champagne has addled my brain. Jack raises his eyebrows at me. “Mr. Daniel’s company, Trivia, has just bought out Nanosec.”

  Oh! The penny drops. The new CEO of Nanosec, a company that spends over four million dollars a year with Focus. Nanosec is one of my key accounts which means that this man is now my biggest customer. What the hell is he doing at a private Focus function?

  “I invited Greg to stop by and enjoy the festivities,” Jack tells me, as if reading the question from my mind, “and I thought I’d introduce you.”

  I drop my purse on my desk, smile warmly and I extend my hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Daniels.”

  “Greg, please.” He takes my hand, still cold from clutching my champagne glass, in his own, and it warms instantly. His green eyes hold my gaze for slightly longer than what I would deem appropriate and then dip almost imperceptibly to my chest.

  “Greg,” I correct, withdrawing my hand and feeling flustered. “I was actually going to give you a call tomorrow to set up an introductory meeting for next week.”

  “Next week sounds good,” he nods, but his eyes are dancing with amusement. “Just give my secretary a call, and she’ll set it up.”

  “Absolutely.” I keep the smile plastered on my face. “I’ll do that.”

  He gives me the ghost of a wink. “I look forward to it.” He shakes my hand once more and then he excuses himself. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jack turns back to me.

  “Emma,” he begins, sounding sterner than usual, “there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you. I’m afraid Megan Harris has been dismissed, her employment with Focus terminated with immediate effect. I am only telling you this now, in confidence,” he continues as I open my mouth to interrupt, “because I know that you two are close.” That’s the understatement of the century – Megan is my best friend. “I do not want a scene,” Jack warns, “and I expect you to handle this situation in the professional manner that you would display were it any other employee here at Focus.”

  “Why is she being let go?” I demand, keeping my voice low. Jack will not meet my eyes, and suddenly, I know. “Your wife found out, didn’t she?” I hiss.

  That gets his attention. “Emma,” he warns, his voice low and threatening. “This has nothing to do with you. I am only telling you because I understand that your relationship with Megan may result in her confiding in you. However,” he draws himself up to his full height, “you would do well to remember that I am your boss. And you will conduct yourself accordingly, or you will be charged with insubordination.”

  “This is bullshit!” I snap, knowing that there is not a damn thing I can do about it. “Megan is damned good at her job, and you know it!”

  I’m surprised to see a flash of regret cross his features before his mask slips back into place.

  “She is,” he concedes, “and I’m not a monster, Emma. I have found Megan another position, she’ll be on the same package, have the same benefits. In fact, she’s been put on a higher commission structure, so this move will be good for her.”

  “Good for her?” I gape at him. “Really? How is losing her job good for her? And commission means nothing if you don’t have any clients. She’s worked her ass off to build up a base, and you’re taking it away from her.”

  “Like you said, she’s good at her job. She’ll recover quickly,” he insists. “And her salary won’t change.”

  I can’t even formulate a response, so I simply glare at him.

  “I didn’t want things to end up this way,” he sighs. “But I have no choice.”

  “That didn’t stop you before. You chose to have an affair without any scruples, so why let your conscience lead you now.”

  “Emma.” It’s my second warning, but I’m too angry to care.

  “No, Jack, you know that I’m right. If Susan needs proof that it’s over between you and Megan, why don’t you leave instead?”

  “That’s not how things work.”

  “Really? And your wife dictating who you fire – is that how it works?”

  “I never meant for it to end this way,” he says, “but I will not sacrifice my marriage for a random fling.”

  I shake my head. “You’re disgusting. You used Megan, and now she’s paying the price.”

  “Megan was a mistake.” He sounds as though he’s trying to convince himself. “And this conversation is over. I will see you tomorrow.” Before I can say another word, he turns on his heel and strides out of my office.

  Fuming, I snatch up my purse and follow suit. I need to find Megan. I’m barely out of the door when I run straight into Oliver, who is holding two half-full glasses of champagne, the front of his shirt dripping with the balance.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I clap a hand to my mouth.

  “That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I needed a hosing down, it’s pretty hot in here.”

  “Seriously, Oliver, I’m really sorry,” I stammer, grabbing a pack of wipes from my purse and pressing one against his sodden shirt.

  “You keep those in your purse?” he asks lazily, his eyes crinkling again.

  “I’m a mom, remember,” I say, dabbing at his chest. “There, that’s the best I can do.”

  He holds up the glasses. “I guess we’ll need to refill these.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to go.”

  “Right now?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Right now,” I nod, stuffing the wipes back into my purse. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  I let myself into Megan’s apartment with the key she gave me two years ago when she got tired of letting me in, and dump my purse unceremoniously on the table in the hall. The smell of champagne hits me as the sodden wipes tumble out of it. Muffled sobs come from Megan’s bedroom.

  Her dress has hitched up over her thighs, black lace panties on clear display. They’re the kind you wear to be seen.

  “He’s a miserable son of a bitch,” I say as I climb onto the double bed beside her and stroke her hair. Her body is wracked with sobs, her pillow soaked through. “You can take him to court, you know.”

  “No,” she mumbles, wiping her face on the pillow and raising her head to look at me. Her brown eyes are bloodshot and her make up is sm
eared all down her face. I get up and cross to the vanity, soaking a cotton pad with cleansing cream.

  “Sit,” I instruct, and she gets up, crossing her legs beneath her and closing her eyes as I clean her face.

  “I can’t do that,” she admits eventually.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not his fault.”

  “Oh, so it’s yours?” I ask, anger flaring in my chest.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I should have listened to you, Em. You told me this was going to happen.”

  “What did happen, exactly?”

  “Susan found an old email I sent him. It was…” she pauses, trying to find the right word before she settles on “colorful.” I can only imagine. “Apparently she went berserk, threw a stack of dinner plates at him and then demanded he get rid of me or she would take him to the cleaners.”

  “So, what, now he thinks she’s just going to forgive him?” I snort with derision. “That if he does what she says they’re just going to go back to playing happy family? That’s never going to happen.”

  “You really think so?” Her face lights up with hope, and I toss the cotton pad aside.

  “Megs!” I wail, “You’re still hung up on him? Even after this!” I can’t believe her. Jack just fired her, and she would still have him back in a heartbeat. She buries her face back in her pillow.

  “I think I’m in love with him,” she says in a small voice.

  “Oh, Megan!” I feel helpless, unable to find the words to ease her pain.

  “Where’s he sending you?” I ask, after a long silence.

  “Carter & Boyd.” She lies down and stares at the ceiling. I do the same, and we lie side by side.

  “Carter & Boyd are direct opposition to Focus,” I say. “Why would he do that? Why would he risk you taking business away from his own company?”