“What are you doing here?” My boss asks Trey the obvious question.
Trey tugs on the front his T-shirt. “You’re looking at Empire Soaks new spokesman.”
“New spokesman?” Barrett shifts his focus from Trey to me. “You knew about this? Who authorized it? I didn’t see a contract.”
“I’m doing it as a favor to Bella.” Trey rests a hand on my shoulder. “After she told me about what Marcy has been through since her husband died, I jumped right in to help. I’ll do what I can. I’m donating my time, and I’ve got a photographer friend headed down here as we speak to get some shots of me with the products. Empire Soaks will be trending online before the day is over.”
Chapter 32
Barrett
It’s been four days since I shook Trey Hale’s hand. His social media posts touting the products that Marcy is selling put Empire Soaks on the map. Not only did the store shut its doors early that day because they ran out of inventory, but their website crashed.
Last week I was contemplating when I’d close the business for good. Today, I’ve been on the phone for hours working out a manufacturing deal with a supplier in the Midwest. They can replicate Marcy’s products on a large scale right down to the last drop of essential oil.
One call from my executive assistant to Trey Hale altered the course of the lives of Marcy and her kids. They’ve all struggled since the unexpected death of her husband five months ago.
Grief therapy has kept Marcy’s feet moving forward. Every second Thursday afternoon she’s there with her mother-in-law. The woman is Elara and Ansel’s nanny. That’s why Isabella was watching over the kids that day. Their mother and grandmother have been trying to navigate their way through an unthinkable loss.
I left Empire Soaks alone the other day with a full picture of Marcy’s life and business. Isabella hung back to work on promotional details with Trey.
Since then, I’ve been working my ass off. I’ve kept my assistant just as busy. She clocked out on Friday night with a wiggle of her fingers in a wave to me while I talked on the phone.
I wanted to ask her to join me for a drink to celebrate the stellar week we had, but she was out of the building before I could wrap my call up. I took it as a sign and headed up to my penthouse to pour over the details for a merger that Duke was keen on. It won’t see the light of day. Some deals can’t be saved.
I look up when I see Isabella dart into my view through the open door of my office. She met Max for lunch an hour ago. She checked in before she left to see if I wanted her to bring me back anything. I declined. I need to take off to a meeting of my own.
Standing, I clear my throat, hoping to grab her attention.
It works. She drops her purse on her desk then whips around to face me.
Soft gray is definitely a color that works on her. It plays off the flecks in her eyes. The dress she’s wearing is clinging to her. It’s simple, but on her, it looks fucking spectacular.
Tapping one of her black stilettos on the floor, she drops her hands to her hips. “Is there something I can help you with?”
The raging hard-on I seem to have every time I’m near you.
Seeing as though I’m not a seventeen-year-old kid with zero self-control, I swallow those words and go for a more business like approach. “I have a meeting to get to. I need you to stay on top of all the moving parts for Empire Soaks. I’ve been in touch with a new website developer, and I’m waiting to hear back from the supplier.”
Her brow crunches together. “You have a meeting? I don’t recall seeing that on your calendar.”
Pushing back from my desk, I stand. “It’s personal.”
Narrowing her eyes, she steps into my office. “Should I interrupt you if something comes up?”
“No.” Buttoning my jacket, I round my desk. “I’ll be back by four to address any issues. Keep things at bay until then.”
I can see the wheels turning behind those stormy blue eyes of hers. She’s trying to piece together what the hell I’m doing. I want her to ask questions because I’m aching to see a flare of jealousy cross that beautiful face of hers, but she’s stoic. She contemplates me for a few more seconds before she shrugs a shoulder and turns to leave.
I head straight to the elevator. I jab a finger into the call button twice even though I know the second time is useless.
“Barrett?”
Hearing Isabella’s voice behind me, I turn. She’s standing next to her desk with a pen in her hand. Tapping it against her palm, she takes a heavy breath. “Is the meeting in your penthouse or somewhere else?”
“A hotel,” I answer succinctly.
The pen slaps her palm harder and then again, even harder. “Well, I hope you have fun.”