Tessa

The phone blares next to me on the nightstand. My hand hits around on the wood until it connects with the offensive machine disturbing my sleep. I don’t even open my eyes as I find the receiver and bring it to my ear.

“Hello,” I rasp. My throat feels parched—something I don’t experience often living in the humid south.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” It’s Barclay, and he’s way too chipper for this early in the morning. It’s like he swallowed a happy pill.

I peek at the clock next to the phone. It’s nine, not too early, but I tossed and turned last night after my brother humiliated me. I thought my father quizzing my dates in his full-blown sheriff’s uniform with a gun holstered to his belt was bad in high school. Boy, was I wrong. Having the CEO of one of the world’s top publishing companies grilled by your brother was to the moon and back worse.

“You must be a morning person,” I mumble, tossing the covers off me. I press the speaker option on the phone and pad over to the mini-bar, needing to hydrate from all the drinking last night. I pop open a bottle of water and take a gulp. It tastes like heaven.

“And you apparently aren’t.” I feel the smile behind his words, and I grin too.

“You’ve seen one sunrise, you’ve seen them all,” I singsong, then take another swig of water.

“Someday, I’ll show you one to change your mind.” His voice is gravelly with a hidden meaning. I sit down on the bed by the nightstand, hug my legs to my chest, and smile.

“All talk.” I laugh.

“Soon, you’ll wake up in my arms with the early morning sun shining on us.” His tone is husky and full of promise.

“I hear the weather’s supposed to be lovely tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he teases with a chuckle. “Today, I have press with Don. He seldom ventures to New York, so he’s booked with every news organization known to man. And thanks to you, Hammond is back in his good graces. I want to keep it that way.”

“I look forward to seeing that feisty old man tonight.”

“Since I’ll be tending to His Majesty today, I’ve made some plans for you.”

“Oh, you have?” I ask, hesitant.

“You might want to write this down,” he orders. I grab the notepad and pen from the desk. “Room service will bring you breakfast in thirty minutes. From noon to three, you’ll be pampered at Spa Bellerosé on Fifth Avenue. Facial, massage. Personal yoga session. Whatever you want. I’ll have a car at your service. Just introduce yourself to the doorman.”

“I’ve never had anything so extravagant. I can’t accept this,” I protest. My idea of a spa day is an upgraded pedicure.

“Don’t argue. You’re already on their book,” he says, giving me a gentle reprimand—one he probably uses in the boardroom. “Then, my personal stylist, Gloria Herman, from Saks, will bring several dresses to your hotel room at four. Pick one for tonight. I told her you’d want something in pink and guessed a petite size two. Close?”

“Yes, but …” I try to stop him, but it’s no use. He rolls on with his crazy, spoil-Tessa list. I bite back a smile, hardly believing he’s doing all of this for me.

“A hair and makeup stylist should be there by five. Sound okay?” he asks.

“It’s too much,” I exclaim, but have a feeling nothing I say will change his mind. I feel like a princess, and he’s ruining me for all other men.

“One more thing.” His tone turns serious. “When I threw you over my shoulder in the lobby last night, someone took a photo of us and it did end up making Page Six of the Post.”

“Just great,” I say, shaking my head. I bet it was the man with his camera phone.

“I’m sorry, Tessa. But there is a bright side since they only have your backside, not your face, in the photo. The Post labeled you the ‘unknown blond woman.’ They contacted me, and I declined to give your name, of course.”

My muscles tense as an uneasy feeling sweeps over me. Barclay stands out in a crowd, and the focus of attention follows him wherever he goes. He’s New York’s publishing prince with his dark Armani suit as his coat of armor, and anyone standing near him is a casualty of his celebrity, including this unknown girl from an unknown town in Alabama.

“Try not to worry,” he urges me. “I need to run. I’m at CNN. They’re interviewing him for a segment. Enjoy your day, Tessa. I can’t wait to see you tonight.”

“Thank you, Barclay,” I say as he ends the call, but it doesn’t seem to be enough for all he’s done for me. I’m blown away and can hardly process it all.

I fall back against the bed and stretch out my limbs with a huge smile plastered on my face. A facial at a New York spa would’ve been over the top by itself, but no, I’ll be wearing a dress from Saks Fifth Avenue.

I walked by their storefront windows after a stop at Rockefeller Center yesterday and dreamed of strolling into the store someday and buying clothes without a care to the price. And now, Barclay’s making them come to me.

But one fact looms over my head like a dark rain cloud: I still don’t have a job. Even the two promising interviews next week aren’t a sure thing until an offer is made. In two weeks, I might be back in Monroeville working at Dairy Queen, but for today, I’m getting treated like a queen thanks to Barclay.

I call Maggie and give her the rundown on what happened last night and the day Barclay’s planned for me.

“He’s so into you, Tessa. Spa, clothes from Saks. Glamming you up for the night.” When Maggie runs down the list, it truly blows my mind.

“It’s like I’m living a fairy tale. Oh, and one more thing. But you have to keep this vaulted. Promise me?” I ask. “If Miles or my parents find out …”

“My lips are sealed. Promise,” she stresses, but doesn’t really have to. I’d trust her with anything, even something that would get my brother on a plane to bring me home.

“I made Page Six … sort of,” I confess quietly, still in disbelief. I don’t know much about Page Six, but if it’s a big deal, Maggie will bring me up to speed.

“What? You’re kidding me, right?” she asks, but doesn’t give me time to answer. “Wait, I’m checking online for the photo.”

I take a deep breath and wait for her to find the photo. I haven’t seen it yet either. Once I do, it will seem too real. I’d rather not have it burned into my brain.

“Oh my God. It’s the top story. Have you seen it?” she rushes out.

“No,” I reply, but she doesn’t stop.

“It’s a side view of Barclay with you draped over his shoulder. Nice ass shot by the way. She laughs, and I cringe. “It says, ‘Barclay Hammond carried a young blond woman over his shoulder through the lobby of the Hammond Hotel. This is the first time he’s been spotted with someone since his breakup with longtime girlfriend, Amanda Lake.’ First, screw Amanda. Second, I can’t believe you’re in town for a few days—and boom! You’ve already landed on New York’s most talked about gossip column. It was my goal to make that page in five years tops. I’m in awe.”

“It’s a nightmare,” I whisper, because the fallout could be severe. “If my family finds out, they’ll never be okay with me moving here. It’s like their worst fears have come true.”

“When you land a job next week, and I believe you will, you’re going to have to tell them about Barclay. He’s crazy for you, and there’s no way to keep news about a man like him contained. At least Miles will know who he is, right?”

“Barclay also promised Miles he’d keep an eye out for me.”

“Awkward, but will anyone be good enough for you in Miles’ eyes?”

“Probably not.” I sigh. “I’ve got to run and get ready.”

“It’s tough being you,” Maggie quips. “Send me a selfie before you leave for the dinner.”

“Wish me luck,” I say.

“Nah. You’ve got that in spades. I’ll wish that you get f—”

“Goodbye, Maggie.”