Tessa

“Miss Holly,” Mrs. Mackenzie exclaims as she rises from her desk, crossing the room to meet me. “Mr. Hammond and his mother, Sandra, are waiting for you. Follow me, dear.”

She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze, along with a tender smile. I imagine I look like I’m headed toward the firing squad.

Mrs. Mackenzie opens Barclay’s door, and my feet feel like lead. “It’s going to be okay.” Mrs. Mackenzie gives me a gentle nod, and I enter.

He’s discarded his suit jacket and leans against the edge of his desk. His long legs are crossed at the ankle, appearing casual and relaxed—and hot as hell.

His mother sits demurely in a leather chair to the side of Barclay’s desk. It’s no guess where Barclay got his glossy black hair. When she smiles at me, her eyes shine as bright as a blue sky. She’s wearing a pink suit—Chanel, most likely, from the make and cut. It’s my dream work attire.

“Tessa,” Barclay says. “This is my mother, Sandra Hammond.”

“It’s so lovely to meet you, Tessa,” she says in a cheery tone, which surprises me. Her son and I have “broken the rules of personal engagement” at Hammond.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I reply, making sure to use my southern manners. There’s no handshaking or formalities between us either. Everything feels personal.

“I’m sorry we didn’t meet at the picnic. I was so busy keeping everything afloat. If we would have run out of food or alcohol, the natives would have worried the company was going under.”

We all laugh at her humor. I immediately like her.

“It was a great party,” I say. And it’s true, even if it ended with Barclay and me fighting about Mark.

“My husband told me he met a lovely young woman from Alabama. Minus the blond hair, he said you reminded him of me. And now, just like his father, Barclay finds himself falling for a southerner who works for him. Funny, isn’t it?”

Perhaps it is, but I’m not laughing. I glance at Barclay, worried she knows about us.

“I told my mother our story at the picnic and she started cooking up a workaround for us.” He winks at me, and I exhale a deep breath, having a glimmer of hope for the first time.

“Have a seat, and I’ll explain,” Mrs. Hammond says to me, pointing to the chair across from her. I do as she asks.

“I called for an emergency board meeting this morning,” his mother begins. “We’ve promoted Reece Young to chief marketing officer. It was long overdue. She’ll report to board member, Mary Murphy, who was formerly head of marketing for Time Warner. Ms. Young will no longer be in Barclay’s chain of command, and most importantly, neither will you.”

“We’re in the clear,” Barclay pushes off the edge of the desk and strides to me. Taking my hand, he pulls me to my feet and gazes down at me with eyes full of hope … for us.

“I can’t believe this,” I say, glancing between Barclay and his mother, hardly able to contain myself. “How will I ever be able to thank you?”

“Join our family at the Hamptons this weekend. We want to get to know you better,” she says. I look at Barclay, and he nods.

“I’d love too. Thanks,” I say in a rush, the excitement bubbling up inside me. I have my dream job—and my dream man. How did this even happen? I’m simply amazed.

“I’d do anything for my son and the woman he wants.” She rises out of the chair and straightens her skirt. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone to celebrate.”

As soon as the door closes behind her, Barclay envelops me in his arms, holding me so close, I can barely breathe. His lips skate over my neck, and I lean my head to the side, letting him have better access.

“How do you feel about fettuccine?” Barclay whispers in my ear.

“I love it,” I breathe as his hands slip under my skirt, approaching the danger zone.

“Great. There’s this little place in Philly that serves the best. I’m having it flown in tonight.”

“But there’s an Italian restaurant on every block here.”

“I only want the best for you.” He gazes down at me with heat in his eyes.

“Why are you spoiling me like this?” I ask, secretly loving how he treats me like a queen.

“It’s a long list.”

“Care to share?” I ask, curious to hear what he thinks about me.

“I’m in love with your smile and sweet innocence.” His lips skim my jawline, sending tingles over my skin.

“The way you twirl your hair when you’re nervous.” He nips at my earlobe, making me squirm in his arms.

“And the dark side of me craves your sinful body.” His fingers delve under the lace of my panties, finding the spot yearning for his touch.

“I’m in love with you, Tessa. All of you.”

He starts kissing over my cheeks, shushing me, and it’s then I realize his lips are wiping away my tears.

“I love you too,” I whisper, barely able to speak.

Fate doesn’t hate us after all.