Ties

Chapter Eight

Everyone in the office is completely unsettled. I do my best, trying to keep the atmosphere and daily events routine—business as usual. The entire day has been a series of stares and speculating whispers from employees wanting to know what's going to happen.

Many of the single, even married, women crowd around, gossiping about the ridiculously handsome Chaz. I maintain composure, reminding them we are all professionals. He won't be here for eye candy. I dread him coming in, upsetting the balance.

William was incredibly attractive as well, for an older man. He kept his personal life just that, personal. Bill was professional—I can already tell his son is not. He came into the office maybe once a week over the last two years, always only a phone call away, but ready to pass the reins.

I reassure everyone—myself included—that the business will stay status quo. And I absolutely have to continue stressing to myself what Alice told me; he's not that bad. Though, I'm plagued with a bothersome tinge of nerves, you know, the ones that make you picture all kinds of inappropriate things. While I may be a fierce businesswoman, I'm also single. And I have eyes.

Anyway, I blame myself for that. Well, I blame Google. I should've never looked him up before I met him. Something in my gut tells me he might be that bad, and then some.

Alice sees the best in people. She assured me he'd do the right thing, declaring he isn't as cold-hearted as he acts.

I walk the two blocks to the restaurant, convincing myself to remain calm, to trust her insight. And I put my most valiant effort forth to not dwell on the fact that he told me—promised me—that in a few days I wouldn't be running shit.

With a deep breath, I wipe my sweaty palms on my top, hoping to chill my nerves. I had settled on fairly casual attire, wanting to appear professional, but not as if I'm trying too hard. Nothing too revealing. This is business. Strictly business.

Before I round the corner, to the block Harvest is located, I smooth my black skirt and adjust the high neckline of my blouse. With a glance at my reflection in a store window, I remind myself that I can do this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Parker James, reservation for one-thirty," I inform the hostess at the podium out front. Most places take advantage of outdoor dining on a nice spring day—light breeze, not too hot—but I'd rather avoid distractions. I search the mostly empty area to see if Chaz... Charles... Mr. Mayer is here yet.

Nope.

"Right, this way." An extended arm accompanies her tight-lipped smile, directing me to one of the tables in front of the building.

"Inside would be best."

"Sorry," she apologizes, setting two menus next to each other on the small surface. "This is all we have."