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Full Chapter The Weight Within The Collective 2 Gwen Martin PDF
Full Chapter The Weight Within The Collective 2 Gwen Martin PDF
Gwen Martin
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THE WEIGHT WITHIN
GWEN MARTIN
Copyright © 2021-2023 by Gwen Martin
All rights reserved.
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright
owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain
other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, companies,
locales, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or
used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is
unintentional and co-incidental. The author does not have any control over and
does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their
content.
Cover Art: We Got You Covered Design
Dev Edit: EditElle
Copy Edit: EditElle, Adam Mongaya with Tessera Editorial
Final proof: Kathy Kozakewich
Beta Reader: Janine Cloud, Amy Schaffer
Model: Marx Chavez Photography
CONTENTS
Blurb
Trigger Warning
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
The Wisdom Within
Also by Gwen Martin
Contact and Follow
About the Author
BLURB
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵
𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦.
Tristan Edwards is clean cut, determined, and organized on the
outside, but on the inside he’s falling apart. After years of nonstop
travel for work, he’s assigned to open a new branch that could keep
him close to home with more job security. But when he learns this
coveted position is also up for grabs by another eligible candidate
and if Tristan can’t prove his executive position, his dream job may
fall into the hands of his dream man.
Kurt Holden is newly divorced, without a home, and in need of a
change. When a new position springs up, Kurt jumps at the chance
to start over in a new city as a new person. What he isn’t interested
in is falling into another relationship, but the more time he spends
with Tristan, it becomes impossible to ignore his attraction.
As both men face the decision to choose professional gain or
personal desire, Tristan and Kurt must learn to accept that carrying
the weight within doesn’t have to be done alone. The only question
is if they’re willing to take the risk or stay alone.
TRIGGER WARNING
Pavana Reddy
CHAPTER ONE
Kurt
On a glittery Tuesday afternoon, I finalized my divorce. Left alone in
the small, stuffy room at the lawyer’s office, I steepled my fingers
and stared at the bleeding ink of Sadie’s messy cursive pressed into
the stiff white paper. It appeared she also couldn’t wait for this to be
done.
Ten years of marriage. The last three of them spent in a death
spiral. All reduced to a pile of papers and a black hole of anger and
disappointment that now lived approximately where my heart had.
I steeled myself for the feeling of the floor crumbling beneath
me, but it didn’t happen. There was no crash and burn, no choked
sobs or dread for tomorrow. All I felt was the serenity of relief.
Outside the door, a group of employees passed by complaining
about working through their post-lunch slump. They didn’t even
bother to lower their voices. Here I was, a statistic, a passerby.
The thick fog I’d crawled through for the last six months blissfully
cleared. I didn’t have to tiptoe around my decisions and consider
how they would look in the divorce proceedings. The weight of
worry was gone.
But now I needed a new place to live.
The couch in Cole’s small condo did a number on my lower back
as a continuous reminder of the big four-oh closing in on the
horizon.
I snatched my phone off the table, fingers unconsciously logging
me into my bank account, keenly aware I’d set myself up for
disappointment. This twisted ritual had become my new bedmate in
a season of sleepless nights. All I had left were my pitiful few boxes
filled with my belongings that I’d shoved into a small storage unit.
After today’s bill, I’d barely have enough to cobble together a
deposit for even the most questionable apartment in the tech
triangle, and those had waiting lists over a year out. Sharp bitterness
settled on my tongue, and my stomach roiled at the taste.
I was homeless.
Several light knocks alerted me to my lawyer’s admin’s entrance,
her petite silhouette framed by the doorway, her dark hair encased
in the fluorescent glow of the hallway.
She’d apparently missed the memo on the office’s organizational
mission of indifference, her pity clear. I couldn’t stop how my nose
wrinkled in annoyance. That same pity followed me everywhere, a
rancid scent I couldn’t get rid of.
I may not have been able to control that I was two paychecks
away from bankruptcy, but I still had my pride. I stood and gathered
the papers, tucking them into my complimentary folder, its large gold
leaf emblem mocking me.
I worked the muscles of my lips into a tight smile. “Sorry for
overstaying. I lost track of time. Do you need the room?”
“No, there’s not another appointment for an hour.” She glanced at
my empty seat and said, “You can stay longer if you need to.”
With a shake of my head, I pitched an abandoned water bottle
into the nearby trashcan. I wondered if this was a part of the
exorbitant hourly rate—a client takes out most of their retirement
funds for a divorce and, as a parting gift, gets unlimited time in an
empty room to recuperate.
I trailed behind the admin through the long hallway, past a long
row of closed doors—a heated argument on the left, the whimpers
of someone’s agony on the right, and the murmurs of conversation
in between.
The admin returned to her desk, sliding her palm under her
pencil skirt as she sat down in the rolling office chair and resumed
typing. She offered a small smile and a quiet farewell, and I lifted
two fingers as I walked away, not bothering to look back.
Outside, July was an assault on the senses, the mixture of heat
and humidity making the sunbaked asphalt of the packed parking lot
the seventh circle of hell. A heat wave blanketed the Raleigh-
Durham area, and everyone was suffering.
I slapped my sunglasses on, headed to my car, and tried to
ignore the way my dress shirt clung to my skin as I looked down at
the pale outline where my wedding band once lived. My thumb
rubbed over the naked space and I squeezed my finger hard,
wincing. The worst part of this was over.
It was time to move on.
The Knight Rider theme song blared from my phone, interrupting
my moment of reflection. I pulled it out of my back pocket and
swiped my finger upward to accept the call.
“Please tell me the bathrooms flooded again and we need to
work from home for the rest of the week. I could use a siesta.”
“Hah, I wish,” Cole said, his voice tight. I waited for the daily
office-drama rundown from his countless pit stops at the water
cooler, but it didn’t come, which was code for bigger shit hitting the
fan. “I know you blocked out a few hours today because of your
meeting, but the new C-suite showed up early and brought along
some snobby, uptight sales guy I’ve never seen before. Do you know
if he was involved in the acquisition?”
Resting my phone against my shoulder, I unlocked my car and
did a mental review of the agenda emailed to me the day before.
“Not a damn clue. Our execs have been elusive since everything
went down, so I’m in the dark as much as you are. The meeting I’m
scheduled for is supposed to be an alignment meeting allegedly
intended to inform managers about the details of the new org chart,
but I smell bullshit.”
Cole hummed in agreement. “Then it might be in your best
interests to get here sooner rather than later. The guy didn’t
acknowledge anyone in the bullpen. Not getting good vibes from
him.”
“You never get good vibes about anyone. Present company
excluded, of course.”
“Set your expectations low and then when things go even
marginally okay, you’re happily surprised, is what my mother used to
say. Either way, this meeting is causing a lot of hubbub, which
means you need to get here quickly to grab insight on the enemy.”
I flung the folder onto the passenger seat, and the thick copy of
my divorce papers fluttered out of it, chaotically decorating the
entire half of the car in white. “They’re not the enemy anymore,
remember? The acquisition went through a week ago.”
Chatter from the bullpen faded out. “Jury’s still out about that.
For real, though, there are some rumors that have been going
around, and people are worried about redundancies between
departments,” Cole said, his hushed voice tinny, a signal he’d
sneaked into the bathroom. “People on our teams have to keep a
roof over their head too.”
I ran my hand over my mouth and nodded. Stress had been at
an all-time high after the acquisition, and the anxiety was spiking
gossip in the bullpen to dangerous levels. I needed a game plan on
how to manage this, and quick. “The best we can do is eliminate
panic and see what these people want. And Cole,” I said, my tone
sharp, silencing his interruption, “I hear you. People are scared. We’ll
figure it out, okay? I’m heading back now.”
Fifteen minutes later, walking into the bullpen’s eerie quiet was
unsettling. The usual laughter and banter had vanished, and as I set
my bag down at my desk, Cole rolled over and nodded to the
conference room. Enclosed in glass, it allowed everyone to get a
front-row seat for the show.
Men in tailored suits sat among our executive team, their upscale
attire a stark contrast to our leadership team’s business casual dress.
I half expected everyone to look serious and my coworkers to be on
guard, but they weren’t. They were laughing.
And they directed it at a man animatedly waving his hands
around in a circle, lips stretched over straight, bright-white teeth. His
deep blue suit looked like something out of the September issue of
Vogue, and his broad shoulders were rolled back, blond hair
delicately styled.
Who the hell was this guy?
I beelined to my desk and put my phone and keys in the corner
where an outline of dust from my wedding photo sat. Cole must’ve
removed it while I was back-to-back traveling to client sites and
juggling the divorce proceedings. I reached over, swiped away its
dusty evidence, and snatched a yellow pad and pen from an empty
desk. I refused to walk in with my dick in my hand.
Cole’s lips twisted to the side, and his eyes narrowed at the
conference room. “Everyone from the other company looks like they
hold lifelong memberships to the good ol’ boys’ club. Mr. Moneybags
looks like he’s fitting right in with them.”
We never saw our former CEO, and when we did, he’d never
engaged in a round of chuckles. Cole stepped closer, pressing a fist
into his open palm. “Be real with me. How do you feel about going
into the lion’s den?”
“Doesn’t matter what I feel,” I said, unbuttoning the sleeves of
my shirt and rolling them to my elbow, purposefully exposing the
collection of tattoos. Sadie always hated it when I did this, so I’d
forgone my usual style in the event I saw her at the lawyer’s office.
But tough shit if the new company didn’t like it. I pressed the
yellow pad to my chest and winced when the group let out another
raucous laugh. Blondie was apparently superb entertainment for all
the bigwigs. I rubbed my knuckle over the side of my nose. “I’ll be
back.”
Cole wiggled his fingers at me in a wave, eyes locked on the
meeting room. “Good luck. Come find me when you’re done and
spare no details.”
“Will do.” I weaved around the desk farm, edging closer to the
conference room, drawing the attention of the company’s C-suite to
me—everyone except Mr. Moneybags. Mr. Moneybags didn’t even
bother to acknowledge me.
He reached for his reading glasses on the table, slid them on,
and reviewed the papers in front of him as if I had never even
entered the room. I clutched the yellow pad tighter to my thigh. His
games weren’t new to me, so I smiled at everyone and waited.
“So, this festival you’ve presented today,” Mr. Moneybags said in
his gravelly voice. “It sounds all fine and well, but will it be worth
taking company money to help a bunch of families distract their kids
on a Saturday?”
He flicked his eyes to Blondie, whose shoulders rose a fraction,
and his jaw ticked. Moneybags had clearly hit a sore spot.
Interesting.
“Jeff, I understand your concerns, but events like this help build
our brand in the community as the company that cares—not just the
company trying to sell them something,” Blondie said. “These are
our future consumers: the business owners, the parents, and their
children. Our competitors aren’t doing this, so this day might not be
a contract day, but it is a chance to create that competitive edge.”
I narrowed my eyes at Blondie’s little speech. Oh great, an
“ideas” guy who believed he could charm the bigwigs. I needed to
be careful here or risk getting kicked to the curb.
Mr. Moneybags lifted his shoulder in a bored shrug. Then he
turned a sharp smile toward me that would make a lion retreat. His
entire demeanor reeked of impatience. I tucked my free hand in my
pocket to save myself from flipping him off and strolled casually to
stand behind an empty chair.
“Afternoon, everyone. Sorry I’m late. I had an appointment I
couldn’t reschedule.” I remained standing behind the empty chair
directly across from Blondie. He’d unbuttoned his suit after his
comedy show, and his once-polite smile gained an edge to it, like he
was studying prey. I lifted an eyebrow and held his gaze in
challenge, grinning in triumph when he turned away.
“No, no, you are right on time,” Jeff said with such forced
enthusiasm it was pathetic. “Kurt, this is Tristan Edwards, new
director of sales for our southeast region.”
Tristan rose, buttoned his suit jacket, and reached across the
table with his hand extended. I met him in the middle, and we
exchanged a solid shake, his fingers long enough to wrap around my
wrist. His blue eyes threw shards of ice at me, and I continued to
hold the uncomfortable stretch across the table, refusing to back
down.
Jeff cleared his throat, snapping us out of our standoff. I sat
down before he began his spiel, waving a hand at me dismissively.
“Kurt has been the senior manager of sales at this branch for a little
over…two years, is it?”
“Sounds about right,” I said, adjusting the chair to tilt back and
rest my head against the headrest, pressing the top of my pen
against my lips.
Tristan tracked my movements, and when I twitched my
eyebrows up once at him, he frowned, returning his focus to the
meeting.
“You actually showed at the perfect time, Kurt,” said a woman
from Tristan’s team, her clasped hands settled on top of her black
leather notebook. Her long, black hair was loosely curled, her suit
tailored to perfection. What was up with these people, and how did
they have money to eat?
“We’ve been going over the plans for our new regional location in
Knoxville,” the woman said, opening her portfolio and sliding a paper
to me. “Tristan has handled schedules and interviewed potential
candidates for the core team, and while its current state is bare
bones, we have several interested in relocation, along with a few
regional employees coming on-site twice a week.”
“Today’s goal is to discuss incentives we can employ to boost
company morale as we continue to expand the branch,” Tristan said,
taking in everyone’s agreement. He looked at me last, tilting his
head to the side, like he was doing me a favor by giving me an
invitation into the discussion.
I leaned an elbow on my chair arm, purposefully twisting to show
the ink on the inside of my forearm. Tristan’s eyes grazed over it, his
nose scrunching a little in obvious distaste. Jesus, I’d dealt with my
fair share of uptight pricks in this business, but this guy easily
ranked in the top five percent. “How many employees are we
targeting to have for Knoxville?”
“We want to have fifty reporting there overall, with a small team
on-site and the rest from the Raleigh-Durham location,” Tristan said.
“Plans are to expand to eighty the year after opening.”
“And how many are reporting on-site?”
Tristan jutted his chin up. “Almost a dozen. We have an extended
budget for incentive packages for relocation and salary adjustments
for cost of living. So far, the projections look promising.”
Ah, low risk up front, then a small ramp up to test the waters. It
was the exact thing I would’ve done. But there were other pressing
matters that needed to be addressed, which meant I needed to poke
a little harder and see where this would go.
“I applaud your focus on filling the positions internally for
relocations, but if this meeting is about company morale, there’s a
bigger issue not being addressed.” I made eye contact with everyone
in the room, keeping Tristan last. I couldn’t stop the thrill of
satisfaction at the way Tristan parted his lips and did a quick scan of
the room, a hairline fracture in his veneer of surety. I waited a
moment longer and leaned forward, pressing my palms together to
rest my chin on the tips of my fingers. “This company is new as a
midlevel enterprise, and our sales team is not even a quarter of
what yours is, which means we have a lot of reps worried about
employee retention post-merger.”
“What a brilliant observation, Kurt,” Jeff said, pointing at me with
a level of curated enthusiasm that meant this was a curveball no one
expected, a quintessential Mr. Moneybags move. I moved my hand
under the table and balled my fingers into a fist. It took everything I
had not to punch the phony smile off his face. “Which brings us to
the next topic of discussion. You’ve done an exceptional job making
this sales team the best in the southeastern region, and I believe
your sharp skills would be a wonderful fit in joining Tristan as a
codirector at the Knoxville location.” He paused and gave me a
smarmy smile, and I clenched my jaw to stop the urge to curl my lip
in a sneer at the bastard. “To even the workload.”
Tristan’s head shot up from where he’d been feverishly writing on
his legal pad, eyes bulging. His mouth opened and closed a few
times, like he suddenly forgot the entire English language. With a
quick recovery, he rubbed his fingers down the side of his jaw and
swallowed. “Oh, I-I was unaware we were looking to have two
directors on-site.”
“This is something we’ve decided to give a trial run. We want to
see how things work with two directors instead of one, especially
since the branch is still in its early stages.” Jeff did another wave of
his hand at the beginning of Tristan’s protest, like an elder would
wave away a pestering child. He looked at another older man, likely
a top dog in Tristan’s company, who nodded in happy agreement.
“We figured we’d give the trial about a month or so, then reassess to
see if two work better than one. If not, that’s what reassignment is
for. In the meantime, senior management will start work on the
salary increase and benefits.”
He looked at me expectantly and said, “That is, if Kurt accepts
the offer. Don’t want to put the cart before the horse.” Before I could
even answer, he barreled on. “But you have plenty of time to think
this over. We don’t need an answer today.”
I ran the tip of my tongue over the roof of my mouth. My
separation and divorce had thrust me into living out of a suitcase
and relying on shitty office coffee to get me through the long days
after the acquisition, and it wasn’t as if there was a home tethering
me to Raleigh. I was always an extra in the relationships Sadie took
time to cultivate, and my family was seven hundred miles away.
Nothing to lose and a whole lot to gain.
I clasped my hands behind my head, my gaze landing on Tristan
one last time. The corner of his mouth twitched down, and in return,
I gave an impish grin, not breaking eye contact as I said, “I guess
we better talk about my per diem, then.”
CHAPTER TWO
Tristan
An arrow of fire blazed under my skin, sending a jagged ripple down
my arms as the soles of my shoes pounded the concrete. My body
pleaded for mercy, but I refused to stop, pushing through the acidic
cramps in my muscles. I barely caught the ring of a biker’s bell as it
zoomed past me, whipping up a soft breeze in its wake.
“Tris, slow down.”
The torment in my brother Chance’s voice was distant and
muted. I tried to pull myself out of the darkness, but no matter how
hard I tried, I couldn’t rein in the uncontrolled monster awakened in
my mind, its angry demands relentless.
I wanted to stop it. I needed to lull it back to sleep. I’d never
have the strength to defeat it, but I could placate it enough to calm
its roars into murmurs. To buy myself time, I had to keep going.
A fist pounded into my shoulder, intense and brutal, skittering my
sweat-soaked shirt down my back. Spasms of pain delayed me long
enough to register the contact, the sting zipping down to my elbow.
Even in agony, I couldn’t tame the drums in my veins, undeterred by
my efforts. I kept running.
“Tristan, stop,” Chance said, my name gritted, like it took every
cell in his body to speak.
I was so close, the terrible somersaults in my chest slowing, and
soon I could talk. Without warning, the collar of my shirt cut deep
into my windpipe, and a sharp wheeze slammed out of me. I
stumbled into an awkward stop and hacked a cough, my clumsy feet
barely able to keep me upright. I wanted to throw up.
“Jesus Christ.” Chance stood beside me, bent over with his hand
still tangled in my shirt, and jerked me toward the grassy area of the
walking path. He squatted down and combed his fingers through the
wet strands of his brown hair, head hung low in defeat. When he
looked up at me, his face was crimson, sweat pouring down his
temples, naked bewilderment coloring his face. “What’s gotten into
you, huh? There a fire I missed?”
If failure was a fire, then I was stuck in an inferno.
I couldn’t tell Chance how there was no way the company set me
up with a codirector out of the goodness of their heart. They wanted
to see me fail and then laugh at my ineptitude. What if they put me
back on the road again, traveling for three weeks out of the month?
What if they chose Kurt to continue running operations here in
Knoxville? And in the aftermath, what would he do to my team?
What if. What if. What if.
Everything I’d worked so hard for, wasted. I cupped my hands
behind my neck and stared up at the trees’ pitiful attempt to protect
us. Sunlight baked into my skin through the foliage, the humid air
swollen and oppressive. Running through it was like ripping through
wet cotton. I didn’t care how far I could go. I only wanted the
thoughts to end.
Chance poked at my arm. I jolted and found him next to me with
his eyebrows raised, the curl of his lips a preface to his impending
demand for an answer. I sighed.
“Nothing’s going on. I didn’t get a lot of time to work out when I
was away.”
“You didn’t get to—” Chance scrubbed his hands over his face.
“That wasn’t a workout. That was a training session for the zombie
apocalypse. Did the pharmaceutical industry catch on to some new
pathogen you’re not telling me about?”
I unsnapped the bottle from my running belt and sprayed a long
gulp of water into my dry mouth. When I handed it over to Chance,
he took it with force, guzzled down the rest, and slapped it against
my chest, heading to the parking lot.
“I’m gonna tap out early since your mission today nearly sent me
into cardiac arrest,” Chance said as he rubbed a circle around his
chest. My legs shook from the exertion, but I couldn’t stop the jitters
deep in my bones. I still had to come up with a better plan for my
weekly one-on-one with my manager. I had to prove that I was the
best choice for this position.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Chance asked, concerned. “I can
practically see the smoke coming from your ears.”
I ran my fingertips down the side of my face and pressed into the
tight knot at the top of my jaw. “There’s just a lot going on with the
new branch.”
Chance hummed in question, stretching his arm over his chest,
and waited expectantly.
There was no getting out of this. With a fortifying breath, I said,
“The comanager of the branch with is a pain in the ass.”
“How so?”
That question was the proverbial sword swinging over my head,
the answer too raw to confess. Kurt Holden was the top performer at
his company by a significant margin, famous for being able to snag
all the accounts I’d only dreamed of, with the energy of a
powerhouse. He sauntered into that meeting last week with no
awareness of the agenda I’d spent several days meticulously
perfecting and ripped it apart with his easygoing, sorry excuse of
business casual.
He stood against an entire table of executives without batting a
single eyelash, and I’d lost control of the court in a matter of
minutes.
“He doesn’t understand structure,” I said, planting a hand on a
park bench to stretch my leg. “There’s a lot of moving parts involved
in all of this, especially since our company bought his, and I’ve been
busting my ass to prove that I can lead it. He’s the type that will try
to mix things up for laughs, and I don’t need him muddying it up.”
Chance hummed and tapped his bottom lip with his thumb.
“Maybe he won’t, though. Some of the best ideas I get are from my
crew. One guy came up with this design for a deck we installed last
week that I never would’ve thought about. The client loved it.” He
dropped his hand. “Maybe you should give the guy a chance.”
We turned the corner toward the busy playground. Children ran
around in circles, screaming directions to each other and running
toward a piece of equipment. A little boy tripped on the ground, and
his father came over to swoop him up, holding the crying child in his
arms. A bittersweet longing tugged at my insides, a phantom ache
to accompany the twinge of my muscles. I turned away.
“It’s fine,” I said, not wanting to talk about Kurt any longer. I
fished my keys out of my back pocket, desperate to change the
subject. A drop of sweat splattered on the face of my watch as I
checked the time. I wiped it carefully over my hip, my nose
scrunched at the prospect of it being dirtied. “You better get going if
you want to be on time for your dinner party.”
Chance leaned on the passenger door of Duncan’s truck without
a lick of eagerness. The truck was covered in the remnants of spring
pollen, I cringed and worked hard to stop myself from pulling him
away.
My best friend was rubbing off on him.
“We’re driving separately,” Chance said, resting his head against
the window. “Duncan won’t mind if I’m a bit late.”
“It’s the annual employee dinner for the co-op. You should be
there on time.”
Chance squinted at me, gaze challenging. I knew I was risking an
argument by blowing him off, and as a rumble of tension stirred
inside me, I stiffened my shoulders, prepared for one of Chance’s
acerbic slaps about schedules. He’d come so far in the last couple of
years with his bipolar diagnosis. But it was hard to turn off the
persistent worry that one day I’d get that phone call from the
hospital telling me that he attempted to end his life again.
“Duncan will understand. He knows how important this is for me
to stay balanced,” Chance said and kicked his heel onto the ground.
He still had a hard time talking about those rough days when he
couldn’t leave the house. I knew he was still working on it, but it
broke my heart that he felt ashamed around me.
But knowing he had Duncan to lean when those days came up
eased the pain a little bit. There were parts of Chance that only
Duncan witnessed, but he was fiercely in love with Chance as
Chance was with him and I trusted that he’d tell me if anything got
too bad.
I geared up to apologize when his eyes lit up a bit and he asked,
“Hey, you wanna join? Duncan would be jazzed to see you.”
I shook my head. “No, I have a lot of things I need to get ready
for this week.”
Chance pushed himself off the truck, pulled me into a hug, and
slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t go home and work all
evening,” he said in my ear before he pulled away and headed to the
truck. “You’ll put yourself into an early grave.”
“Not my first rodeo, bud,” I said and pushed my car’s unlock
button. “I just need to get the week set up, and Duncan will kill me
if I don’t keep up all the work he did on my garden while I was
traveling back and forth to Raleigh.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Chance muttered as he walked away. “Just
get to bed at a decent hour, okay?”
I waited until he was gone before I slumped into my seat,
exhaling a long breath. The run had barely scratched the surface of
the itch under my skin, and by morning, I’d need to do something
before heading into the office. I grabbed my phone to check when
the rock climbing gym opened and was immediately bombarded by
notifications in SalesForce.
Questions flooded the chats about process and management:
What was the projected reporting structure with the addition to
management? How would the team be handling the opportunities
and pipeline reporting? Did we have automated follow-ups post-
closing? Who gets credit for sales between multiple divisions of a
single company? There was even a comment suggesting activities
they’d like to take part in to build team morale.
All from Kurt.
I clenched my phone. This information was available in the
company wiki that I’d spent overtime implementing with IT. A simple
search and he’d be able to find the answers. But it was clear he
didn’t want to find the answers on his own. He was doing this to see
if I was qualified and educated enough about the company.
It was a test.
I opened the group messenger to navigate him to the wiki.
Surely someone on the team would tell him about it, and I half
expected to see several responses saying that.
That didn’t happen. Everyone praised Kurt for his inquiries. He
even took it upon himself to open a new chat channel so that the
team could bounce ideas off each other for weekly group activities
they’d like to do.
He didn’t even contact me to discuss this, just went about it like
he was the only one directing this branch. I went to send a personal
DM, primed to type a lengthy message about showing synergistic
companionship when someone is in a leadership role.
I found a message from Kurt.
I’ve scheduled the meeting for us tomorrow. This will be
a good exercise in figuring out ways to have the team gel.
You’re more than welcome to attend the party if you can
manage it. Not sure how you feel about casual business
attire, but it’s recommended.
If I could manage it? Did he think I had never run a meeting
before? Our first meeting was with the entire C-suite of the
company. And what the hell was that comment about my business
attire? I carefully set the phone down and scrubbed a hand over my
face so I wouldn’t chuck my phone across the car. This jerk wasn’t
worth a pesky insurance claim.
If Kurt Holden didn’t believe I could handle the team, he was in
for a rude awakening tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER THREE
Kurt
Tuesday morning greeted me with a meeting invite from Tristan that
he’d sent at six thirty that morning. Through sleep-blurry eyes I
squinted at the time stamp, certain I’d read it wrong. Who willingly
woke that early to work when our region was in the same time
zone?
He also set the meeting for eight thirty, an ungodly time to talk
business. With a tired sigh, I chugged my coffee, tiptoed carefully
around the moving boxes stacked in the apartment’s kitchen, and
rushed to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.
If I was going to make it to this impromptu meeting, I’d have to
leave now.
I snatched my keys and wallet off the box near the front door,
accepting the invite as I locked the door. I was still getting used to
the unfamiliar hallways, nearly missing the turn to the elevator as
my phone chimed with a message.
It was from Tristan.
What’s your ETA? We can’t afford for this meeting to run
over.
I ignored the message and tucked my phone into my back
pocket, a spike of irritation burning in my chest. What the hell was
up with this guy?
Once I made it to my car, the drive to the office only took five
minutes, a logistical move on the company’s part, especially since
they were footing the bill for my room and board. Even the furniture
wasn’t mine.
When I parked, I closed my eyes and imagined paddling alone
down a calm river, the heat of the sun on my skin. My phone dinged
again, tugging me out of my daydream, and without reading the
notification, I turned the volume down and dragged myself into the
building.
Only one section of lights was on in the deserted bullpen. I’d
barely just set my keys down on my desk when a deep voice in front
me said, “You’re late.”
I bent over my desk, opening my laptop and typing in my
password. “And here I thought I was right on time.”
The soles of Tristan’s shoes echoed in the room, swallowed up by
the exposed rafters. He maintained a distance, but I could still see
his outline in my peripheral, felt his magnifying gaze watching every
move I made.
It was like being picked apart under a microscope. It likely was a
test to see who would break first, but I gave in and found him with
his arms crossed over his chest. He’d styled his blond hair in its
usual impeccable form that somehow managed not to look overdone
with product, and his dress shirt was pressed so stiff it looked as if
it’d been soaked in starch. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the
critically demeaning look in his eyes.
I poked my tongue into the corner of my lower lip to abate the
sneer that threatened to surface as Tristan’s eyes slid down my body
in careful examination. “You should change your attire to reflect your
role.”
I looked down at my black button-down, the sleeves rolled to my
elbows. I had yet to locate my dress pants, and since we didn’t have
scheduled visits with clients soon, I’d opted for a pair of dark, form-
fitting khakis. It wasn’t the chic, bespoke suit that Tristan chose, but
it fit the requirements.
“Never had an issue before.”
Tristan tilted his head to the side, and the corner of his eyes
twitched like he was working very hard not to roll them. He schooled
his face into a blank look. “There’s an issue now.”
I raised an eyebrow and grinned sardonically. “You know, I’ve
never had anyone this interested in my body before. Must’ve missed
it in the management section of the employee handbook.”
This time Tristan rolled his eyes as he wiggled his arm upward,
shirtsleeve sliding backward to unearth an impressive watch on his
wrist. “I want to have this meeting before our team stand-up.” He
opened the door to the conference room. It was small and could fit
no more than three people, but it was also the only one that had a
large window looking out at the bullpen. I chose it for that purpose.
“And we only have five minutes until they get here.”
“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to hold up the team with our
lack of punctuality,” I said, emphasizing the we and swallowed a
laugh as Tristan’s eyebrows made a slow climb up to his hairline. I
waved an upturned hand to the conference room. “Lead the way.”
Tristan spun on his heel, and I followed, bumping the door closed
with my shoulder. He sat in a chair opposite me, a position he
always staked out just so he could get a full view of the bullpen
through the large window. He kept his back ramrod straight, blue
eyes following my path as I sat down in front of him.
I watched his index finger tap the table for several beats before I
looked up at him and asked, “What did you want to talk about?”
“You posted a list of questions in SalesForce to the team,” he
said, lips pursed in obvious annoyance. “All of those questions are
Another random document with
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East. At Pao-Ting Fu, where women were said to have suffered
indescribable brutalities before being slain, investigation by
an American military officer convinced him that "there is no
evidence of any peculiar atrocities committed upon the persons
of those who were slain"; and the American Board of
Commissioners for Foreign Missions has publicly announced:
"While forced to believe that our missionaries in Shan Si and
at Pao Ting Fu were put to death by the Chinese, we have never
credited the published reports concerning atrocities connected
with their slaughter."
The following order was sent by cable from the War Department
at Washington to General Chaffee, commanding the United States
forces in China, on the 15th of March: "In reply to your
telegram Secretary of War directs you complete arrangements
sail for Manila with your command and staff officers by end
April, leaving as legation guard infantry company composed of
150 men having at least one year to serve or those intending
re-enlist, with full complement of officers, medical officer,
sufficient hospital corps men and, if you think best, field
officer especially qualified to command guard. Retain and
instruct officer quartermaster's department proceed to erect
necessary buildings for guard according to plan and estimates
you approve."
----------CHINA: End--------
CHINESE TAXES.
CHING, Prince:
Chinese Plenipotentiary to negotiate with the allied Powers.
CHITRAL: A. D. 1895.
The defense and relief of.
CHITRAL:A. D. 1901.
Included in a new British Indian province.
{145}
CONFLICTS IN CRETE.
CHUNGKING.
{146}
"Early [in 1898] after time had been allowed for the act to
prove its capabilities in practice, steps were taken toward
commencing a suit to test its constitutionality in the courts.
… Pending the bringing of a test suit, a bill was prepared for
the Association and introduced in the Legislature on March
16th, last, one of the features of which was the repeal of the
unsatisfactory law. … The bill … was passed by the Senate on
March 29th. On the 31st, the last day of the session, it was
passed by the Assembly. … On the same date it was signed by
the Governor and became a law. This act has the effect of
exempting the cities from the operation of the act of 1897,
restoring the former competitive system in each of them."
{148}
{149}