The Good Girl

  The Good Girl

  By Tracy Reed

  Copyright © 2015 by Tracy Reed

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, business establishments, event or locals is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  Cover Image

  Mayer George/Shutterstock.com

  To my first loves

  God

  Mommy and Dad

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to the Fling Box Set Writers for asking me to be a part of a wonderful project. This invitation, led me to Gabriella and Phillippe.

  Thanks to my Editor Jeanne Cadeau and eFormatter L.K. Campbell.

  About the Author

  Tracy is a woman who loves God, Cute Guys and Fashion. Sometimes those last two things fight for second place, when there’s a great designer sale.

  She calls herself a partial New Yorker due to the two and half years she lived there. She refers to her books as Edgy Christian Fiction with real characters in real life situations. Like her characters, she’s a small business owner waiting on that one cute guy, who loves God and understands her love of fashion.

  To learn more about Tracy and her books go to

  www.readtracyreed.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gabriella

  I CONSIDER MYSELF TO BE smart. After all, I got my Bachelor's degree in three years, thanks to no social life, Summer school, and an extra load of classes. While my classmates were going to parties and football games, I was going to my internship.

  I was fortunate to intern at Morgan Grant Holdings my senior year. I really like the company and the people. However, when I graduated and applied for a position, the only thing available was a Floating Assistant. I took it, because I know the company’s policy is to promote from within. My parents don’t understand why I’m so desperate to work for this company. I honestly don’t understand it either. All I know is, it just feels right.

  Morgan Grant has branches all over the world. I’m hoping wherever I land, I’ll have the opportunity to travel and really make an impact. Since I’ve been floating, I’ve worked in nearly every department at their San Francisco headquarters.

  I look at my job as a very long training program. During my internship, I was relegated to Mergers and Acquisitions. I liked the high powered energy and seeing deals go from inception to birth. However, as a floater, I loved the two weeks I was in Advertising. The creative energy there is like a drug. I love how they function as a group. If given the choice, that’s where I’d like to be. Advertising works with all the departments and subsidiaries in all the offices. Creativity and travel…that’s what I want. Until then, I’ll keep floating and interviewing.

  The Director of Human Resources called me early this morning, requesting I report to her office immediately for a special assignment. I quickly got dressed and headed to work.

  I walked into her office and sat down. She handed me a card with only an office number. Before she could give me instructions, her computer dinged and she looked at the screen. After reading the screen, she grabbed her head, started typing and told me to go to the office upstairs and someone would give me details.

  I took the elevator up to the twenty-third floor to the office number on the card. I’ve never worked on the Senior Executive floor. Most of the offices on this floor belong to the “big boys”…at least that’s what I’ve heard.

  The elevator stopped, the doors opened and my mouth dropped open. It was beautiful. It didn’t look like an office, but like someone’s luxurious living room. I looked around for a receptionist, but didn’t see one. Maybe that’s what I was going to be doing. I looked down at the card and it said twenty-three forty-two. I looked around and there were three doors. I searched for twenty-three forty-two and spotted the brushed steel numbers on the wall next to a hall. I walked down the long hall and stopped at the door marked, twenty-three forty-two.

  I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I turned the knob and the door opened. I walked inside and looked around the beautifully decorated black and white office with a view of the city. None of the spaces I’ve worked in had a window. Most of the offices with windows were reserved for executives. I thought to myself, “Whoever works in here probably prefers working at night with the lights of the city casting a sense of calm.”

  The walls were painted a beautiful glossy dark black. The white lacquered Parsons desk fit perfectly in the black and white space. However, the desk chair seemed out of place. It was as if whoever decorated the space forgot the assistant needed a chair, and grabbed the first thing they saw in storage. In front of the desk were two French-style arm chairs painted black with wide black and white stripe fabric. The only things on the desk were a vintage-style brass lamp, a telephone, large Apple iMac, MacBook Pro, iPad, and an iPhone. Seemed someone went a little crazy at the Apple Store. There was also two back-up drives and about a dozen jump drives. This was definitely the big leagues.

  Behind the desk, was a white lacquered credenza with a huge arrangement of white lilies, art books, candles, a black tray with mineral and flat water, napkins with the company logo, jars of mixed nuts, pretzels, and black and white M&Ms. In the corner, was a small black velvet settee with black and white striped pillows like the chairs. Also, a small brass and glass coffee table with a stack of art books, a small arrangement of white roses, a very modern brass floor lamp, and a black and white geometric print rug.

  The office was beautiful and unlike any of the ones downstairs. I looked around and thought how cool it would be to work in this space permanently. I sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk and waited for someone to appear.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang. I looked around and no one appeared, and the phone stopped ringing. A few minutes later it rang again, so I answered it. “Hello, Morgan Grant.” I didn’t know whose office it was so I played it safe. I knew I could always transfer the call to the right department.

  “Great, you’re there. I need you to familiarize yourself with the leases for the D.C., Atlanta, Charlotte, and Dallas offices. Also, get the number of employees. I need to know if there are any open positions, and if so, how many. Call Estella in Human Resources and tell her what you need. Then, make a list of the top three commercial real estate brokers in London and Paris.”

  He was speaking so quickly, I never got a chance to tell him that whoever he was trying to reach wasn’t there. I put the call on speaker, got my phone and recorded everything he was saying while jotting down whatever I could catch. I wanted to make sure I relayed the information correctly to whomever the office belonged to.

  “Then go to Brockman’s, ask for Cameron and pick up the things he has for me. Tony will pick you up tomorrow and bring you to the airport.”

  “When the assistant arrives, who should I say called?”

  “Phillippe. Don’t tell me I just gave all that to the receptionist. Human Resources said my assistant was in her office.”

  “I’m sorry, but no one was here when I arrived. I’m waiting on someone to give me instructions for my next assignment.”

  “What did Human Resources tell you?”

  “There was an emergency. Then I was handed a card with this office number and told to report here for my next assignment.”

  He sighed. “Are you Ga
briella Townsend?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Phillippe Marchant, you’ll be working with me.”

  “For how long?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Usually, when I start an assignment, I’m also told the duration.”

  “This isn’t a temp job. You’ve been hired to work with me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t…”

  “It’s not your fault. I’ll deal with Human Resources. I’m in Seattle putting out a fire. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Click.

  I pressed the STOP button on my phone recorder and looked around my office. All my hard work and patience had paid off. I jumped up and down doing the happy dance in my office. I walked over and sat on my settee, my chairs and touched everything in my office.

  I finally sat down in the odd desk chair and sighed. This is perfect. It’s decorated exactly how I would have done it. “Wow, thank you God.” I collected myself and got to work.

  Just as I was about to head out to Brockman’s, my phone rang. I picked it up and answered, “Phillippe Marchant’s office.”

  “Gabriella.”

  Now that I know this is my office, I took the time to really listen to his voice. It was deep and sounded like smooth port wine. “Yes, sir.”

  “First of all, it’s Phillippe.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean Phillippe.”

  “Call James Marshall’s office. His number is in the Contacts on your computer. Let them know we’ll be attending the gala and that I’ll give James the check when I meet with him.”

  “Is there anyone else I need to inform about the party?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said us.”

  “Crap. Is there a black folder on your desk?”

  “No.”

  “Go into my office and look on my desk.”

  “Hold on.”

  I walked over to the sliding wood door across from my desk, and pulled it back. My mouth dropped open again for the second time today. In the almost two years I’ve worked here, I’ve never seen an office like this one. It’s not an office, but a loft. The very masculine scent greeted me at the door…tobacco, musk, leather and something spicy I can’t name.

  The walls were the same color black as the ones in my office, but in a flat finish. In the far left corner was a lounge area with a large black leather sofa, a couple of oversized brown leather club chairs, and a large square distressed wood coffee table with a large art book opened to a page on vintage cars. To the left of the door were shiny black bookcases filled with books, albums and a vintage record player.

  In the other corner, was a large rectangular dark wood table with eight square black leather and brass chairs around it. Above the table, was a cool vintage light fixture expanding the length of the table. An antique brass open shelving unit was on the wall facing the conference table. On the wall above the shelving unit was a large, round mirror. An incredible plaster and iron sculpture sat on top of the shelving unit.

  I stepped inside and the view of San Francisco took my breath away. The wall facing the conference table was floor to ceiling windows…a billionaire’s view. I looked around and finally cast my attention on the large, sleek and shiny black lacquered desk. It looked more like art than a desk. The only things on it were a large Apple iMac, a telephone, a couple of black lacquer trays, and a small tray filled with black Montblanc pens and black old school pencils. The chair seemed out of place in front of the desk. It was black velvet, with a feminine shape to it.

  It was clear Phillippe was an art lover. There were interesting pieces accessorizing the space. The large black and white print on the wall behind the desk was my favorite…a pair of hands. It was simple and dramatic. Instead of a light cluttering the desk, there was a cool, bubble bulb chandelier hanging over the desk. Behind the desk was a black vintage credenza with a tray of bottled water, glasses, napkins and three glass canisters…one with mixed nuts, one with black and white M&Ms and one with pretzels. I see Mr. Marchant likes to snack, which explains the identical set up in my office.

  I walked up to the desk and inside one of the trays was a black folder with “Gabriella” written on it. I picked up the folder and went back to my office.

  “I have it.”

  “Do you see an itinerary?”

  I opened the folder and thumbed through the pages searching for the document. “No.”

  “Crap! I’m sorry. This thing in Seattle caught me off guard. You and I will be visiting the offices I asked you to get information on before coming home. After a brief break, we’ll be heading to London and Paris to look for new office space. We have to attend the Marshall Pediatrics Spring Gala while we’re in Charlotte. I apologize for throwing all of this on you at the last minute. Do you need a couple of extra hours to get packed?”

  Couple of hours? How about a couple of days! The last time I had on an evening gown, was the prom. “That would help.”

  “If you need a dress, when you go to Brockman’s tell Cameron I said to fix you up with whatever you need.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I insist. Consider it my way of apologizing for the crazy first day.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at three.”

  “Bye.”

  Phillippe

  She probably thinks I’m the worst boss in the world. I hope she doesn’t regret working with me. Truth is, when I read her resume, I was very impressed and didn’t need to meet with her. Anyone with her intelligence willing to work as a floater until something becomes available, understands what it means to work here. She has the kind of loyalty I want on my team.

  Tony’s security check didn’t turn up anything for me to be concerned about which pleased me even more. I would, however, have preferred someone a couple of years older, but her dedication to the company convinced me to give her a chance.

  I hope she likes her office. I worked closely with my decorator to make sure it was filled with things she liked. Tony is thorough in his research. How he found out her favorite colors was beyond me. It was perfect that we have very similar tastes, because it makes for a cohesive work environment. Her love of art was one of the other reasons I hired her. We’ll be doing a lot of traveling and I like visiting museums and art galleries. It will be nice to have someone I can share that with.

  First things first, I’ve got to get this company healthy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gabriella

  I WENT TO BROCKMAN’S AND met Cameron, my new best friend. He informed me my new boss is a wonderful man with impeccable taste. Phillippe failed to mention that the bags I was picking up were two black Gucci duffles and a matching garment bag filled with things for our trip. Apparently, there’s no time for him to go home before we leave.

  The gowns Cameron pulled were incredible. Sure, Phillippe told me the dress was his way of apologizing, but he really hadn’t done anything worth that gorgeous fuchsia jersey Donna Karan that fit me like a glove.

  When I tried to object, Cameron insisted. He said, “Mr. Marchant told me to take care of you and not to let you leave without something you loved. He said he needs you to feel confident, because it’s an important event for Morgan Grant.”

  After hearing that statement, I shut up and let him work his magic. I had a beautiful evening gown and accessories when he finished. To celebrate my new job, I treated myself to a couple of things off the sale rack…a simple black DVF wrap dress and a black Theory pants suit. I told Cameron I needed to save up for the black Donna Karan suit, but it sure looked good on me.

  After I spoke with Phillippe the first time, I called my mother and told her about my new job. When he called again about my traveling with him, I called her back. Once she stopped screaming, she said, “I’ll get my suitcases.”

  It was eight thirty when I got home and I still had to pack. I opened the front door and walked inside with my arms full. “Mom,” I called out. No answer. “Mom,” I called again.

  “I’m
in your room.”

  I went upstairs and on my bed were two of my mom’s suitcases. One was filled with my lingerie and a pharmacy of toiletries. “What’s going on?”

  “I picked up a few necessities and packed your good lingerie. I also got you a new robe, pajamas and slippers. What’s that?” she said, pointing to the bags.

  “I bought a dress and a suit.”

  “And the long garment bag?” She walked over and unzipped the bag. “Oh Gabby, this is beautiful.” She looked at the label. “Donna Karan. Why did you buy an evening gown?”

  “I didn’t. My boss did. Besides, it’s for work.”

  “Tell me more about this job and Phillippe Marchant. I couldn’t find any pictures of him on the internet. It’s like he’s a ghost.”

  I continued packing as I answered her question. “He’s new with the company and this trip has to do with some of the corporate building leases.”

  “I see. Is he single or married?”

  “I don’t know, and how is that relevant to my job?”

  “What exactly are you going to be doing?”

  “The usual Assistant duties.”

  “Since when did wearing an expensive evening gown and international travel become usual Assistant duties?”

  “We have to attend a charity gala as representatives of Morgan Grant.” Now wasn’t the best time to tell her I’ve yet to meet my new boss. Nor was it a wise thing to let her know my internet search wasn’t any better than hers.

  “Uh-huh…you sure that’s all?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It sounds like he may have hired you for…” She raised an eyebrow. “You know…”

  “What mom?”

  “Baby, you’re a very intelligent young woman, but when it comes to men, especially men who are…just make sure one of your duties isn’t to be his bed buddy.”