Chapter Two

Mackenzie “Kenzie” Bryant rolled the tape gun along the top of the box to seal it shut and then plopped to the floor in exhaustion. The last of her beloved aunt Franny’s belongings were being picked up by a local women’s shelter. She’d kept the items that held sentimental value and donated the rest. It’d taken longer than she expected but the finish line was in sight.

She glanced around the room Franny called home the last few months. She’d purchased it new and had barely moved in before a ruptured aneurysm took her life much too soon. Kenzie hadn’t found the time to visit her in her new condo yet. She’d been so busy in New York City and figured there was always time to stop by later. Only there wasn’t.

She fought back the tears that threatened. She’d cried buckets already. It was hard to accept that Franny was gone. She’d been so full of life. Knowing she’d never get to see her again, spend time with her, was a pain she’d live with the rest of her life. It’d been Franny who raised Kenzie after both of her globetrotting parents were killed by a suicide bomber while touring some exotic location in the Middle East. Kenzie had been bunking with Franny when it happened and suddenly her temporary stay became permanent.

She loved her aunt and wished she’d been able to spend more time with her before her unexpected death. It’d been her neighbor LaTonya Stanton who called Kenzie to deliver the news. Franny suffered with a nagging headache and LaTonya was finally able to convince her to go to the doctor. She was dead a day later.

Pushing to her feet, she grabbed the lukewarm bottle of water from the kitchen counter and took a drink. Most of the furniture had already been wheeled out for donations. She’d left the brand-new sofa and the king-sized mattress in the bedroom upstairs. She was in no hurry to leave and wanted a place to sit and sleep.

Truth be told, she had nowhere to go. She could head back to her tiny one room walk up in Tribeca on the lower west side of Manhattan. Her lease wasn’t up for another three months. But she’d be going back without a job.

Mackenzie Francis Bryant was officially a casualty of the #MeToo movement.

Replacing the cap on the empty bottle, she tossed it in the recycle bin. Oh, the human resources personnel had been specific, stating—in writing—that it wasn’t her complaint that led to her being given the boot. The official explanation was that her job as senior editor with Pickens Publishing had been “phased out.” They were downsizing, she was told. Cuts had to be made and as difficult as the decision had been, her neck was the one on the chopping block.

They could spin it however they wanted, but the real reason she was terminated was because she’d finally had enough of the constant groping, salacious innuendos and unabashed sexual harassment from her boss Jared and she filed a formal complaint. That Jared was the son of J. Randolph Pickens, the founder of the company, was a humongous strike against her, but she didn’t care. She’d become adept at fending off his advances and drunken gropes. But the last straw had been when they met with a potential client at a restaurant. The man was a former high-ranking staff member of a prominent senator and promised to deliver bombshell revelations from a first-hand account. Her specialty was the mystery/suspense genre, not autobiographies, but Jared had insisted she attend the meeting to woo the prospective author who’d personally requested her services. She’d been stuck sitting beside Jared in a booth. He made his boldest advance yet by sliding his hand up her skirt and grabbing her crotch. Startled by the move, she froze. Then rage bubbled up and she channeled her inner Shiloh Storm, slamming her elbow into his solar plexus. The action upended a table full of drinks—right into the prospective client’s lap.

Shiloh or Storm as she was known, was Kenzie’s alter ego. Storm was a kickass private investigator created by one of her authors, Stuart Ellis. She’d always suspected Stuart had a crush on her. He was a nice guy and incredibly talented, but she wasn’t the least bit attracted to him. Thankfully, her agency enforced a strict policy against fraternizing with the clients. When he came to her with his idea for a new series starring a female PI who was tough and fearless, she’d thought it sounded like a great idea. When he forwarded the first few chapters, she recognized the parallels in his fictional character and her own attributes. Storm was five foot five, one hundred fifteen pounds with long black hair and icy blueish gray eyes. That’s where the similarities ended. Storm was unabashedly arrogant, extremely competent and afraid of nothing or no one. Though she was uncomfortable with Stuart basing Storm’s looks on her, the more she read, the more she realized it would be a huge hit. Despite Storm’s take charge personality, she was exceedingly likable and people would root for her and—more importantly in the book-selling business—would pick up the next novel to see what kind of trouble she could find and how she would undoubtedly get out of the situation.

When Stuart asked her to pose for the cover, she’d gently refused, using the “against company policy” argument. Somehow Jared found out about the request and insisted she accept. “It’s for the good of the company, Kenzie,” he claimed. He scheduled a photo shoot with one of the top photographers in New York, and on a sunny Tuesday afternoon on the rooftop of Pickens Publishing, Kenzie Bryant transformed into Shiloh Storm.

Buzz for the book had been electric so the agency created a massive public relations blitz to promote the upcoming release. That meant posters plastered all over the city and even a billboard in Times Square, all featuring Storm, aka Kenzie.

Now on the third book, the series was a gigantic success and she was recognized from time to time as Storm. She posed for pictures and signed autographs, all the while feeling like a giant fraud. She was no more Storm than her next-door neighbor’s yapping Chihuahua was Underdog. She’d been part of the team that sold the rights to a Hollywood studio where they were now in the process of bringing Storm to the big screen. Soon an A-list actress would take her place as the face of Storm and she’d be forgotten.

After Jared’s clandestine groping beneath the table, she stalked out of the restaurant and headed directly to the human resources department. Fern, the friendly HR manager, acted offended on Kenzie’s behalf, promising to file the complaint immediately. Kenzie signed the papers and walked out of the office, feeling a sense of power for standing up to her tormentor. She’d wanted to go out and celebrate but she had few friends in the city other than coworkers, and Fern asked her to keep the complaint confidential until action was taken. That meant no pictures of her middle finger on her Instagram page with the MeToo hashtag.

She’d gone to bed feeling empowered. When she woke up and checked her phone, she had a text to meet in Fern’s office as soon as she arrived. She was almost giddy with excitement knowing Jared was finally getting his comeuppance. After dressing in her favorite Dolce and Gabbana power suit with a pinstripe blazer and matching pants that she picked up for a steal at a second-hand shop, she fastened her long hair into a classic updo and finished the look with her mother’s diamond earrings.

The subway ride that she usually dreaded passed quickly and she arrived at the office ten minutes early. The first warning sign she had was when the corporate attorney entered the lobby behind her and beelined for Fern’s office. She assumed he was here to make sure everything was handled professionally. She was right.

The second warning sign—the one that caused alarms to jangle in her brain—was seeing J. Randolph Pickens in Fern’s office as well. He stood with his back against a bookcase, his arms crossed over his chest. At sixty-five with a full head of silver hair and piercing brown eyes, he was still a formidable man. Kenzie’s knees started to shake.

Bernadette Weldon was also in attendance. She was the second in command beneath Mr. Pickens. Kenzie wasn’t sure she’d ever cracked a smile in her life. She was almost as intimidating as the head honcho. There would be no girl power fist bumps from her today. Or ever.

“Have a seat, Ms. Bryant.” Fern indicated a leather chair in front of her desk. As she perched on the edge, she felt distinctly disadvantaged and ganged up on with Bernadette, the lawyer and Mr. Pickens all standing and staring at her from the other side of the desk. Fern sat in her chair and seemed inordinately occupied with something in front of her.

“Alfred Holt signed with Page-Turning Books,” Mr. Pickens drawled, his southern accent thick as molasses this morning.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured, though she wasn’t surprised. Dumping several glasses of prime scotch into his lap wasn’t the best impression she could make. Still, she didn’t regret what she’d done. Jared probably thought she wouldn’t make a scene, so he was free to fondle and grope her at will. He’d been wrong.

“As you know, traditional book publishers are experiencing a major downturn in business with the self-publishing boom,” Fern stated matter-of-factly, reading from a paper on the desk. She’d yet to make eye contact with Kenzie. “Pickens Publishing is no different. We’ve felt the tremendous effects and have taken a major hit to the budget. Along those lines, we’ve had to make some tough decisions on downsizing.”

A bolt of dread zinged down her spine and she glanced at the others clustered behind Fern. They looked impassive—bored, even. Surely, they weren’t going to fire her.

“I’m afraid we’re phasing out your position as senior editor, effective immediately.”

Apparently, they were. She jumped to her feet. “You can’t do this,” she protested.

“I’m afraid we can, Ms. Bryant,” the lawyer informed her, sliding his glasses up his blade of a nose.

Channeling Storm, she stared directly at Mr. Pickens. “I filed a complaint against my boss yesterday. This is blatant retaliation.”

He didn’t so much as flinch. “You’ve been downsized, Ms. Bryant. You’d be smart to sign the papers and quietly exit the building.”

Fury had her shaking. They couldn’t do this to her. She’d sue.

“We’re prepared to offer you a lucrative compensation package,” Fern told her gently and met her gaze for the first time. Her eyes were filled with compassion and sympathy.

“What’s the catch?” There was always a catch.

“You sign away any rights to sue the company for any reason,” Bernadette stated. “It would be in your best interest,” she added meaningfully.

She was sure the fact that they wanted her to sign meant she had a case against them, but they boasted deep pockets and she would never win a court fight against a publishing giant. They had resources she couldn’t even fathom. It didn’t matter that the #MeToo movement was headline news. They would destroy her in court. They’d probably paint her as a slut and the aggressor and dumbass Jared as the poor, helpless victim with twenty witnesses to back them up.

She didn’t stand a chance.

So, she’d taken her only course of action: she signed on the dotted line.

As if the meeting wasn’t humiliating enough, she’d been subjected to armed guards following her to her desk to clear out her personal possessions while her two assistants looked on in stunned disbelief. She’d no sooner tossed her address book inside the box when she’d been escorted out of the building like a criminal. She rode the subway home and had just collapsed on her futon slash bed when she’d gotten the call that her Aunt Franny had died.

Kenzie had been Franny’s only family, and vice versa. Kenzie had been named sole heir of her sizable fortune. She didn’t care about the money. She could live comfortably on the trust fund from her parents’ estate. She’d rather have her aunt alive and well. She’d just decided on the subway ride home to visit her aunt. Having to do so this way was a cruel blow in a day full of them.

Brushing a hank of hair from her face, she shoved the box against the wall next to the other three that were scheduled for pickup tomorrow. Most of Franny’s smaller appliances had been new, along with her dishes and silverware. Though she hated to part with anything that had belonged to her aunt, it would be better to donate them to someone who needed them. Kenzie had her own eclectic collection of kitchen utensils.

She stood and stretched the muscles in her back. She felt at loose ends. Now that the condo had been packed up, she needed to decide on her next move. Her dream had always been to become a writer, which was why she’d taken the position with Pickens Publishing out of college. Her goal had been to work at the publishing house during the day making valuable contacts and gaining crucial experience while writing at night. She’d started out as a fact checker before working her way up the ladder to editorial assistant and finally senior editor. Her position was hectic and sometimes stressful, but she was good at her job, so good in fact, she worked twelve to fourteen-hour days regularly and most weekends. Her own book had been shelved as she channeled her efforts into bringing other writers’ dreams to fruition.

Maybe getting fired was for the best, although the legal terminology in the papers she signed had been precise in stating that she hadn’t been canned. Her job had simply been eliminated. By Jared. For accusing him of sexual harassment.

She’d already received offers from two other publishers in New York, including Page-Turning Publishing. Wouldn’t that be poetic justice if she ended up working on Alfred Holt’s book after all? She’d been dealing with Franny’s funeral and packing up her condo, so she told both agencies she’d get back with them when she was able. With nothing else keeping her in Detroit, now was the time to decide. She hadn’t looked over the details from either offer apart from the salary. Both were extremely competitive and much more than she made at her former job. Maybe she should’ve tested the waters sooner.

Her cell phone rang. She found it on the bar beside her laptop and checked the display, her eyes widening at the name on the screen. Her thumb hovered over the decline button, but she caved and answered. “Hello?”

“Kenzie. This is Bernadette Weldon from Pickens Publishing.”

“Hello, Bernadette.” Why would she be calling her? Hadn’t they humiliated her enough? “What do you want?”

“Look, Kenzie, I’m not going to beat around the bush. We made a mistake and upon further evaluation, we’d like to hire you back. We’ve restructured, so Jared won’t be on top of you anymore.”

Kenzie held the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Was she serious? “Jared won’t be on top of me. Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No…oh, sorry. Poor choice of words. What I mean is that he will no longer be your boss. There will of course be a bump in salary and a larger office space.”

“I don’t understand. Less than ten days ago, I was humiliated in front of an office full of executives,” okay, there’d only been three plus the lawyer, “escorted from the premises by armed guards as if I’d stolen company secrets and sold them on the black market. Now you want me back. Why the sudden change of heart?”

Bernadette cleared her throat. “You excel at your job, Kenzie. You’re able to handle clients that others find…difficult.”

“Look, Bernadette, my time’s valuable, so let’s cut to the chase. What’s the real reason? I’m not going to sue, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The papers she signed made sure of that.

Bernadette huffed an irritated sigh. “Stuart Ellis and Sissy Carrington are threatening to move to a different agency if we don’t hire you back.”

Ah, the real reason. Kenzie smiled fondly. It warmed her heart that two of her biggest clients were contemplating leaving Pickens Publishing. She wasn’t surprised Stuart threatened to leave, but Sissy could be trying at the best of times. Sometimes Kenzie felt like bashing her head against her desk when working with her. But to know that Sissy was so committed to her was rewarding.

On the other hand, it infuriated her that it took two multi-million-dollar authors threatening to jump ship for senior management to consider rehiring her. She’d devoted her entire career to Pickens Publishing. They gave her a start in the industry. Now they needed her, but she didn’t care. She owed them nothing. “I’m sorry, Bernadette. I’m not interested. Goodbye.”

“No, don’t hang up! Kenzie, I’ll be honest with you. We need you and frankly, I’m desperate. Stuart and Sissy aren’t the only ones. It’s a mass exodus. We had to stop the bleeding by assuring everyone that you would return. On top of that, someone leaked your harassment claim to a reporter. With the #MeToo movement everywhere in the press, it’s a hot topic, as you well know. Luckily, I’m good friends with the reporter and she agreed to kill the story for now. If you don’t return, she’ll publish it and we’ll be done.”

“Well, I didn’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re implying.” Also, part of the papers she signed. She bet Fern was the confidential informant, trying her best to look out for Kenzie.

By her tone, she could tell Bernadette was getting frustrated. “No, I wasn’t accusing you. But we want you back.”

It was an opportunity too good to pass up. She could dictate the terms, name her salary. She could also set her schedule, so she didn’t spend all daylight hours in the office. She was in the driver’s seat. “I’m going to pass, Bernadette.”

“Please, don’t give me an answer right now,” Bernadette said, as if Kenzie hadn’t just turned her down. “Just think about it for now.” There was a note of genuine panic in her voice. “I’ll email you an offer and give you a couple of days to decide.”

Bernadette disconnected before Kenzie could reiterate her intention to never step foot in Pickens Publishing again. If she ever ran across Jared Pickens on the street, she didn’t think she could resist slamming a fist in his obnoxiously white teeth and a knee in his groin. It was his face she pictured when going a few rounds with the boxing bag at the gym.

Setting her phone back on the counter, she glanced at her laptop. She’d written more in the last week than she had the past five years. Going back to Pickens Publishing meant her own goals would take a back seat again, not to mention her social life. She couldn’t remember the last date she went on or who it was with. Friends? What were those? She’d lost touch with her college buddies and the ones she’d made in New York were either from the office or others in the publishing industry. LaTonya was the closest thing she had to a friend and they’d just met a few days ago.

She’d put her faith in the adage that everything happened for a reason. Losing her job was the door slamming closed, but the opportunity to have a life was the open window. She was going to blindly leap through with both feet.