The Love Audit

by Lucy Eden

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; African American Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

The gloves—and more!—are coming off for workplace enemies turned fake newlyweds trying to save their jobs in this sexy rom-com, perfect for fans of Tarah DeWitt and B.K. Borison.

There are three things that PR strategist Jasmine Morgan knows for sure: One, she’s damn good at her job. Two, she’ll do whatever it takes to save her team from looming layoffs. And three, Derek Carter will always be her archnemesis—even if the man is ridiculously fine. Unfortunately, she and Derek end up on competing projects in Miller’s Cove, a small town highly suspicious of corporate outsiders. To gain the trust of the locals, she’ll have to ditch her blazer and pose as a “honeymooning couple” with her mortal enemy.

Derek isn’t about to let Jasmine best him on the venture that will seal their fate during this company audit. But wherever he goes, she’s there—in his hotel suite, digging for the same research, and even stealing the loyalty of his dog (traitor). Worse, her tempting performance as his fiancée has him torn between killing her career or kissing her senseless. But as the two get deeper into their charade, they discover little Miller’s Cove has a lot of big secrets. Secrets that could save their careers . . . but at what cost?

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 352

Sample

Jasmine!” Cassie punctuated my name by slamming her open palm on the desk that I was nervously pacing in front of.

“What, Cassie?” I snapped, stopping short before turning to her and crossing my arms over my chest.

“You know wearing a hole in the floor of my rug is not going to make the clock move any faster, and I know your feet are killing you.” She laughed.

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes at her before resuming my mini marathon in her office. She was right, of course. Everyone in the office has been on edge since our company was acquired by MasonCorp, a notoriously ruthless mega conglomerate, most well-known for gobbling up smaller companies like Pac-Man and making them insanely profitable. This doesn’t sound like such a problem, unless you know that it drives profits by slashing personnel. Everyone knows that when the higher-ups point their red pencils at the budget, public relations and advertising are the first on the chopping block. One would think that managing a company’s public persona and driving sales would be the most important parts of a company, but nobody seems to remember that until an executive gets caught exposing themselves on a Zoom call. Suddenly, we’re gods.

In an effort to make the company more attractive to a prospective buyer, the advertising and PR departments were downsized and combined. Cassie and I were lucky enough to avoid the chopping block that time. This time, I didn’t feel so lucky.

“Who calls a meeting at 10:47 a.m.?” I huffed and flopped onto the couch that lined the wall, perfectly bisecting our shared office, before slipping off my stilettos and attempting to sooth the balls of my feet on Cassie’s sheepskin rug without her noticing.

“It feels like a power move.” She raised an eyebrow at my bare feet but didn’t say a word. “It’s like they’re scheduling these meetings back-to-back with just enough time to tell you to pack your stuff.”

“I cannot lose this job, Cas.” I jumped to my feet and began pacing again.

“Yes, you can.”

I stopped and stared at her, my head tilted in confusion.

“You are an Ivy League, trust fund debutante with parents who are richer than God.” She glared at me with a small smirk, daring me to contradict her. “You’ll be fine.”

“That’s not the point, Cassie.” I smirked at her. “And did you forget that you are also an Ivy League alumnus and that my rich parents are friends with your rich parents, Miss Fellow Trust Fund Debutante?”

“No,” she quipped and stood from her desk. “That’s how I know that we’re gonna be okay. C’mon, let’s get this over with.” She straightened her jacket, pushed the door open, and held it for me. “You’re gonna regret taking off those shoes.”

I was completely silent for the entire elevator ride to the sixty-seventh floor. My work bestie was usually cool under pressure, but her silence spoke volumes. She was nervous, too. My parents were wealthy and successful, but that didn’t matter to me. I was determined to make a name for myself beyond being Jasmine Morgan, daughter of Celine and Jasper Morgan, legendary corporate titans. Not to mention the nasty rumors, whispered about my parents since the dissolution of their first company. I knew they weren’t true, but they didn’t help in the court of public opinion.

“Jasmine Morgan and Cassaundra West,” I addressed the receptionist on the sixty-seventh floor. I knew everyone who worked at Westwood, but didn’t recognize her, so I assumed she must be from MasonCorp. I briefly wondered which of my coworkers I’d be seeing for the last time as I refocused on her mild expression. “We have a 10:47 a.m. meeting with Edward Mason.”

“Yes, of course, you’re from the PR/advertising division of Westwood.” Her eyes remained glued to her computer screen. “You’re a few minutes early, and Mr. Mason is running a few minutes behind schedule. You can have a seat, and I’ll let you know when he’s ready.”

I nodded and turned in the direction she’d gestured, still without looking up from her computer, and scanned the sparsely populated waiting room. I recognized some of the occupants from the office. Some were new to me, until my gaze fell on a face I hadn’t seen in almost fifteen years.

It was a face that I never thought I’d see again.

My heart stopped, and my impending meeting with the man who currently held my professional fate in his hands flew out of my head. He was as handsome as I remembered, but the near decade and a half since we’d seen each other had made him older and more distinguished.

I barely registered Cassie guiding me to an empty pair of chairs before I lowered myself into the seat next to hers, tearing my eyes away from him.

We sat in silence while we waited to be called. I pulled out my phone and began to scroll in an effort to keep my thoughts on anything except the man in the expertly tailored suit and the wire-rimmed glasses seated across the room. I wondered if he’d notice me or if he’d even remember who I was if he did. I couldn’t risk making eye contact with him because I don’t know what he would do or say if I did, or worse, what I would do or say. Either way, I couldn’t afford to lose focus. Today was too important. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Here are the files from all the dead projects Mr. Mason asked for.” A young man in his early twenties dropped a stack of file folders on the receptionist’s desk, drawing my attention.

“Great. Are they all there?”

“They should be.” The man leaned over the desk and began flipping through the folders, reading off the names. “BetterTech, BioCorp, Leviathan, Miller’s Cove, Globeworks, Prime Motors, North Star Communications…” His voice drifted off.

“Cliff Enterprises & Radiant Intelligence?”

“Crap.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back.” He left the stack on the desk before turning and hurrying toward the elevators. The receptionist must have felt my gaze because she turned to me, raising a questioning eyebrow. I pasted on a smile and quickly averted my eyes, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, only to lock eyes with him, the man I’d been actively trying to avoid.

My body felt immediately hot. I quickly searched his face for any recognition, and maybe any derision. His expression and lingering gaze were unreadable.

I couldn’t muster up a polite smile after all these years, so I dragged my attention to my phone screen. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait in the awkward tension for long since we were called into the conference room. We rose and took a step toward the door before the receptionist called out, “Oh, just department heads.” She raised her eyebrow at Cassie, who responded with an annoyed tilt of the head. “Sorry for the confusion.”

Cassie retook her seat, shot me a wink, and whispered, “You got this,” before I disappeared into the conference room.

The meeting was just as short as it was terrifying. Edward Mason cut an imposing figure, sitting at the head of the large black table, flanked by two men in suits who looked equally menacing. He flipped open a file and scanned it for a long, heavy silence that dragged on for what felt like days before he spoke.

“Jasmine Morgan.” He called my name unnecessarily, since I could see he was glancing at an open file with my corporate headshot attached to it.

I nodded.

“You graduated in the top ten percent of your class at Columbia, recruited by Westwood, spent the last eight years in public relations, working your way up to the head of the department when you were only twenty-seven.” He paused and looked up at me.

“Yes, I did.” I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. Was I supposed to defend my position, sing for my supper?

“You’ve done some impressive work, and it’s clear that you’d be an asset to any corporation.”

“Thank you.”

“Unfortunately,” he continued, and my heart stopped again, “when one large company absorbs another, tough decisions need to be made. Do you understand, Jasmine?”

“I’m not sure I do,” I replied with as much confidence as I could muster. It definitely sounded like I was being fired, but if Edward Mason was planning on firing me, the words would have to leave his lips. I wasn’t going to do the work for him.

“Your career achievements were exceptional for Westwood”—he closed the file and leaned forward—“but Westwood was a sinking ship. My first order of business is to toss the deadweight, and there’s a lot. There’s waste in nearly every division. I need to know if you have what it takes to survive at MasonCorp. I’m going to be watching your division very closely for the next thirty days. If I like what I see, we can discuss your future at MasonCorp. If you can’t show me that your division can be profitable…” He didn’t need to say what would happen if he didn’t like what he saw, but he did anyway. “I hope you can swim.”

I exited the conference room feeling like there was a lead weight in my stomach. I calmly told Cassie that I had thirty days to perform a financial miracle in order to save our department.

“Mr. Mason will see you now,” the receptionist called into the waiting room. My voice died away as Cassie and I watched the man I’d been trying and failing to avoid in the suit and wire-rimmed glasses cross the room and enter the conference room. He didn’t look at us as he walked past, but an intoxicating scent that was a mixture of soap and cologne followed him through the room. It was so faint that I had to restrain myself from leaning forward to make it last longer. My gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I know, right?” Cassie whispered conspiratorially with a smirk, completely misreading my reaction. “He must be from MasonCorp. I would know if someone that fine worked here. I wonder who he is.”

“Derek Carter,” I muttered, still staring at the door he’d disappeared through.

“Wait. You know him?” Cassie grabbed my arm and turned me to face her.

“Knew him,” I corrected her. “A long time ago.”

I let myself into my parents’ Manhattan townhouse and was greeted by silence. I breathed a sigh of relief because even though I would obviously have to face them eventually, I wasn’t quite ready. Instead, I slipped out of my heels and into a pair of house shoes and headed to the service kitchen.

“Hey, if it isn’t my little sous-chef!” Claudia greeted me with the nickname she’d been calling me since I was a child sneaking into her kitchen, despite the fact that it had been years since she could accurately refer to me as “little.”

Claudia was a stout woman with light brown skin and waist-length dark hair that she’d worn in the same single braid for as long as I could remember. She had a deep Southern accent that made her sound like she was laughing even if she was, in her words, “fussing at you.”

She had been working with my family for as long as I could remember. The years had dusted the edges of her hair with silver streaks and carved subtle laugh lines into the corners of her eyes and framing her smile.

Whenever my parents worked long hours, leaving me in the care of nannies and au pairs, I used to slip away to spend time with Claudia, helping her prepare our meals, but mostly slowing her down or getting in the way. She used to joke that I kept her company, which was a very important job, but I got the feeling that she knew how lonely I was as a child with no siblings and no pets.

“Hey, Claudia.” I gave her a smile and a hug.

“So, how was your big meeting?” she asked and continued polishing the silverware. Instead of answering her, I grabbed a cloth and got to work scrubbing the forks.

“That bad, huh?” She chuckled and reached into a nearby paper bag. “Here, take a cookie.”

She handed me what looked like a chocolate chip cookie, and before I could take a bite, I added quickly, “I have thirty days to create the most spectacular PR project to impress the CEO of MasonCorp or I’m getting fired.”

“Hmm,” she mused and dug into the bag again, “you better take two cookies.” I chuckled and took a bite. My eyes immediately closed, and an involuntary moan escaped my lips. The cookie was firm as I held it, but as soon as I took a bite, my mouth was assaulted with a sweet, buttery softness as the cookie nearly melted in my mouth. There was also another flavor. What I thought were chocolate chips were actually berries. They had the texture of raisins, but the flavor was indescribable.

“Oh, Claudia,” I said through a second mouthful of cookie. “Where did you get these?”

“My sister gets them for me.” She laughed as I bit into the second cookie. “They’re from this little town in Florida that she drives through on the way to visit our parents in Miami. Apparently, it’s the only place you can get them, so I make sure she stocks up.” She took a cookie from the bag and took a bite. “Both ways,” she added.

We spent a few more minutes polishing the silver while she gave me updates about her children. Her daughter had had her first baby, and she showed me photos of the most adorable and chubbiest brown baby with shiny black curls. She also didn’t miss a chance to remark that she’d like to see me with a baby of my own, and I rolled my eyes in response. In thirty days, there was a good chance that I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself, much less another person. Not to mention, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on a date.

Luckily for me—or unluckily, depending on your outlook—her alarm rang, signaling the beginning of dinner. She shooed me out of the kitchen, but not before pressing the brown paper bag containing the remainder of the cookies into my arms.

My parents were already seated at the dining room table when I entered. Dad was holding one of my mother’s hands in both of his while gently pressing kisses into her palm, making her giggle. This was the image I’d had of my parents for as long as I could remember, except for a few tense years when I was a teenager. In my younger, more naive years, I’d assumed that I’d find a relationship like my parents had, but then I grew up. I spent my twenties learning that men like my father were extremely rare. My mind briefly drifted to Claudia excitedly showing off her daughter’s picture-perfect family, and I wondered if I’d die single and jobless.

I cleared my throat loudly as I sank into my seat, making my mother pull her hand out of my father’s grasp and turn to me.

“Jasmine, baby.” My mother reached out and squeezed my hand. “Don’t keep us in suspense. What happened in your meeting? Did you meet Edward Mason?”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat again and took a sip of water, remembering my manners. “I mean, yes. I met him.”

“Well, that’s to be expected. CEOs usually meet with their department heads when they acquire a new company,” my dad said. “That’s actually a good sign. Usually in mergers like these, a redundancy team or HR is responsible for thinning the herd.” I loved that my dad reduced me to cattle, because I wasn’t nervous enough about the future of my career.

“He did say that he was impressed with my work.” I pasted on a smile and pushed my salad around with my fork.

“Of course he did,” my mother added. “You’re a brilliant girl. I just wish you hadn’t wasted all that talent on public relations. With your grades, you could have gone to law school, or medical school, or—” My mother never missed an opportunity to express her disappointment in my choice of career.

“Come on now, Cece.” My dad covered my mom’s hand with his own and chuckled. “Our daughter only has dinner with us a couple of times a month as it is. Take it easy on her.”

“I’m not being hard on her. I’m just saying…” My mother let out a heavy sigh. “I know she’s made her choices; I just worry. I’m a mother. That’s my job and my right.”

“And you’re a great mother, Mom.” I smiled and pointed the cherry tomato I’d speared on the end of my fork at her.

Dad winked at me before adding, “Okay, baby girl, what else happened at your meeting?”

“Well, Edward Mason gave me thirty days to save my department,” I blurted out in one breath before shoving a forkful of salad into my mouth.

“Thirty days!” my mother gasped. “This is exactly what I mean when I say that you should have pursued something more stable. Public relations is a revolving door. Do you have a plan B?”

“I’m hoping I won’t need one.” I pushed the rest of my salad around on my plate again before putting down my fork and turning to face her. “I am actually very good at my job.”

“No one is saying you aren’t, sweetie,” Dad said in a calm voice before quickly raising an eyebrow at my mother, “but things don’t always go the way you plan. Why don’t you let me put a little money in your account?” Then he added, after seeing my scandalized expression, “Just in case.”

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. My parents meant well. They always did. But this day had been stressful enough without the two people who were supposed to believe in me preparing for me to fail. Desperate to change the subject, I searched for something to say.

“I saw Derek Carter today.” The silence that engulfed the dining room was unnerving. The kitchen staff who’d been clearing our salad plates paused. There were no sounds of silverware touching plates or even the sound of breathing. It was like someone had hit the mute button on our dining room. “He must work for MasonCorp.”

“Oh,” my mother remarked when she regained her composure. “Did you speak to him?”

“Of course not,” I scoffed. “I haven’t had anything to say to him in thirteen years. Why would I start today?”

My parents nodded, but their faces were expressionless. The Carters were always a tense subject, but I didn’t think mentioning the son of their former business partners would have the sobering effect that it did on the rest of our dinner. We finished our meal in near silence, and I almost regretted mentioning Derek Carter at all.

At least they didn’t ask about my job again.

Most women would agree that the feeling of taking off your bra after wearing it for hours is one of the best feelings in the world, but after the day I’d had it was almost orgasmic. By the time, I ran through my nightly routine, including five steps of skin care and heatless curlers, I was completely exhausted. However, I wasn’t anywhere close to falling asleep.

I needed to hit the ground running at work tomorrow if I planned to keep my job, but for once, I was at a loss. I had hoped my nightly shower would help. That’s usually where my best ideas showed up, but instead, I let the scalding hot water beat me into submission while I tried to force thoughts of Derek Carter out of my head.

Cassie’s initial assessment of the man I’d practically grown up with wasn’t wrong. Derek was fine. In fact, he was more handsome than I remembered, if that was even possible. He was always meticulous about his appearance, and that hadn’t changed, but the years had somehow refined his looks and made him seem more distinguished. He had the same dusky bronze complexion and golden-brown eyes lined with the kind of thick, black lashes that women spend millions of dollars on mascara to achieve. His glasses only accentuated them, giving him a look of refinement and wisdom.

Then I remembered the feeling of confusion and abandonment I felt when he disappeared from my life when our parents dissolved their company and their friendship. I was so angry at myself for even letting Derek Carter park himself in my brain rent free after all these years and at the worst possible time. I stretched out on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and the minutes ticked by, bringing me no closer to any sort of plan to save my job.

My eyes drifted toward the bag of cookies Claudia gave me on my dresser. Eating any food this late wasn’t generally a good idea, but after today, I’d earned at least one cookie, especially if they were as good as these were.

Twenty minutes later, I reached into the bag for what I told myself was definitely the last time only to find my fingertips sliding around in a layer of cookie crumbs. The disappointment I felt was increased by remembering Claudia telling me that the only way to get more of these yummy berry cookies that could have only been baked by Jesus himself was to voyage to a tiny town in Florida.

I refused to believe the only thing standing between me and more crispy, bu. . .