I stopped by the bakery on my way up to the office. No better way to start my day than with afew of Harley’s donuts and a cup of coffee. My sister-in-law made pastries that could bring a man to his knees.
“Hey, there,” Harley said from behind the display case.
“Sheesh, girl. That belly of yours gets bigger every time I see you. Should you still be working?” I asked when I stepped behind the counter and took her in.
“Thanks, Jack.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m more than aware of my size. No need to point it out. And don’t get your brother all riled up about me working. I’m putting in half-days as it is, and he’s having a freaking fit. Just because I’m carrying two tiny humans in my stomach does not mean I can’t do anything. I’m still capable.” She placed both hands on her lower back and closed her eyes.
“You have nothing to prove, Harls. You have great employees and you’ve planned for this. I think you’ve frozen enough baked goods to cover a year’s worth of maternity leave. There’s nothing wrong with taking it easy these last few weeks.” I laughed, grabbing a chocolate donut and pulling her in for a hug. The girl looked like she was about to pop, and she refused to slow down.
“But I don’t want to. I feel great. The doctor said everything looks perfect. It’s just Ford being a control freak,” she huffed, pushing the dark hair that sprung free from her ponytail away from her face.
“That’s because he loves you so damn much,” I said, and her features softened.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let me grab you a coffee.”
The door dinged and Monroe Buckley stepped inside. She’d just started working for Montgomery Media this week, after we’d made her an offer that she couldn’t refuse and stole her away from CBS where she’d interned. Ford thought we needed a fresh voice, and he felt strongly that Monroe was it. She’d just graduated with her master’s from Stanford University and the girl’s resume could hold its own against anyone in the field of journalism, even the most seasoned.
He didn’t need to sell me on her. She also happened to be my best friend, Buck’s, little sister and he’d been bragging about her since the first day of our freshman year in college.
“Are you ever not here?” Monroe rolled her eyes as she sauntered in.
“Nice to see you too,” I said with a laugh.
“No one said anything about it being nice to see you.” She raised a brow and smirked.
We weren’t exactly the best of friends. She hated me for reasons I didn’t understand. And now I was her boss. We’d gotten off to a rocky start and she didn’t attempt to hide her disdain for me. And I wasn’t okay with it. People love me. I’m the life of the party—a guaranteed good time. But Monroe Buckley couldn’t stand the sight of me.
“You know, most people don’t get away with speaking to their boss that way.” I perused her from head to toe as she scanned the baked goods in the display case.
Her light brown hair ended just past her shoulders on her slight frame. She wore a cream blouse and dark jeans with a pair of heels. She glanced up at me, and her indigo blue eyes locked with mine—and there was no humor there.
She shrugged. “That’s a matter of opinion. I’ll take a blueberry muffin, please.”
“FYI, I don’t work here. Just helping Harls out.”
“I wasn’t judging. Just figured since you’re behind the counter and all.” She chuckled.
Snarky little thing.
“You need to give her a bag. We don’t just put the pastry in their hands, for god’s sakes,” Harley chuckled as she came around the corner and handed me my coffee before reaching for a bag. “Hey, Monroe. I heard you’re going to bring a hip perspective to the paper with your column. I can’t wait to read it.”
Monroe had been a shrewd negotiator, and she and Ford had gone back and forth for hours before they’d finally come to an agreement. Ford, my oldest brother, was the president of Montgomery Media, and I managed the newsroom, oversaw new hires, and handled all the PR responsibilities for both Montgomery Media and Montgomery Wines, our winery in Napa Valley. Our middle brother, Harrison, was the president of Montgomery Wines—so we all had our roles in the family business.
Monroe would write a bi-monthly column for us drawing in the younger crowd about trendier