Page 2 of Meant to be Mine

“Immaculate timing as always, Edith.” I shifted in my chair to get comfortable. “We need to get out there and walk the site, figure out the layout, tents, all of it.”

“Indeed. It’s a priority. It’s also a priority that somebody needs to be here minding the store.”

“I’m not taking the entire staff. Just me and you.” I gave her a smile. I had this covered. She didn’t need to worry about it.

Edith shook her head. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s not going to work.”

“No?”

“Someone needs to be running the store. All the buzz in the world from this promotional campaign doesn’t mean a damn thing if the place falls apart while we’re off picking out tiki torches.”

I frowned. “It’s a bit more than picking out tiki torches. That’s why I need your help. There’s a hundred moving parts on this thing and I’m just one man.”

“One of us has to stay at the store, Drew. It’s either you or me. And I can’t sign off on the big stuff with this event. You need to be there, but I don’t.”

“Only you would get mad about spending time on the beach during work hours.” I studied my assistant manager. She had grit. I’d give her that. She’d never shied away from telling me what she thought was best for the store. Sometimes she pissed me off, though, like right now.

“I think you’re forgetting your role, Edith,” I told her. “I need you to assist me with this promo event and you’re my assistant manager.”

She blinked at me, making me feel like an idiot. Edith had that power. She was no nonsense and did not give a shit that my last name was Blackwell.

“I’m the assistant manager. If you want an assistant, hire one. I don’t fetch coffee, run errands, or chase you around an event. I make sure every wheel here is properly oiled, every client has their needs met, and every employee is performing to the best of their abilities. I can’t do that when I’m following you around with a notebook, just because you can’t stay organized.”

“That’s rude.”

“It’s honest.”

“It can be both.” I shook my head. “You don’t think our staff can handle things here?”

“That’s not what I said. But now that you’re asking, no, I don’t think they can. Perhaps you should review the employee handbook and bring yourself up to speed on their job descriptions.” She pushed back up to her feet. “If you need an assistant, hire an assistant, Drew. Seriously. In fact, you should have done it months ago. I don’t have time to do all the little things and neither do you. There’s plenty of room in the budget. Just think of what you could accomplish if you didn’t have to return emails and take phone calls that waste your time.”

“Are you angling to get your own assistant?” I asked. “If I have one then you get one?”

She shrugged. “It would free up my time.”

“Maybe I will hire an assistant.”

“Good.”

“And maybe I’ll make them your boss. Then I won’t have to deal with you anymore.”

“I have no objections to that,” she said without missing a beat, already moving to the door.

This conversation wasn’t over in my reality, but as far as she was concerned, it was.

The door clicked shut behind her, and I sat there for a second before I started laughing. She was a pain in my ass. A genuine, certified pain in my ass. But she was also the best assistant manager I could’ve asked for, and she was right. Damn her. Somebody did need to mind the store. I couldn’t run a beach promo event and the store at the same time and expect either one to go well.

I was good, but I wasn’t that good. And honestly, stress caused premature aging. I spent a lot of my free time on my yacht in the sun. I was going to be a wrinkled, gray-haired mess before I was thirty if I kept going the way I was.

As usual, Edith was right. I needed an assistant. She had been telling me that for months, and I’d been putting it off because hiring was its own kind of headache. The interviews, training, hoping the person didn’t quit after two weeks once they realized retail wasn’t as glamorous as the chandeliers made it look. Not to mention all those fancy cocktails were for the customers, not the staff.

And me? I had high standards. I was a fucking Blackwell. We didn’t do anything half-assed. If we did something, we did it right.

In two weeks, Blackwell Summer would kick off at the beach, and somewhere in those two weeks, I needed to find someone competent enough to assist me. Someone I trusted. Not just liked. Trusted. There was a difference, and I’d learned it the hard way more than once.

Letting an assistant into your life was a very intimate thing. They had access to your life only a spouse would normally have. They knew every detail about you. Yes, they were supposed to help in a professional capacity, but they also knew who you talked to. Dated. Had sleepovers with. Whose calls you were avoiding.

It was all very invasive.