Snow Job

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Love Bug

  Love Bug Excerpt

  Books by Tara Wyatt

  About the Author

  Snow Job © 2021 by Tara Wyatt

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Croco Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ISBN 978-1-7771046-7-2

  Prologue

  Three Months Earlier

  “Prescott, I need to see you in my office. Now.” Sebastian looked up from his desk, his head pounding dully, the remnants of his hangover refusing to let go. He closed his email and stacked the proposals he’d been working on into a neat pile, stood and adjusted his tie and then followed his boss, Robert Stammler, down to his office at the end of the hall. As he walked, he glanced out the window at the Manhattan skyline, sunlight glinting off of the windows of the buildings below, some of them buildings he was directly involved with as the VP of Marketing and Project Management for one of Manhattan’s biggest real estate development firms. The rest of his life might be in shambles, but at least he still had his career. It was the only thing keeping him anchored. The only thing keeping him from completely going off the deep end.

  He stepped inside Stammler’s office and before he could take even two steps, Stammler pointed and said, “Shut the door.” A creeping sense of dread worked its way down Sebastian’s spine, but he kept his expression neutral. Without waiting to be invited, he took a seat across from his boss.

  Stammler tossed a file across the sleek glass desk at him. “Tell me about this.”

  Sebastian frowned and picked it up, leafing through it. “This is the Ashbar project.” The development was a massive undertaking, nearly fifty stories tall with over six hundred apartments and ground floor luxury retail. Sebastian and his team had been in charge of marketing the high-end condos as well as attracting the right retailers.

  “And what did you contribute to this project?”

  Sebastian frowned. He’d contributed...well, he’d been at some of the meetings, and...He shook his head. “Why do you ask?”

  Stammler said nothing and pulled out another folder, tossing it at him. “Tell me about this one.”

  Again, Sebastian paged through the folder, his skin suddenly feeling tight and itchy. “This is Barnett Tower,” he said. It was a low-rise office building in Harlem with ground floor retail as well as over 40,000 square feet of community space for after school programs. He’d been responsible for developing relationships with potential businesses looking for space as well as some of the non-profit organizations who might be interested in using the space. As he skimmed through the folder, he saw that many of the spaces were already leased and several organizations had signed on, which was news to him.

  “This one,” said Stammler, sliding another folder to him. A private school they were building in Queens. Another for a hospital in Harlem. Another for a massive residential project in Washington Heights. All projects on which he’d been the lead. All projects on which he’d apparently dropped the ball, and yet...the work was done. And done well.

  All signed off on by Kayla Bristowe, his manager of marketing and communications.

  “Miss Bristowe brought all of this to my attention this morning,” said Stammler, leaning back in his chair, his thick, stubby fingers tented. “Apparently she’s tired of doing your job for you.”

  “She doesn’t do my job for me. She works under me.” His mind spun, scrambling to think of an excuse to explain away the obvious fact that he’d been fucking up his job along with everything else in his life.

  “Not anymore. You’re fired. I’m promoting Kayla into your role since she’s already doing it and doing it better than you ever did. You’re a mess, Prescott,” Stammler said with a sneer. “It’s a shame because you’re one of the smartest guys here, but you drink too much, you’re never here, and you’ve embarrassed this company one too many times. You’re done.”

  Sebastian felt as though the floor was dropping out from underneath him, his stomach in freefall mode. A week ago, he’d been kicked out of his apartment after a misunderstanding with his landlord—you run one tiny gambling ring and everyone freaks out—and now he was unemployed. His life was unraveling before his eyes and he knew it was entirely his own fault. His breathing became faster and shallower, panic swamping him. What was he going to do now? He was unemployed and homeless, crashing with his brother.

  It was terrifying enough to make him want to go do something stupid. Something reckless and risky and thrilling so that just for a little while, he could forget about the total clusterfuck his life had become.

  No. No! That was what had landed him here in the first place. He knew it and knew he needed to figure his shit out and get his act together if he didn’t want to crash and burn to a point beyond salvaging.

  And yet all he could think about was drinking until he was numb. Or taking what little money he had left and betting it all on something wild and crazy. Or heading to his “boxing gym” that was really an underground fighting ring where he’d let someone pummel him until he couldn’t think or feel anymore.

  “Collect your things,” said Stammler with a dismissive wave of his hand, as though Sebastian was no one and not a guy who’d worked as a senior executive there for the past six years. “I want you out of the building within the next ten minutes.”

  Pulling together the ragged scraps of his dignity, Sebastian stood and headed back to his office, where two security guards were waiting for him. “Seriously?” he snarled as he strode into his office, his anger becoming sharper and more explosive by the minute. “I can walk myself out. I’m not going to steal a photocopier or something.”

  “Company policy,” said one in a monotone voice. Jaw tight to the point of aching, Sebastian closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Then he retrieved a Banker’s Box from one of the shelves, dumped the papers out of it and onto the floor and started cramming his personal effects into it. Less than five minutes later, he was practically being frog marched down the hall, sandwiched between the two security guards, the box clutched in his hands. He kept his eyes down, refusing to look at all the people who’d come out of their offices to see him escorted off of the premises.

  Until he saw her. Kayla. The woman who, once upon a time, he’d had a raging crush on, with her blond curls and ample curves and mouth made for sin. She was smart and confident and had never put up with his bullshit, and he’d always liked that about her. He’d never made a move because she was technically his subordinate and he was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a douche to women. Never. Especially not Kayla.

  And then she’d gotten him fired. She’d cost him his job, the only thing keeping him afloat in the quagmire of his life.

  He locked eyes with her and she had the balls to wave at him, a little smirk on her face. “Good luck, Sebastian,” she said in that breathy come-fuck-me voice of hers. It was a voice that had once filled his fant
asies, but now would haunt him. “You’re going to need it.”

  1

  Present Day

  Kayla Bristowe shuffled her way through the snow and the slush on the sidewalk as she walked the few blocks from the subway station to her apartment building. A sharp wind blew, whistling between the buildings and smacking her in the face with air that felt like needs. Her fingers were numb and her toes weren’t far behind. She grimaced as another blast of wind had her turning her face to the side just to catch her breath. Yes, she was used to winter and cold temperatures, having grown up in New York City—Queens, to be exact—but that didn’t mean she liked it. No, she was a summer girl, through and through. Winter could kiss her bikini-loving ass.

  Nose running and eyes streaming, she reached the lobby of her Midtown apartment building, forcing her shoulders down from where they’d hunched around her ears. She took the elevator up to the eighth floor, where she shared a two bedroom with her best friend, Willa.

  As soon as she stepped in the door, Kayla felt some of her tension start to melt away. Today had sucked. Big time. Not just because of the cold, but because her boss, Robert Stammler, was a capital-A Asshole.

  The apartment was small but bright, and they’d decorated it with cream and gray colored furniture and deep fuchsia and wood accents. They both loved design and pretty things, and had taken a lot of time to pick out the perfect table and chairs, the perfect living room set, the perfect high stools to line the breakfast bar. Sometimes it felt like her close friendship with Willa was as close as she was going to come to any kind of long term relationship.

  “Hey,” called Willa from the kitchen as Kayla unbundled herself. The entire space was open, with a hallway to the left leading to the two bedrooms and bathroom. She stirred something on the stove and Kayla caught a whiff of garlic and tomatoes. “I’m making spaghetti with homemade meatballs and garlic bread,” she added, turning the heat down and wiping her hands on the dish towel flung over her shoulder.

  “It smells amazing,” said Kayla, heading to the fridge and pulling out the bottle of pinot grigio there. “Still stuck on that problem?” Willa was a software engineer at a huge app development company and often kept herself busy in the kitchen when she needed time to think. Some kind of bug had resulted in last week’s incredible lemon cheesecake, so Kayla wasn’t going to complain.

  “Stuck on something,” Willa muttered, pulling down two wineglasses from the open shelf above the sink. “How was your day?”

  “Shitty. I’m so mad at myself for letting Stammler rope me into planning this stupid retreat. Event planning is so not the job of the VP of marketing and communications. Just saying. This has taken up so much of my time, and I get the feeling he’s expecting the moon. Or expecting me to screw it up. I’m not sure which one is worse.” Although Kayla was pretty sure the second one would be much, much worse. She was a perfectionist and hated making mistakes of any kind, personal or professional.

  Willa shot her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. That really sucks. At least it’ll be over soon,” she offered as Kayla poured them each a generous glass of wine.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love my job—when I have time to actually do it. I think the thing that bothers me the most is that I’m pretty sure Stammler assigned this to me because I have boobs and event planning is a job for someone with boobs.”

  Willa let out a groan. “Ugh. I hate that shit. Believe me, the tech world is no better. Maybe even worse.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Willa handed her the glass of wine and gave her arm a squeeze. “Cheers. To being badass women not taking crap from anyone except when we do take crap which is probably more often than we should.”

  Kayla laughed and clinked her glass against Willa’s.

  Willa, always so full of warmth it was like she ate sunshine for breakfast, gave her arm a squeeze.

  “Maybe we’re too nice,” said Kayla, sliding onto one of the stools and sipping her wine.

  “Are you that nice?” asked Willa, scrunching her nose up. Teasing her.

  Kayla laughed again. “No. I guess I’m not. You are, though.”

  “I try to be kind to everyone,” she said simply, returning to her simmering sauce to give it a stir. Then she muttered something like “even grumpy jerks.” Given that she worked for Max Prescott, notorious grump, Kayla was pretty sure that was who she was referring to.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  Willa bit her lip, her eyes wide and innocent. “Nothing. Nothing.”

  “Uh huh. You know, you’ve been working for Max Prescott for what? Four months now? And you barely talk about it. God knows I bitched about Sebastian almost constantly when he was my boss.” He’d been, hands down, the worst boss Kayla had ever had. He’d been an arrogant, unreliable, selfish, privileged asshole who she’d wanted to throttle on a daily—if not hourly—basis.

  Once upon a time, she’d wanted to do other things to him besides throttle him, but as they’d worked together and she’d witnessed the absolute train wreck that was his life, she’d quickly forgotten any ideas she may have had about Sebastian and his various body parts.

  Willa shrugged, her cheeks a little pink. “There’s really nothing to talk about. He’s…” she trailed off and then took a long sip of her wine. “He’s fine. I like it.”

  Kayla arched an eyebrow. “Very convincing.”

  Willa let out a sigh. “Okay, so maybe he’s seriously grumpy.” Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. “And seriously hot.”

  Kayla set her wine glass down, shaking her head. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no. No crushes on Prescotts. We already lost Lauren to one.”

  “Oh, please. Lauren and Theo were pretty much already in a relationship with each other for the entire decade of their friendship. No one was shocked when they finally figured their shit out.” She cleared her throat. “And I don’t have a crush on Max. He’s just, I mean, he’s easy on the eyes, sure. And he’s all stern and he frowns and gets this line on his forehead when he’s thinking that makes me want to…” She curled her fingers into her palm and Kayla laughed.

  “Oh, honey. You cannot lie to save your life.” She tossed her hair to the side and put on a high voice, mimicking Willa. “I don’t have a crush on Max, I just fantasize about him all the time!”

  “I never said anything about fantasizing.”

  “Good. Because I’m telling you, the Prescotts are to be avoided at all costs.”

  “Except for Theo.”

  “Except for Theo,” Kayla agreed grudgingly.

  “And technically Lauren will be a Prescott next year, after they get married.” Theo and Lauren had gotten engaged over the holidays and were planning their wedding not for this summer but the next.

  “True. But neither of us has a crush on Lauren, and she’ll only be a Prescott by name, not by DNA.”

  “Anyway,” said Willa a little too brightly, clearly keen to change the subject, “I never got the chance to ask you. How did that coffee date go yesterday?”

  “Ha. Total dud. He was perfect on paper, but had about as much personality as a cardboard cutout.” A friend from work had set her up with his roommate, and while he’d been a nice enough guy, and attractive, with a good job in sales, she hadn’t felt a spark. And she was looking for that spark. Yes, she wanted the guy who was perfect on paper too, but deep down, she was a romantic. She wanted to feel butterflies and that heady rush of excitement. She wanted to be swept off her feet.

  Willa’s face lit up. “Maybe I can get you into the beta test for the dating app. Max says it’s going to revolutionize the online dating landscape.”

  Kayla made a face while noticing the way Willa’s eyes got all soft when she mentioned Max. “Hard pass. I’ve done the online dating thing and if I have to see one more dick pic, I’m going to stab my eyes out with a rusty fork.”

  She wanted the romance, the happy ending. It was one of the final boxes left to tick on her Perfect Life Plan. The plan that wo
uld prevent her from making her mother’s mistakes—marrying the wrong guy (more than once), struggling to pay the bills, white-knuckling her way through life because she couldn’t seem to get it together.

  To avoid walking in her mother’s footsteps, she’d carefully and deliberately planned her life out, and so far, she’d seen every single part of the plan through.

  Kayla’s Perfect Life Plan

  Study hard in high school so she could get a scholarship to the best possible school. Check.

  Bust her ass in college—hello Northwestern—to graduate at the top of her class and get into a prestigious MBA program—and hello Wharton. Check.

  Be as impressive as possible in order to land the best internships—bonjour Paris. Check.

  Move back to Manhattan and work her way up the corporate ladder. Check.

  Find the perfect man to marry and have perfect babies with. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

  “You wanna talk about it?” asked Willa, studying her.

  Kayla took a sip of her wine and then grimaced. “I just…I just really thought that by thirty I’d be, you know. With someone. That I wouldn’t still be getting set up on dates and searching for Mr. Right.”

  Willa came over and looped an arm around her shoulders. “I know. It’s the last part of your plan.”

  Kayla nodded, but something about Willa’s tone had her pulling back. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It’s not. It’s just…these things happen on their own time, often with someone you’re not expecting. You can’t force it.”