Hotshot by Julie Garwood Read Free Book Online

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    Peyton didn’t have the opportunity to talk to her new friend again until the end of the day when they were walking to the garage together. Mimi was turning to go up the stairs to the top level when Peyton stopped her.
    “Mimi, what did you mean when you said I don’t have to do anything I don’t want?”
    Mimi halted on the step and thought for a second before saying, “Don’t be in a hurry to sign a lease. Take your time and talk to me before you commit. Okay?”
    “Okay, but I don’t understand why—” Peyton began.
    Before she could finish her sentence, Mimi said, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,” and then she turned to continue up the stairs.
    As Peyton made her way to her car, she reflected on her first day at her new job. Very peculiar, she thought. It wasn’t at all what she had expected, but then, she reasoned, one couldn’t expect to feel completely comfortable from day one.
    ______
    On Tuesday she met the man who would share the cubicle with her, Assistant Editor Lars Bjorkman. He was already at his desk furiously typing on his keyboard when she walked over to introduce herself. He was young, in his twenties, and handsome. He wore one of his signature ski sweaters. According to Mimi, he owned one for every day of the month. Lars was from Stockholm, and he had the most wonderful accent. He told her his goal was to become a chef, and he’d taken the job at the magazine as a first step, explaining it would provide exposure to some of the finest restaurants in the country. She liked him. She noticed how kind he was to everyone, no matter how rude or impatient they were when demanding his attention.
    Peyton took up where she left off in the manual, but it was a much more pleasant task with Lars’s help. He was generous with his advice, telling her which procedures she would need to learn now and which ones she could postpone to a later date. Whenever she had a question, he would stop what he was doing and answer her.
    All in all, Tuesday was a much better day.
    Wednesday her nightmare began.

THREE
    D rew Albertson looked like a Scandinavian movie star with his blond wavy hair, gray-blue eyes, and long eyelashes. He was tall and thin but quite muscular. His custom-made shirts were fitted a tad too tight, giving the impression that he was so buff his muscles were about to bulge through.
    For Peyton’s first few days on the job, he was very warm and welcoming, expressing his desire that she feel at home and enjoy her work at
The Bountiful Table
and assuring her that if she had any questions or concerns he was there to help her.
    Drew was married to Eileen, the daughter of Randolph Swift, the patriarch of the company. Peyton met Eileen briefly when she swept through the office one morning to drop something off at Drew’s office. She was a big-boned woman with shoulders a linebacker would envy, but she wore beautiful clothes. Her cashmere coat was definitely black label, and her boots cost well over a thousand dollars. Peyton recognized them from a Neiman Marcus ad she’d seen in a magazine. After two minutes with the woman, Peyton decided the clothes were the only beautiful thing about her.
    Eileen stopped at her desk and looked Peyton up and down as though she were scrutinizing a specimen in a jar. “So, you’re the new girl,” she said, not hiding her disdainful smile.
    Peyton put on her most pleasant face and extended her hand. “Yes, I’m—”
    “I know who you are,” Eileen snapped. “Peyton . . . something.”
    “Lockhart,” Peyton offered.
    “Yes . . . whatever,” Eileen said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Just do your job, and you’ll get along here. My husband has high standards . . . very high standards,” she repeated. “If you want to make it in this company, you’ll see that he gets what he needs.”
    Peyton bit her lip to keep from snapping back at the rude woman. She managed a faint smile before saying, “I’ll do my best.”
    “See that you