Tempting Tatum (7 page)

“Thank you,” I say softly. I don’t bother to wait for him or look back. I continue on my journey to the receptionist desk.

“Good morning, may I help you?” the receptionist asks. I notice she glances over my shoulder and her smile grows even bigger.

“Good morning. I have an appointment at nine with Mayor Hamilton,” I tell her.

“Oh, you must be Tatum. Have a seat, dear. He’s running a little late. Can I get you anything, coffee?” she asks politely.

I shake my head no. “No, thank you,” I reply, and walk to the other side of the reception area to find a seat.

“Well, hello, my handsome son,” I hear the receptionist say.

“Hey, right back. You ready for me?” I hear that deep, masculine voice say. My curiosity is killing me, but I don’t want to be obvious. I open my portfolio and raise it, pretending to study what’s written in front of me. Instead, I let my eyes wonder to him.

Holy shit!

Standing before me is the most beautiful, yes beautiful, man I have ever seen. Tall, dark, and handsome, covered in colorful intricate artwork. He appears to be about six foot three or so. Close to Brent’s height. His hair is jet black and a little long, but not so long that he looks like he lets himself go. Chiseled cheekbones encased in a five o’clock shadow. My eyes travel down to his arms. At first, all I notice is his tattoos, but now that I’m really taking him in, I see all that ink is displayed on a shit ton of muscle. I know it’s rude to stare, but I can’t look away. Wow!

“Tatum.” I hear my name being called. I jerk my head up to find the kind receptionist, and tattoo guy who appears to be her son, watching me.

I clear my throat in an attempt to gain my composure. “Yes.” I’m able to respond without sounding breathless, how I’m not real sure.

“Mr. Hamilton can see you now. Right this way,” she says. Stepping around her desk, she stops in front of me and waits for me to stand up and follow her.

As I stand, I make eye contact with the tattooed Adonis. His eyes, they captivate me. Silver eyes. A color unlike any I’ve ever seen before. Shining so bright they appear to sparkle when he smiles. Which he’s doing at me this very minute. I offer him a shy smile in return and quickly turn to follow his mom to Mr. Hamilton’s office. I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. At least he helped rid me of my nerves.

I follow Mr. Hamilton’s receptionist down the hall. She stops at the last door and knocks. “Mr. Hamilton, I have Tatum Thompson for you,” she tells him.

“Yes. Thank you, Nancy. Ms. Thompson, it’s a pleasure to meet you, please have a seat.”

Taking the seat in front of his desk, I remove another copy of my resume along with letters of recommendation from professors and a list of references.

I’m ready.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hamilton,” I say politely.

Mr. Hamilton is an older man, probably late fifties to early sixties. His smile is kind and further relaxes me. “Well, Ms. Thompson—”

“Tatum, please,” I tell him.

He smiles. “Well, Tatum. You come highly recommended. Nancy has been my administrative assistant for twenty years now. Her family and mine are all close. Her sister Ruth works with a friend of yours.” He consults the paper in front of him. “Dr. Brent Wethington,” he reads from the paper, and then lays it back on his desk.

I smile. “Yes, sir. Brent is engaged to my best friend Leah. Leah and I have been inseparable since kindergarten.” I take a breath and decide to get it out there so I can control the conversation. “Brent, Leah, and I just moved here from Ohio. Brent is starting private practice, as you already know.” I offer him another small smile. Here come the emotions. I take a deep breath and push through. “I lost both of my parents in a tragic car accident.” I stop to fight back the tears. Shit! I thought if I led with this, I could control the pain, the hurt. Clearing my throat I continue. “Leah and Brent were moving and offered for me to come with them. I needed a change,” I say, and drop my gaze to my lap. I try to discreetly wipe at the tears that are fighting to fall. I hear the squeak of his chair and the clearing of his throat.

I look up to find Mr. Hamilton holding a box of tissues out for me. Speaking in a quiet voice, he says, “I’m so sorry for your loss. You’re about the same age as my Holly, and I can’t imagine what you are going through.” His words are sincere and spoken from the heart. He reminds me a lot of my father. He was the most kindhearted, gentle man.

My tears begin to flow, not only from the thoughts of my father, but from the kindness of the man sitting before me. This is going down in the record books as the worst job interview ever!

Finally, getting my emotions in check. I feel like I can talk without sobbing. “Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. I miss them terribly,” is my reply.

“So tell me, Tatum. Why marketing and public relations?”

Finally, moving toward safer ground. “I enjoy the work, taking a product or brand and helping to get others interested. As far as public relations, I enjoy working with people. I added a double major with the mindset that my marketing skills would come in handy for working with the public and selling the brand or product and vice versa,” I tell him.

“We have been looking for a new public relations person since Lucy left over a year ago. We just haven’t been able to find anyone. Most are interested in big city life, like Nashville. You think that you can be happy here?”

I nod my head. “Yes, sir, I do. Leah and Brent are making a life here, and they are my family now, all that I have left. I just want to live again,” I tell him honestly.

“Tatum, I’m not sure how much you’ve heard about the position, but we are actually looking for a part-time person to do some marketing. So you see, your double major has piqued my interest. The workload will be heavy at first. Nancy has been attempting to do her job and that of PR for the last year. She has been juggling two full-time positions. I feel confident that once you get the hang of things, you will be able to utilize both your marketing and PR skills,” he says.

I stare at him, trying to understand what he’s saying. “Mr. Hamilton, I would be honored if you would consider me for the position. I know I’m right out of school with limited extern experience, but I’m a hard worker and I need this. I promise you, I won’t let you down.”

He smiles at me. “I like to go with my gut instinct; it always steers me in the right direction. My gut is telling me you will make a great addition to our team. So, Tatum, I would like to offer you the position.”

My mouth drops open. He just offered me the job on the spot! “Thank you, sir.” I stand and reach my hand out to shake his. “Thank you so much.” I feel the tears start to well behind my eyes and I will them not to fall. My future starts here, in Tennessee.

Mr. Hamilton shakes my hand. “Let me take you back to Nancy and she can get you squared away with all of your new hire paperwork.”

I don’t hesitate to follow him out of his office and down the hall back to the front desk. “Nancy, Tatum will be joining our team. Can you please get her set up with the necessary paperwork, background check, and drug screen that goes along with the new hire process?” He turns to face me. “Nancy will get you set up. One of us will call you when we have all the results to set your start date.”

I reach out and offer my hand again. He quickly shakes my offered hand, and heads back toward his office. As I turn to Nancy, a single tear slides down my cheek. I squeeze my eyes shut willing the rest to not fall, at least not until I’m alone.

“Are you all right, dear?” Nancy asks, her voice laced with concern and motherly love.

That thought alone causes my chest to ache. I take a deep breath and open my eyes. Nancy is looking at me, worry in her eyes. Behind her is her son, the tattooed Adonis. I don’t look at him long enough to try and figure out what he must think of me. My embarrassment won’t allow it. I feel my face heat as I reach up and wipe the escaped lone tear.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ve just had a lot going on these past few months and this job…” I pause, reining in my emotions. How much do I tell her? I don’t want her to think I’m too much of an emotional wreck to handle the job.

I need this.

“This job, well, it’s my future, and I couldn’t be happier to be a part of your team,” I tell her. That is as close as I can get without spilling my woes. She reminds me so much of my mother that it wouldn’t take much for me to let the words fly. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from doing just that.

Nancy reaches over and places her hand on top of mine. “Well, we’re glad to have you.”

I arrive about fifteen minutes early to meet Mom. I hate to make people wait on me, and I know she’s busy. Besides, she offered me breakfast. As I’m walking toward the building, I see a girl headed for the same door as me. I quicken my step to get the door for her. My parents raised me right. I catch up to her and reach out to open the door. “Allow me,” I say next to her ear. I didn’t plan it that way. She is closer to the door than I realized. My height makes it possible for me to easily reach around her.

I can hear that she is softly replying to my southern hospitality, but I can’t comprehend what she says. The sweet scent of her hair invades my senses. I follow her into the building where she heads toward my mother’s desk. Mom greets her with her ever pleasant smile. I stand close behind her for a multitude of reasons. One, her scent is intoxicating, and two, I want to know her name, who she is. Shaking my head to break this sudden trance she has me in, I focus on their conversation. I hear her tell my mom her name is Tatum and she is here for an interview with Mayor Hamilton. She must be the candidate Aunt Ruth was talking about.

The girl, Tatum, takes a seat against the wall. I force myself not to watch her every move. As soon as she walks away, Mom greets me. I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. Because, really, is there any other way to greet your mother?

Pulling out of our embrace, I ask her, “So where do you want me?”

“Well, go on back to the break room. I brought freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Make sure you save some for Harry or he’ll never let you live it down,” she tells me.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, already headed toward the break room. The smell of freshly baked rolls greets me halfway down the hall, and I pick up the pace. Nothing beats Momma’s homemade cinnamon rolls.

Mom joins me a few minutes later and I’ve already had two rolls. She just smiles at me and shakes her head. “Good thing I made a double batch,” she chuckles.

Yep. Best mom ever!

I finish off my bottle of water and toss it in the trash as I walk to the sink to wash the cinnamon goo from my hands. “I’m all yours. Where are these boxes?” I ask her.

“Well, all right then.” She leads me to a file room where an entire wall is lined with boxes. These need to be carried downstairs to storage.

“Any particular place I should put them?”

She nods her head. “Yes. I’ll follow you down and show you.”

I lean down and pick up two boxes and turn to face her. “Blaise, you’re gonna throw your back out,” she scolds me.

I playfully roll my eyes at her. “Mom, I’m a firefighter. The gear I wear weighs more than this.” I then wink at her for good measure.

Mom stomps her feet all the way down to the basement. All the while, mumbling about stubborn cocky men. My grin widens. I love getting her worked up.

Mom shows me were to place the boxes, and then goes back to her desk. It only takes me about twenty minutes to carry everything downstairs and organize it the way she wants it. The time actually flies by. My mind is occupied with the dark haired beauty upstairs. When I’m finished, I head back to the break room and wash my hands. The basement is dusty. I grab another bottle of water from the fridge and head back to the reception area.

What I find when I get there stops me in my tracks. Mom and the dark haired beauty, Tatum, are in what appears to be a deep conversation. Mom has her hand on top of Tatum’s and her eyes are glossy with tears. Tatum looks up and catches my stare. Her eyes, green, peridot green, the same color as the birthstone charm Momma has for Asher and me. Mesmerizing eyes filled with sadness. I can tell I’m making her uncomfortable as she tries to continue her conversation. With one last glance, trying to commit her gem colored eyes and sweet scent to memory, I turn and head back to the break room to allow them some privacy. Besides, Mom would be harping on me for not being a “gentleman” if I didn’t.