The Difference Between Us Read online

  The Difference Between Us

  An Opposites Attract Novel

  Rachel Higginson

  Copyright@ Rachel Higginson 2017

  This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give, copy, scan, distribute or sell this book to anyone else.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  Any people or places are strictly fictional and not based on anything else, fictional or non-fictional.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copy Editing by Amy Donnelly of Alchemy and Words

  Cover Design by Caedus Design Co.

  Other Romances by Rachel Higginson

  The Five Stages of Falling in Love (Adult Second Chance Romance)

  Every Wrong Reason (Adult Second Chance Romance)

  Bet on Us (NA Contemporary Romance)

  Bet on Me (NA Contemporary Romance)

  The Opposite of You (Opposites Attract)

  Keep up with Rachel on her Newsletter

  Connect with Rachel on her Facebook Page

  Follow Rachel on Twitter and Instagram

  To Katie,

  Without whom I would have lost my mind.

  Here’s to Jazzercise, future communes,

  and the Big F’er!

  Single, single, double for life.

  Chapter One

  I walked into the meeting fifteen minutes late.

  That’s when the murders began…

  Just kidding!

  Nobody was murdered. Nobody did any murdering for that matter. It was only our weekly planning meeting, held every Monday at four o’clock, rain or shine, blizzard or earthquake, or zombie apocalypse. Because that was how my dinosaur of a boss rolled.

  Every Monday at the same time, the entire staff of SixTwentySix Marketing gathered together in the sleek conference room eight stories above downtown Durham and went to war. Or that was what it felt like. My boss, Mr. Tucker, or Mother Tucker as I liked to call him, presided over the meeting at the head of the table. His firm fist pounded like a gavel as my colleagues and I battled over coveted accounts and lead positions while skillfully dodging less lucrative projects.

  Because I was a minnow in a sea of sharks, guess who always ended up with the dud accounts?

  A family insurance firm is in need of a new logo? Something updated and eye-catching, but also a straight-up replica of the same one they’ve used for eighteen years? I’m your girl.

  A family dental office hoping to pull in new customers with some flashy social media graphics? Yep, I’m all over it.

  A dinky Baptist church that basically needed someone to explain PowerPoint to them? Watch out world, I can explain the hell out of PowerPoint.

  Which was basically what the pastor had asked me to do. “Please get Satan out of this program so we can use it on Sunday mornings.”

  I was pretty much the go-to girl for all things boring and uninspired. But it paid the bills, and I had high hopes of moving up one day. For now, I was somewhat happy to pay my dues. I’d start with logos and promo pics, so that tomorrow I could move up to six-figure social media campaigns and citywide advertisements.

  It was all in my five-year plan. Along with being on time to a meeting every once in a while.

  My boss glared at me from his self-appointed throne chair, tracking my every step as I quietly tiptoed around the room in three-inch heels. So basically, not tiptoeing at all. I clunked clumsily on the bamboo floor, causing every set of eyes to turn my way.

  Waving meekly from behind my planner, I ignored the smirks from my smug coworkers. They thought they were big deals because they had things like job security and savings accounts. I was just grateful to have a seat at the table.

  I was the youngest designer at twenty-seven working at a cutthroat graphic design company and didn’t have a ton of perks. My coworkers resented me, my clients underestimated me, and my boss barely remembered that I wasn’t his secretary.

  I kept waiting for the call into the corner office. Mr. Tucker would raise one bushy eyebrow and say, “We appreciate all you’ve done for us, Holly, but we’re going in a different, more punctual direction.”

  Squeezing between two swiveling, leather chairs to take the only available seat, I set my planner on the table, hid my phone on my lap, and pulled a pen from hair. I crossed my legs at the ankles and leaned forward attentively—the consummate professional.

  “So nice of you to join us, Mitchell,” he grunted.

  My last name was Maverick. And my first name—Molly. But for some reason I’d never found the courage to correct him. It was borderline ridiculous at this point, but I’d let him get away with it for nearly three years now, so mentioning it to him after all this time seemed humiliating awkward.

  Every time I got paid, I breathed a sigh of relief that at least human resources knew my name.

  I flashed him a closed-lip smile and waited till he turned away before I brushed my bangs out of my eyes. Slumping just barely in my seat, I clicked on my pen and pretended to start taking notes in the margin of my planner.

  To the Mother Tucker, it looked like I was an excellent listener. To my Erin Condren organizer it looked like Fourth of July at nighttime—a horizon full of exploding fireworks that were all shapes and sizes; metaphors for the current status of my spiraling career.

  And I didn’t mean because of the celebratory sky. I was referring to the gunpowder and fiery explosions part.

  Mr. Tucker began going over standing accounts. Different designers gave updates and reports for forty-five minutes. I focused on the details of my drawing so I didn’t embarrass myself further by falling asleep.

  Finally, after so much ass-kissing from my coworkers that my own lips felt chapped, Mr. Tucker pulled out his ivory cardstock stationary. For as many modern advances as SixTwentySix Marketing had made in the last several years, Mr. Tucker was as old school as they came.

  His idea of marketing revolved around magazine advertisements and call-based surveys. I wasn’t even sure he had an email account set up in his name. He’d started STS sometime shortly after Alexander the Great tried to invade India, and then named the company after his anniversary date so he would never forget.

  Romantic, right?

  I’m sure the first Mrs. Tucker felt honored. I wasn’t so sure how Mrs. Tuckers two, three and four felt about it.

  “We have some new bids today.” He grinned at us as though he were holding the winning lotto numbers and one of us was going to be lucky enough to win them. “And they’re good ones.” He turned to his son and heir of the company, Henry Tucker, or as I liked to call him ever since he propositioned me at the Christmas part three-fourths of a bottle of Jack Daniels deep, The Little Tucker, and winked. Henry beamed under his father’s approval, basking in the recognition he didn’t deserve.

  Henry spent more time chasing girls around the office than he did growing his dad’s business. And he knew as much about modern marketing as my shoe. Luckily for both Tucker men, part of our paycheck was commission based.

  Monetary incentive drove this compan
y to succeed. Well, money and coffee. And a fair amount of Thai takeout from the restaurant across the street.

  Also, and maybe this was just me, but Swedish Fish had been a big part of the small success I’d had.

  How else was I supposed to stay awake during projects? I was designing dental logos, remember?

  There were only so many fonts that could simulate a smile with words.

  Mr. Tucker started going through his list, assigning each item to different designers based on seemingly zero information about either the client or his employee. From hours of observing him during these meetings, my best guess was that he picked whomever he noticed first. But other factors I was considering were names he could remember quickly, favorite colors by shirts, favorite colors by ties and Morse code by way of rapidly blinking eyelids.

  There was no rhyme or reason to his madness. The same designers that were picked to be Art Directors were chosen to be Brand Identity Developers the next week. He grouped talent together as meticulously as a pig playing the violin. And somehow, we still managed to be the lead marketing firm in the city.

  The only good thing that came from the Mother Tucker’s management style is that we had all been forced to diversify. I had joined the company excited to specialize in social media marketing, but thanks to my random assignments, I was also awesome with logos, branding and websites.

  “That leads us to our biggest client of the year yet.” Mr. Tucker paused dramatically, priming the room for what we’d all been waiting for. It was only the middle of February, so it wasn’t like he had many clients to compare, but rumors had been floating around the office, making this an already coveted account.

  “We’re going to need at least three leads on this one,” Henry Tucker said, dangling the carrot. “So be prepared to share the commission.” He grinned smugly. “With me.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the slimy way the words fell out of his mouth. This account was about more than money and commission, there would be a reputation that came with it. This was a way to move up in the ranks and demand respect and become an STS legend.

  Sure, money was a thing I would always need, but my aspirations were bigger than the size of my paycheck. If I secured this account, I could be picky about future accounts. I might even capture Mr. Tucker’s attention long enough to get him to remember my name.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Tucker crowed, breathing heavily as if it was a concerted effort to sit in his comfortable leather chair. “Black Soul Productions has asked us to revamp their entire platform. They want a new logo, and a new advertising campaign. They want a social media plan. And more. This account could mean very big things for us in the future. Black Soul has an extensive client list of their own. If we do a good job with this one, we could see residual accounts for years to come. Obviously, I’ve asked Henry to take the lead on this one. I trust his vision and leadership to handle such an important account.” Father and son shared an allied smile. “Why don’t you round out your team, Son? Nothing but the best for this one.”

  Black Soul Productions was a local record label that had recently signed some breakout artists. When rumors had started surfacing that they wanted to update their look and expand their presence, I had done my research. They had a strong list of B-list clients and with their latest signings had the potential to become a nationally respected brand. Their social media presence would be everything. If I could get on that team and create a sustainable social strategy, they would be unstoppable. It was definitely a big task, but so worth the effort.

  “Thanks, Dad. And don’t you worry about this account. I’ll take care of everything.” Henry’s eyes scanned the room, jumping from one designer to the next, all the way around the table. I held back a squeak of anticipation. At least I could trust Tucker Senior to pick at random, thereby freeing me of disappointment when I wasn’t chosen. Junior was a different story.

  For some unsubstantiated reason, Henry thought of himself as a ladies’ man, and therefore acted as though he were God’s greatest gift to women. To my knowledge he didn’t succeed very often, but his lack of success did nothing to dampen his confidence. Which was saying something since he was the second highest paid employee and set to one day take over the marketing empire his dad had built for him.

  He wasn’t even terrible looking. He used more hair product than I would have encouraged, giving him a slightly greasy appearance. And the gold chain necklace tucked beneath his performance polo wasn’t exactly the height of men’s fashion. But his teeth were decent, and he worked out.

  There was just something about him that wasn’t appealing. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but I knew enough to duck under his arm and slip out the back staircase when he’d drunkenly cornered me at our office Christmas party. And I wasn’t exactly in a position to turn down men. My last date had been four waxes ago.

  Henry’s gaze lingered on Catherine Dawes, a drop-dead gorgeous blonde with Photoshop-like curves and Madmen vintage style to accentuate them. He stared appreciatively at her for a long time, before deciding better of it.

  She was by far the prettiest woman in the office. But she was also a ballbuster, and I doubted she’d put up with any shit from Henry, no matter how special his dad said he was.

  The tension in the room heightened, twisting and pulling, threatening to snap at any second. We all wanted to be chosen. We all wanted it badly.

  There wasn’t a person in this room that wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to be on this team, even if we did have to work with Junior.

  “Ethan,” Henry decided, surprising us all. Ethan Baker was at least ten years older than me and had a wife and a couple kids. The entire room jolted in surprise. It wasn’t that Ethan was a bad designer, he was probably the best in the office at brand development, but we were all surprised Henry had been able to ignore the temptation to surround himself with hot girls. “I want you to take point on branding. Are you up for the task?”

  Ethan smiled confidently at him. “Absolutely.” He cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair. “I actually heard a rumor about this account earlier in the week and I’ve been playing around with ideas if you’d like to see what I’ve come up wi—”

  Cutting Ethan off abruptly, Henry smiled, flashing unnaturally white teeth, and said, “I would. Later.”

  Henry’s gaze moved back to the conference table, enjoying every second of lording his power over us.

  I held my breath and waited to be passed over. I vaguely realized I’d started to click my pen obnoxiously thanks to the nervous anticipation coursing through my blood like a rabid rabbit.

  I forced myself to smile serenely and look as grown-up as possible. I wanted this account more than anything. I had been secretly preparing for it since I first heard the rumor that it was a possibility. This project was exactly up my alley of expertise. Black Soul would need someone with a strong social media game. They would need someone that could identify with a younger crowd and bring them into the tech-savvy internet world. They needed someone that understood filters, and search engines. And the seven seconds window of time people devoted to new information.

  I didn’t know if Henry realized that too, or if by sheer power of the mind I’d willed him to pay attention to me. But either way, he turned his creepy, tractor beam smile my direction. “What do you think, Maverick?”

  My cheeks instantly flushed when the attention of the room turned to me. I hated being the center of attention. I hated that everyone in the room was now staring at me, judging me, weighing my worth. It didn’t matter that I knew I was right for the job or that I had the chops to tackle this project. With everyone watching me, I felt completely unqualified. But not unqualified enough to give it up. “Y-yes. Of course.” I set my pen down on the table and then pushed it away so I wouldn’t be tempted to click it again. “I’d love the opportunity to work on this project.”

  “It’s a lot of hours,” Henry reminded me. “A lot of late nights.”

  Out of the c
orner of my eye, I saw Catherine’s face flinch in disgust. Her reaction only added to my nerves. What was that about? “I can handle it,” I said firmly.

  There were only a handful of other designers in the office that could juggle both the graphics and vision side of this project. Sure, they were more experienced, more professional, and more cutthroat. But I was on my way to being all of those things.

  Kind of.

  Someday.

  My confident smile wobbled. Okay, cutthroat wasn’t really my thing. But it could be. Black Soul could make it be.

  “Good,” Tucker Senior announced from the head of the table after Henry had picked a few more designers for support staff. “That’s settled. As usual, if you have questions or concerns, don’t bother me with them.”

  My coworkers and I laughed our obligatory response that we gave every time he made that joke and began to gather our things. Meeting officially over. Thirty minutes late. But over all the same.

  I glanced down at my phone. Three missed texts and two more missed phone calls.

  Where are you???

  Shit. I had to go.

  By the time I stood up, the room was abuzz with excitement over the Black Soul project. For the Durham area, SixTwentySix was the best marketing firm around. But this project could build our reputation to national acclaim. And the commission wouldn’t be bad either.

  I tried to slink out quietly, but I didn’t make it far. “Black Soul, huh?” Brian, one of the few designers that was under thirty years old, asked. He was a total hipster with too-tight pants and a man bun. Basically, he was an adorable hotdog.

  “Exciting, right?” I tried to squeeze past him, but Daria from sales stepped in front of me.

  “Do you think you’ll meet anyone famous?” she asked.

  “I, uh, no?” I spin-moved to the right and managed to take two steps closer to the door. Henry moved in front of me, a shit-eating grin plastered on his spray-tanned face.