Is he a con man? Or does suspicion come easier than love?
Jordyn Brooks is on the path to achieving her chief title. Nothing will get in her way, even if it means neglecting the other aspects of her life and navigating through an often difficult work environment dictated by an antagonistic CEO.
Alex Burke is a new employee with fancy suits, an attractive smirk, and too much confidence.
After being assigned a project together, Jordyn works toward proving her worth as an executive, while exploring an intense connection with Alex. A delicate balance of letting down guards, complications of an office romance, and overcoming years of an achievement-driven identity crisis. When an unusual embezzlement case garners her attention, it becomes an opportunity to boost her career until it throws Alex in the limelight of suspicion. As Jordyn continues to unravel the case, she finds her preconceived notions about her career avenue unraveling as well, wondering if it is possible to have both the boardroom and the bedroom.
Is he a con man? Or does suspicion come easier than love?
Jordyn Brooks is on the path to achieving her chief title. Nothing will get in her way, even if it means neglecting the other aspects of her life and navigating through an often difficult work environment dictated by an antagonistic CEO.
Alex Burke is a new employee with fancy suits, an attractive smirk, and too much confidence.
After being assigned a project together, Jordyn works toward proving her worth as an executive, while exploring an intense connection with Alex. A delicate balance of letting down guards, complications of an office romance, and overcoming years of an achievement-driven identity crisis. When an unusual embezzlement case garners her attention, it becomes an opportunity to boost her career until it throws Alex in the limelight of suspicion. As Jordyn continues to unravel the case, she finds her preconceived notions about her career avenue unraveling as well, wondering if it is possible to have both the boardroom and the bedroom.
“There is something quite twisted and dangerous about glorifying busyness or burnout.” – Eva Selhub, MD
“I don’t do flirting. Small talk in general is not my thing. Give me a balance sheet or a book to discuss, then I’ll talk to you.”
The networking event I attended last night was another failed attempt at embracing a social life. It is, however, perfect ammunition for my sisters. To their credit, I do recall being much more charming in my early twenties. At some point charming was replaced with ambition—a more important quality.
I went to the social event only because I serve as a director for the Young Professionals program. Definitely not because I enjoy small talk with random strangers attempting to boost their career, find a love interest, or fill time on a weeknight. The directors host these socials each month for all members to foster professional connections. Unfortunately, because I was selected to be a director, I am obligated to attend the socials and participate in fostering connections that I have no interest in fostering.
“Jordyn. Flirting 101; don’t ask someone what songs they plan to play at their funeral within the first conversation,” critiqued Jane, stirring her iced coffee absentmindedly. “And don’t bring up funerals until at least the second date. It’s just morbid to bring it up on the first.” She is speaking fluent sarcasm now, the all-knowingness of the firstborn so prevalent in her expression that people walking by could easily see she is amused by her own words without even hearing them.
To be honest, that question was used as an icebreaker at a management seminar I attended recently. It seemed more thought-provoking than gathering opinions on the stagnant weather. It is not like I came up with it on my own. It was completely plagiarized yet I get the credit when it fails.
Julie laughs softly, in the way one laughs when they feel sorry for you. “I think you need a chaperone for happy hour from now on.” A loose wave of blonde hair falls over her cheek. She tucks it behind her ear before continuing. “Why do you even go if you dread them so much?”
“Because like I’ve said one hundred times already, board appointments are critical for bank executives, and this board was in high demand. I was fortunate to have been appointed so I’ll participate as instructed.” Julie has the kind of angelic aura that makes it impossible to be mad at, so I direct my defensiveness toward Jane even though Julie asked the question.
The wonderful thing about having sisters is that you always have someone in your corner. You also have someone to constantly provide unsolicited advice and constructive criticism.
They act like I am a total recluse. It is true that I prefer to spend my time working. Perhaps my dedication to my career has limited my social interactions outside of my job, but that is a sacrifice that must be made. And I have dated. I had a long-term relationship shortly after college. No drama, no broken hearts. Just two people who realized they were better apart than together. I am not jaded or scorned. I am merely ambitious, keeping a schedule that does not exactly allow the time necessary for a relationship. Any men that I have casually dated in recent years were in a similar stage of life, so they understood that. There was a mutual agreement that careers came first.
“Hmm.” I catch a quick dart of Julie’s eyes to Jane’s as she leans back in her chair. Her hands wrap around her matcha, bringing her cup to her slightly green-tinted lips for another sip.
“Are you going to make me ask?”
Exasperated, I slouch into my chair. We all have our different sister languages. Jane and I speak in books the way some speak in movie quotes. Julie and I share small tokens of appreciation specifically linked to “this looked like you” home décor. Song lyrics is the chosen language for Jackie, the youngest and hippest. Jane and Julie . . . well, they have always had a way of speaking to each other with their eyes.
“It’s just that you used to enjoy meeting people,” Julie says with a small shrug of her shoulders. “When you weren’t so focused on climbing the corporate ladder. Sure, you were never a full-on socialite,” she glances at Jane for reinforcement, “and sure, you’ve always preferred to have your head stuck in a book. But you enjoyed meeting people. And talking about subjects not related to work or career aspirations.”
I bite my lower lip, deciding which direction to take my response. “Yes. Well . . .” I stall, sipping my coffee. “A lot has changed in the last few years. My priorities have shifted. My career aspirations are more important now than senseless mingling.” I draw out the word aspirations in a bratty retaliation against her underhanded insult.
“Except that they seem to be her aspirations, not yours,” Jane snips back after rolling her eyes.
“I don’t know why I show up to these sister lunches,” I murmur behind my oversize coffee mug, contemplating how to use the word aspirations again just to see how many times we can toss the word back and forth in a two-minute period like the word itself is the true subject of our argument. That’s another thing about having sisters—we are smart, mature adults, but it doesn’t take long to revert to childish behavior when we’re together.
“Because we’re delightful and our advice is free.” Julie winks at me. “And we only have positive aspirations for you,” she adds, using the word one more time, reading my mind and meeting the challenge.
Julie has always been the light-hearted one of us, serving as the peacemaker in the family. The Diplomat J. Despite being two years younger than me, her old soul has always overflowed with wisdom, often making me feel like I am the younger one of us. Her ability to soothe situations by reading people makes her an in-demand event planner. It also brought her Asher. He was awestruck by her mediation skills when she planned his sister’s wedding. She was able to “do the impossible” and get his sister and mom to agree on all things wedding related. Two years later, Julie still prefers to tell people they met “at a social event” because she is slightly embarrassed of the cliché—a wedding planner dating someone she met at a wedding. But it doesn’t stop her from encouraging me to embrace the equally clichéd embarrassment of meeting someone at a corporate networking event.
“To clarify, we’re having coffee instead of lunch,” Jane sets the technical precedence, “because we didn’t fit into your crazy busy work schedule.”
The Boss J. My elder, but only by eighteen months. She draws out the one syllable in work, calling me out for caring too much about my job and not much else of a schedule otherwise. As if she has much room to talk. Jane is a marketing consultant, frequently chained to her phone. When she gives me grief about my work schedule, I counter back to hers. Her standing argument is that she is self-employed and does not allow someone else to constantly monopolize her schedule. She is happily married, as I am frequently reminded. Not in an obnoxious way but in an assuring way. If she found someone, so can I. And she launched her own business while being in a committed relationship. That part is usually repeated in an obnoxious way. Hayes is ridiculously laid-back, almost the exact opposite of Jane. But he’s no doormat either, which is why he’s perfect for her.
“Does it ever occur to you all that I aspire to climb the corporate ladder because I like it? Because I’m good at it? Because we all have a strong work ethic running through our blood?” I drop a hand from the coffee mug to circle it in front of their faces.
“You can be great at your job while not letting it define you. Not letting her define you,” Julie says softly, most likely registering the exasperation across my face.
A moment of silence ensues as we wonder if this conversation went too far for a weekday coffee get-together.
“Speaking of. How is Miranda? Still carrying around her short leash?” Jane breaks the tension with the comfort of sarcasm.
Miranda is the nickname allotted to my boss and CEO of North Bank, equivalent in personality to Miranda Priestly, from The Devil Wears Prada. While Miranda Priestly runs a high-end fashion magazine in New York City, my boss, is the CEO of a bank headquartered in Austin. Different industries, vastly different geographies, but both equally fond of Prada and gaslighting. No one is quite sure who originated the nickname, but everyone I work with refers to her solely by Miranda, unless speaking directly to her of course.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes. I don’t need to look at it to know who it is. Only a few people text me frequently, and two of them are sitting in front of me. I hesitate, knowing I am about to catch hell from the four eyes staring at me if I even glance at the text. All of us remain still, staring at each other like we are playing the staring game from when we were kids. Their eyes challenge me to let it go. My eyes stand firm, proving to them that I do not bow to her every word. Just when I think I might win the challenge, my sense of duty maneuvers my hand into my purse, pulling out my phone. Despite my competitive nature, devotion to my aspirations always gets the best of me. I have never mastered the staring game anyway.
They make no attempt to pretend surprised and allow the familiarity of the situation to take precedence as I gather my things after reading the message.
“Love you, Sister. Wish you could have been here,” Jane sasses as I stand to leave.
Cowgirl Coffee is not just my favorite coffee shop in Austin, but it is only an eight-minute walk to my office. Maybe ten minutes in the heels I’m wearing today.
“We miss you!” Julie shouts at me as I walk away from the table.
My presence may be preferred but it is not required for them to continue dissecting my life and organizing more interventions.
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Apparently, my beige flag is that I work a lot. I like to work a lot. I realize that I’m not saving any lives. Life-or-death situations and heroic opportunities are exceedingly rare in the banking industry. I’m not on Wall Street, spending long days in the organized chaos of buying and selling trades. I’m not a prosecutor, fighting for justice for the little man. Banking is not exciting. It is not sexy. But I love it. To me, nothing is more satisfying than discovering flaws in financial strategies or uncovering potential fraud and implementing controls to reduce losses. I relish the long hours, the late-night audit preparations, and generating ideas and products under expedited timeframes as part of the pressure to stay relevant as both a bank and an executive. I am in my element.
Even when I am not physically at work, my energy is caught up in some method of career advancement. I like having an important job. I like the status of being on the management team of a nationally recognized bank. I like having money to spend on nice things. I like knowing that I am great at something, and that my name is becoming more recognized within the industry network. I have successfully navigated through the career path I had envisioned for myself a decade ago, and now I’m slated to receive my Chief promotion this year, two years ahead of my original plan.
The last thing I need is any distractions, especially preventable ones that come with a romantic relationship. The career life alone suits me. It is more rewarding. It is what I have dedicated my last decade to. My career is my top priority—my one true love.
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Meeting in conference room @ 11. Bring Kara.
Sometimes the requests come in the form of a text. Sometimes they come via a calendar invite. Never with an inquiry of availability. Always with minimal warning. The twenty minutes received today is generous.
I stopped attempting to figure out the purpose of the meetings years ago. Last-minute meeting requests occur frequently, ranging from new product launches to discussing font standardization in emails. They have been about hiring, firing, and employee performance issues. Research for new hair stylists, drycleaners, and dog sitters have also been topics. Art selection, paper quality testing, and customer complaints. The list is expansive and varied. The invitees range from executive management to someone she finds walking by. When I received my first officer promotion and began getting invites to these meetings, I would stress myself out beforehand wondering what the meetings were for. Checking the invitee list, if there was one, to see if I could figure out what the subject might be. Attempting to figure out how to prepare beforehand. Stressing about what workload I would end up carrying because someone else had been terminated. Worried that I was going to be terminated for some unknown reason. I would walk into the meeting with sweaty hands, attempting to hide all my jitters. Years later, I have finally learned to control unnecessary self-induced stress, at least regarding these last-minute meetings anyway. Happy hours are a different story.
I run into Kara as soon as I step into the third-floor entryway. She has already been tipped off about the meeting. I don’t bother asking how. We may be a growing company, but we still have the gossip circle of a small town junior high. She hands me my computer bag that she considerately grabbed for me on her way. We turn back toward the stairs to walk down to the conference room together.
“Any idea what it’s about today? Think she’s moving forward with having her portrait painted in our hallway? Or maybe we’re finally saying goodbye to the snack vendor that only brings gluten-free items?” Kara snickers, while waving her hand in a goodbye gesture. “I could really use a snack full of gluten right now.”
Kara, our compliance officer, has reported to me for two years, but we have worked together for six. She started at North Bank while in college. Her original plan was to attend law school, but LSAT test anxiety nearly broke her. Fortunately for us, during that time she realized how talented she was at understanding bank regulations, and she quickly worked her way up. She is a fellow workaholic, also attempting to overcompensate for her gender and age.
People seem concerned that the clock for my love life is ticking but in the corporate world, I am often criticized for being too young for my executive role. Maybe one day I’ll find the perfect age in both sectors of life.
“Could it be about the exam? Or . . .” she gasps sharply. I’d be startled if I wasn’t used to her theatrics. “. . . could she be finally announcing promotions?”
Over a year has passed since any promotions were officially granted, but some have been privately promised, including mine. Hence the reason behind her cattiness.
I suppress the hope rising. Dozens of meetings have occurred since that conversation. I refuse to set myself up for disappointment again.
“That was a lot of questions between three floors,” I huff, still out of breath from jogging up the flights of stairs. It doesn’t matter how much I run; I still get winded going up stairs. “You know it’s not worth guessing about. We rarely get it right.”
“That’s why it’s fun. Oh! Maybe, it’s about the new branch manager. I haven’t met him yet, but I’ve heard he’s a real hunk if you know what I’m saying.” She jabs me with her elbow. “Like could be a Hemsworth.” Another elbow jab as she mock-fans herself with her other hand.
“Reign in your loins, lady. You are clearly already taken.”
Kara is five months pregnant with her second child. She and her husband, Parker, have been together since high school and already have one daughter, a sassy three-year-old named Kaelyn. They are waiting until the birth to find out the gender, but that doesn’t stop me from constantly reminding her that someone went through a lot of effort to invent technology that eliminates the wait. It is insulting to the geniuses behind ultrasounds. She will end up with lots of yellow and orange baby stuff which is equally insulting.
“Let’s just hope he’s capable of operating the branch better than Rodney. He barely made it a year. Also, I’m not an expert in the social world, but I’m fairly certain people don’t say hunk anymore.”
The lobby in our corporate building is cursed with corporate eyes on it all the time, resulting in higher employee turnover than any of our other locations. Employees from our other branches refer to it as Oz. My! People come and go so quickly here.
We walk into the conference room at 10:58 a.m. I greet Faye with a respectful nod. She responds by making a show of looking at her watch.
“Jordyn, you look a little worn. Are you feeling okay?”
It is a rhetorical question, so my only response is a tight smile, resisting the urge to defend myself and explain all the walking I’ve completed in heels over the last eighteen minutes to make it to this meeting. I take my place at the table across from Kara, discreetly elevating my arm to make sure my smell doesn’t match my apparent outward disarray. My feet ache from running in my heels, but I won’t get relief anytime soon. Our conference table is a standing table, designed by Faye. When people are standing, they are more alert and attentive. That was her intention anyway. The pain of standing in three-inch heels for extended periods of time either never crossed her mind or she enjoys the pain herself.
I take inventory of the attendees. It is a large group. The C-suites are all here and Andy, their executive assistant. Our IT officer and marketing officer. The new branch manager is also here, standing next to Faye at the head of the table. No introductions are made. Glancing around the room, I check for any inquiring looks or body language, but no one seems to be questioning his presence in an otherwise executive meeting. I’m not familiar enough with the Hemsworth brothers to make comparisons, but he is captivating. His dark hair is skillfully styled and structured with carefree toss, which makes a striking juxtaposition against his custom-tailored navy suit over a toned upper body. I don’t dare look under the table, but I imagine his slacks are paired with caramel Oxfords. He is tall but not too tall. Polished but not too formal. It’s like he stepped directly out of a J.Crew magazine, radiating confident energy. He didn’t even bother bringing a computer or notepad for notes. Nothing like my demeanor in my first corporate meeting at North Bank.
The impromptu meeting is to announce we will be opening another branch. Although the industry is advancing toward digital banking, our wealthy depositor base, and hence, the board of directors, have determined another brick-and-mortar location is necessary. A location has been targeted. Specific details remain pending, but we need to begin our preliminary assignments immediately.
I have not been directly involved in new branch development, with the exception of regulatory communication and risk assessing, but my organizational skills have landed me the role of project manager—recording the required tasks, divvying them out to the appropriate parties, and following up on the required timeframes. I have a reputation for being relentless until all assignments are complete. On Faye’s command, I retrieve our project management tracking from our last branch launch and provide a quick overview of responsibilities that will need to be executed. I detail the first phase, focusing on regulatory obligations and financial projections. The remaining phases will be detailed at a later date. I inform everyone of the process for completing their sections on the new file I will create for this project. Timelines will be established and coded in the file. Any delays should be promptly reported to me. When I finish, our marketing officer begins proposing some launch ideas, skipping way ahead to phase four. I haven’t checked my email since I left for coffee this morning, so I’m scrolling through unread emails on my phone for any that need attention when I hear Kara’s name.
“Kara, have the letter to the regulators prepped for my review by the end of the week. And please avoid the excessive exclamation marks you tend to include in emails. Unless . . . Jordyn, you would prefer to write the letter?” Faye turns her attention to me.
I glance at Kara who is holding her breath. By asking in question form, Faye is making it my choice. I can undermine Kara’s ability, or I can use this as an opportunity to show dominance in front of the other executives. Leadership does not equal running over other colleagues. Unfortunately, I have not always made that distinction, and I have made some enemies moving up the ranks here.
Becoming an executive at the same bank in which I began my career has not been a simple journey. Some are quick to conclude my loyalty is an advantage for obtaining the C-suite. Instead, my exposure to the industry is limited to North Bank and every mistake I’ve ever made is easily recalled. With every supervisor turnover, I had to prove myself all over again because I didn’t have external references to vouch for me. I have worked hard to transform the vision of me from a novice into an executive officer. But I’m still often seen with training wheels. That is the reason I wear expensive suits and heels and have worked meticulously to eliminate emotions. Visually highlighting my maturity. Distinguishing myself from my peers comes with a cost, literally and figuratively. Especially at North Bank. Some people thrive in the competition while others founder. Unsuccessful former colleagues have gone as far as comparing North Bank to The Hunger Games.
“Kara has access to the letter we have used in the past. She should be able to build off that,” I reply to the group. I lock eyes with Kara to assure her that I have complete confidence in her. “But I’d be happy to review before collecting signatures,” I add to assure Faye that I will oversee it is written in the manner she prefers.
The meeting progresses for another five minutes, primarily filled with the voice of our marketing officer once again sharing more ideas. Faye splits her attention between her phone and the new branch manager, exchanging whispered comments back and forth, ignoring the marketing discussions completely. When she walks out of the room without notice, it becomes clear that the meeting is over.
No promotions. The ounce of hope I allowed in dissipates while I pack my things. I know better. Hope takes up space and whatever capacity I have needs to be filled with hard work and focus. My laptop gets caught on something in my bag, so I’m jamming it in when I look up and see Hemsworth staring at me from across the table. It dawns on me that we are the last two people remaining in the room. I finally get my computer in my bag and throw it over my shoulder. He looks at me with intrigue, like I am a puzzle for entertainment purposes.
“Nicely done, Brooks,” he nods in my direction, with an uptick smile, before turning to leave.
I suppress the annoyance rising in me, a reaction to his smugness, not necessarily his half-hearted compliment. “Well, thank you. I was, in fact, seeking your approval,” I mutter before he exits completely. Jane isn’t the only one in our family who can speak sarcasm.
We walk out of the room at the same time, turning in opposite directions down the hallway. From behind me, I hear the faint echo of his laugh.
I judge a book by its cover every time I pick one out. I look at the cover and decide it I want to read it. I do not read any descriptions, I read the title and the authors name, then look at the cover and decide. After I am done with a book, I go back and read the synopsis and all of the other descriptions available. All this to say, I didn't know what to expect when I picked out this book.
Definitely Not Average by Chelsea Bradshaw took me by surprise. The first two chapters were very much set up for the rest of the book and were a little slow moving. We met Jordyn Brooks and her boss, nicknamed "Miranda" because she acts like Miranda from The Devil Wears Prada. Jordyn has worked at North Bank for her whole adult career and plans to move up the ranks into the C-suite level at next year's promotions.
Then Alex Burke comes in as the new Branch Manager and co-project manager for a new branch they are opening. As Jordyn sees that her boss treats the two of them differently, she begins to wonder if her loyalty has meant as much to her boss as it does to her. Add in a little portion of embezzlement crime and this book is a wrap. I can appreciate any book that you can add in Neal Caffrey in the correct context.
Chapter 19 left my heart shattered. Alex, how could you do that to me??? I mean to Jordyn...
The end wrapped up almost too quickly for me, considering it took a few chapters for me to warm into the book. I would have liked to read more about the budding relationship versus jumping right into the epilogue.
I truly enjoyed reading Definitely Not Average and look forward to more from the author. This book has low spice and was a good read. Thank you for the copy, this is my honest opinion.