In 2019, Pamela Carter is determined to secure her dream internship with billionaire businessman Andrew Clifford III.
Twenty-five years ago, in 1993, Andrew is just starting out. Without any of his later fame or fortune, the party boy becomes a legitimate hero when he intervenes to save assaulted Elizabeth Westlake. Sure, sheâs a waitress at a strip club, but thatâs not her dream. Elizabeth is determined to write her way out of the Harlem hellhole she lives in. Maybe Andrew is the ticket? Even the best-laid plans go awry, and for Elizabeth, tragedy looms.
Pamela is impossible not to notice and she soon becomes Andrewâs prime intern. But, just as with Elizabeth, not all goes to plan. The stocks are plummeting. The company is careening. And then, Andrew himself goes missing. Will Pamela also be plunged into the tragedy that surrounds this man? Or is Pamela the one person who really knows what happened that fateful night in 1993? More than a company is at stake, as Andrew struggles for survival. But sometimes, the past is too powerful. Some secrets refuse to remain buried. Sometimes, truth kills.
In 2019, Pamela Carter is determined to secure her dream internship with billionaire businessman Andrew Clifford III.
Twenty-five years ago, in 1993, Andrew is just starting out. Without any of his later fame or fortune, the party boy becomes a legitimate hero when he intervenes to save assaulted Elizabeth Westlake. Sure, sheâs a waitress at a strip club, but thatâs not her dream. Elizabeth is determined to write her way out of the Harlem hellhole she lives in. Maybe Andrew is the ticket? Even the best-laid plans go awry, and for Elizabeth, tragedy looms.
Pamela is impossible not to notice and she soon becomes Andrewâs prime intern. But, just as with Elizabeth, not all goes to plan. The stocks are plummeting. The company is careening. And then, Andrew himself goes missing. Will Pamela also be plunged into the tragedy that surrounds this man? Or is Pamela the one person who really knows what happened that fateful night in 1993? More than a company is at stake, as Andrew struggles for survival. But sometimes, the past is too powerful. Some secrets refuse to remain buried. Sometimes, truth kills.
I sit on a mahogany leather sofa in the waiting area of Clifford Investments, salivating at the thought of my goal being within armâs reach.
Finally, after two failed attempts, I may actually get to work with the man whose career Iâve been following for the past decadeâAndrew Clifford III, founder and CEO.
A ringing phone snaps me out of my reverie. My eyes flit to the receptionist, who turns away from the TV mounted to the wall to answer.
âGood afternoon, Clifford Investments. How may I help you?â she says to the caller, a professional but friendly lilt to her voice.
My gaze moves from the receptionist to the TV. I read the news ticker at the bottom of the screen: Clifford Investments shares are up due to ongoing merger talks. A French-manicured hand on the sleeve of my blue blazer pulls me away from the latest headlines. My eyes lock on what looks like a three-carat engagement ring and a matching wedding band.
âWhat time is your appointment?â
I look into the face of my competitionâthe one person standing between Andrew and me. âItâs at four.â
She glances at her phone. âIâm scheduled for five. I know Iâm early. But you know what they say, earlyââ
ââis the new on time,â I interject.
She smiles, revealing bright white teeth and dimples. Her brown skin is flawless. She reminds me of a young Michelle Obama. Exuding confidence, dressed in a black pantsuit with black pumps, she looks like she should be running her own Fortune 500 company rather than interviewing for an internship at one. It pays, but still.
âBy the way, Iâm Veronica Johnson.â She extends her hand and I reciprocate.
âIâm Pamela Carter.â
âCan you believe we made the cut? Itâs down to just the two of us. Two African American women. Itâs amazing. I remember the first day of interviews. This lobby was packed.â She smiles smugly.
A slight grimace crosses my face just thinking about the three rounds of interviews Iâve endured this past week. The two previous times I applied, I only made it through two rounds. And now Iâve reached the pinnacle. An interview with the man himselfâthe one who will decide if Iâm fit for the position he created five years ago to level the playing field for women in business. A feeling of accomplishment sweeps over me when images of the fifty remarkable women who started on this venture come to mind. And now there are two.
Veronica taps me again. Sheâs definitely the touchy-feely type. âSo, what do you think itâs going to be like meeting Mr. Clifford?â
A rush of adrenaline flows through me when I think about sitting across from Andrew. âIâm not sure.â
âIâve read a lot about him,â she rattles on. âHe graduated from Crumwell. Thatâs my alma mater. Whereâd you go?â
âFlenoir University.â
âOh.â She gives my hand a sympathetic pat. âBy the way, I love that blue blazer. It really brings out your green eyes. I was going to wear a dress today, but I began this process wearing pants. If it ainât broke, donât fix it, right?â
âRight.â I smooth my hand over my skirt, wishing Veronica would stop talking. I donât mean to be rude, itâs just that I need to focus.
âDid you know that three of the last five women whoâve had this internship ended up starting successful hedge funds?â
           âI heard,â I say, fidgeting in my seat. My eyes dip to my phone. Itâs five minutes to four. Hopefully, theyâll stay on schedule.
Veronica taps me again. âCan I share a secret?â
âSure,â I say, tentatively, wondering what juicy tidbit sheâs going to drop. She scoots closer, and her perfume fills my nostrils.
âMy husband bet his brother that I wonât land the position.â
âWhy would he bet against you?â I say, frowning.
âBecause heâs trying to jinx me. He thinks a job like this would put too much pressure on me.â
âI donât understand.â
âIâm with childâtwo. Weâre having twins,â she whispers. âIâm four months along. Itâs our first.â
My gaze dips to her midsection and tears prick my eyes. I turn away and grab tissue from my purse.
âAre you okay?â she asks as I dab at my face.
âIâm fine. I have allergies. I think my meds are wearing off,â I lie. âAnyway, congratulations.â
âAre you sure youâre okay?â
âYes. Itâs just that a friend of mine miscarried twins a few months ago. She was devastated. We all were.â More lies.
âIâm so sorry.â
âYouâre barely showing.â
âWearing black makes everything look smaller. Do you have any chilâ?â
The double doors next to the receptionist open and Andrewâs executive assistant, Shelley Wong, appears. I want to smother her in kisses for coming to the rescue. A petite woman in her late sixties, she looks like she works for a billionaire. Dressed in a tan silk pantsuit and red-soled shoes, with a strand of pearls dangling around her sagging neck, she emits an air of experience and confidence. Sheâs worked for Andrew for fifteen years. Sheâs one of his most loyal employees. She used to work for his fatherâs firm in New York. Thatâs where Andrew was born and raisedâScarsdale, to be exact. Veronicaâs not the only one whoâs done her homework. He got his bachelorâs in economics and his MBA from Crumwell University. He came to California when he was my ageâtwenty-five. Word on the street is that he wanted to make it on his own, not ride the coattails of his rich father.
âMs. Carter, Mr. Clifford is ready now,â Shelley says.
Veronica and I share a knowing glance, then I waste no time getting up. I make my way over to Shelley, who gives me an approving once-over and then motions me toward Andrewâs office.
I glance at the portrait of Andrew on the wall near the receptionistâs desk, then follow close behind Shelley while we pass the executive offices. My eyes fix on her salt-and-pepper hair thatâs in an updo. She stops at the end of the corridor and looks over her shoulder to give me a reassuring smile as she opens the door, revealing Andrewâs huge corner office. She steps inside with me on her heels.
âMr. Clifford, meet Pamela Carter. Let me know if you need anything. Iâll be in my office.â
âWill do,â he says.
 She leaves and he and I lock eyes. I stand frozen in the middle of his office, waiting for him to speak, but he just peers at me while he comes from around his black marble desk with gold inlay. My eyes flit to the matching credenza behind his desk. Itâs lined with family photosâa picture of him and his wife standing next to their yacht, front and center. He met Rebecca in Dancing Hills eleven years ago. Sheâs a beautiful, svelte, red-haired socialite twelve years his junior. Their photo is flanked by pictures of their children, a ten-year-old boy and seven-year-old girl. They look like their parentsâ mini-mes.
The opposite wall is adorned with photos of Andrew with politicians and dignitaries; plaques; awards; and his degrees from Crumwell. An oversized stuffed tiger wearing a Crumwell jersey, the universityâs mascot, sits underneath his unabashed hall of fame.
My eyes dip to the massive hand reaching out to me. âItâs nice to finally meet you, Pamela.â
When I extend my hand, my fingers and palm are swallowed by his too-firm grip. âItâs nice to meet you as well,â I say, looking up at him. Heâs roughly six feet tall and has an athletic build thatâs accentuated by his custom-made blue suit. His clean-shaven face breaks into a smile and the corners of his blue eyes form soft crinkles. Heâs even better looking in person.
He sweeps his hand to motion me toward a black leather sofa. Before I sit, I admire the painting above of a woman in profile with what looks like another profile superimposed on her face.
He notices and says, âItâs a Picasso. Itâs a portrait of his second wife, Jacqueline Roque. I paid eight million for it.â He says it without flinching, as though he spends more than that on lunch.
âI thought it was a Picasso,â I say, not wanting to appear uncultured. Then I add, âItâs quite impressive,â in case he needs validation. But from everything Iâve read about Andrew, the only thing bigger than his ego is his bank account.
âIâm a sucker for beautiful art. I commission a lot of pieces. The portrait of me in the reception area was done by a very talented painter out of Boston. I bet heâd be delighted to do your portrait. He likes painting beautiful women. I had to damn near promise him my right arm to get him to work with my old mug. Heâd jump at the chance to immortalize those big green eyes of yours, your little turned-up nose, and rosebud mouth. And I love the blond hair. Youâre uhâŚbiracial?â
âIâm black, Mr. Clifford.â
âOhâŚuhâŚexcuse meâŚIâŚyouâre soâŚlightâŚI meanâŚâ
His gaze flits to my raised brows. He clears his throat and moves on.
âAnyway, I like that youâre wearing your hair down. I try to get Shelley to color her hair and let it loose, but sheâs stuck on her bun or whatever that up in the air look is.â
Thinking that heâs crossed a line, a slow flush creeps up my face. I wonder if Iâll make it through the interview without him ogling my ample bosom and my legs.
We both sit and he rakes his thick blond hair with his fingers and says, âIâm impressed.â
I expect him to add âwith your resumeâ to his statement, but he doesnât, so I respond coyly, âI realize the importance of first impressions, Mr. Clifford, but donât you think you need to interview me first?â
He emits a husky laugh. âPamela, as you may have noticed, not many people can survive hell week. Youâve interviewed with some of the sharpest people here at the firmâmy crème de la crème. Theyâre professional bullshit detectors. Theyâre able to see beyond your resume and social media accounts. They read people and they do it well. The fact that youâre sitting on this ten-thousand-dollar sofa with me speaks volumes as to who you are and what you have to offer.â
I swallow hard and sit erect. âThank you.â I clasp my hands and try to focus. But itâs difficult, because I suddenly realize that this job is mine and Veronica is his backup plan, in case I decline his offer. But that would never happen, because when I get this position, Iâll be able to destroy Andrewâbring him to his knees and take away everything that he holds dear.
âSo, I hear youâre new to Dancing Hills,â he says. I start to answer him, but before I can, he rises and says, âForgive me. Would you like something to drink?â He walks toward a cabinet adjacent to his desk, then flings open the door, revealing shelves lined with expensive liquor. âWhat can I get you?â
âThank you, but Shelleyâs assistant offered me coffee. And Iâve had plenty.â
âGlad to hear Tabithaâs on her A-game. I prefer tea over coffee. It calms me. He shuts the cabinet, sits, and repeats himself. âSo, youâre new to Dancing Hills?â
           âYes, I am. I grew up in West Los Angeles. And as you know, I did my undergrad and graduate work at Flenoir. I moved to Dancing Hills to be closer to your company.â
âI like that.â He nods approvingly. âI believe in acting as though youâve already achieved the goal you have in mind. When I moved here twenty years ago, I actually staked out property for my offices. That was before I really knew I would have a firm. Are you familiar with the movie Field of Dreams?â
âYes.â
âIf you build it, they will come,â we say at the same time.
His eyes light up and he claps his hands. âYouâre sharp, Pamela. Hell, you werenât even born when that movie came out.â
âItâs my motherâs favorite. Sheâs a huge Kevin Costner fan.â
âWhat about your father?â he asks, his face turning serious.
âHe passed away five years ago. Heart attack.â
âMy condolences. That must have been difficult.â
âIt was. Mom is coping though. Sheâs a strong woman. Sheâs a retired teacher. I recently introduced her to gardening. Thatâs my passionâthat and business. Financially weâre good. My father sold real estate and did well. My mother and I are comfortable, but I donât want to depend on that. I want to pave my own path.â
âI certainly can relate. Thatâs why I left New York and came to California. I wanted to get out from under my fatherâs shadow. Like you, I needed to create my own wealth.â
I nod.
âIâm sure your father would be proud of you,â he adds.
âThank you. Speaking of family, yours is beautiful.â
He turns toward the credenza. âFamily is everything.â Then he gets up, goes to his desk, and retrieves a thick leather wallet from the top drawer. âI keep their photos with me all the time.â He flips open his wallet and flashes pictures of his family in my face. While feigning interest, I make note of his numerous credit cards, including a JP Morgan Chase Palladium Visa made of actual palladium and gold. He returns the wallet to the drawer and joins me back on the sofa. âBut business is my life. I work hard so that my family has what they need and want. Iâm building an empire and leaving a legacy. When I take my last breath, my firstborn will be given the keys to the kingdom. I have to admit, itâs difficult to balance my work and my home life at times. Do you have any childâ? Donât answer that. Iâve been warned by human resources. I know Iâm not supposed to ask those kinds of questions.â
âNo worries. No, I donât have children, and Iâm not married. Getting this internship is my number one priority. I know itâs going to require long hours and my full attention, and Iâm totally committed.â
Andrew leans back, obviously impressed. âYouâre right, the position requires dedication, Pamela. But the rewards will be worth it. My proteges have successful hedge funds and have taken top positions in Fortune 500 companies. As an intern, youâll have the opportunity to work with my team and learn from them, but more importantly, youâll be shadowing me in all meetings, here and abroad. Iâm going to teach you everything you need to know in order to be successful in business, things that you could never learn in school.â
âThatâs why Iâm here, Mr. Clifford.â
âPlease, call me Andrew. My father is Mr. Clifford, and heâs retired.â He pauses, then gives me the once-over. âYouâre really focused for your age. Youâre what my grandmother would call an old soul. Hell, when I was your age, I was a hellraiser. If Iâd had an ounce of your discipline, Iâd be a trillionaire today. What can I say? Boys will be boys.â
I suppress the urge to scowl upon hearing his last statement and say, âIâve always been a determined person, Andrew. When I fix my eyes on a prize, I donât stop until I obtain it.â
He bursts out laughing. âI like that. Do you have any questions for me?â
âWhat inspired you to create this position?â
He stares thoughtfully at the ceiling as though heâs trying to conjure an answer. Then he finally says: âSomething happens to a man when he has children, particularly daughters. It changes you. Softens you in a way, makes you care more. And then thereâs karma. I believe in it. Iâm just doing for other peopleâs daughters what Iâd want someone to do for mine.â
Eerie silence fills the room and then he calls my name.
âPamela?â
I blink several times, bringing myself back to the present.
âAre you okay?â
âYes, I wasâŚhuhâŚmovedâŚmoved by what you said.â Quickly, I continue. âWhen hiredâŚI mean if hired, will I have an office in the executive suite?â
âOf course.â
âDo you know when youâll be making your decision?â
âMonday morning. I need to meet with the team to make final assessments. Once youâre given the offer, youâll be expected to come in immediately to sign the contract and attend orientation.â
âI understand.â
He starts to speak but stops when his cell phone rings. âExcuse me,â he says, walking to his desk.
I take a moment to glance at my phone while he answers the call. My mouth curves into a smile when I see a text from my mother with an emoji of a tomato.
Good luck with your interview. So proud of you. Call me when youâre done so I can start dinner. Want it to be ready when you get here. Iâd love for you to spend the weekend with me. Letâs go shopping. Love Mom.
My smile fades when Andrew drops the f-bomb. I start to leave, wanting to give him some privacy, but he signals for me to remain seated. Red in the face, nostrils flared, pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, he gesticulates like a wild man. I look out at the breathtaking view of the mountains, hoping his tirade doesnât go on too long.
âWhat are you talking about...Matthew, we were supposed to meet today, not next week! Donât play with me, manâŚWhat letter of intent? Youâre getting ahead of yourselfâŚI donât like being blindsidedâŚNo, you listen to me, dammit! Matthew, donât you hang up on me!â He stares at the phone, then slams it on his desk. And within seconds, he composes himself, acting as if the call had never taken place.
I sit there trying to maintain a poker face. I want to prove to him that I have thick skin, that Iâm up for the corporate drama. âWas that about the merger?â He furrows his brow and ignores my question. Damn, thatâs not good. I hope I havenât gotten inches from the finish line only to lose the race.
He straightens his tie and his face lights up with a boyish grin. âWhere were we?â
âWe were just finishing up. Unless you need something else from me.â
âI know everything I need to know, Pamela. This meeting was about chemistry. Can I work with you? Is there a fit?â
âI see.â
âOkay. Weâll be in touch, Pamela. And if you have any questions in the interim, please reach out to Shelley or Tabitha.â
âWill do.â I shake his hand.
âBy the way, great blue blazer. Blueâs my favorite color.â
I know. âThanks, Andrew.â
He opens the door and I leave, my body still abuzz from the encounter.
When I get to the reception area, Veronica anxiously asks me, âHowâd it go?â
âHmm. So-so, Iâd say.â
âReally?â
âGood luck.â I turn away from her before she sees the smile plastered to my face. I canât let her know I aced it, because then sheâll up her game.
Pamela Carter is the Girl in the Blue Blazer. When the story begins she is waiting to be interviewed. She desperately wants the internship at Clifford Investments. This is her third try. But this time her chances are good. She needs the internship to get close to Andrew Clifford III. Andrew's company is close to a merger.
Veronica is the other woman who made the shortlist. Veronica engages in small talk while they're waiting. Pamela needs to focus. During her chat, Veronica mentions that she's pregnant with twins.
During their interview, Andrew immediately crosses a line commenting on how he likes Pamela's hair. He doesn't say anything about her resume. Pamela powers through determined to nail the interview so she can destroy Andrew, even when he takes a phone call that makes him angry and drops the f-bomb. She aces the interview but the position goes to Veronica. When she finds out, she lets it slip that Veronica is pregnant, so Pamela wins the position by default.
The book goes on to show how far Pamela is willing to go. It was clear what Alretha Thomas was trying to do. Pamela wants justice. I won't spoil it by telling why. The author does this through two timelines, moving between Past and Present. It was effective even though I figured out the connection between Elizabeth and Pamela.
I could easily imagine each time and place. The 80s were a different time from the 2000s but it was the same man with power. I was invested in each scene.
I love when bad things happen to bad people. Andrew Clifford III is a rotten man. He contributed nothing to the world except his played-out "boys will be boys" mentality. I enjoyed every mishap, every misfortune that happened to that deviant. I particularly liked that it happened sooner rather than later.
Pamela stayed true to who she was. I knew whose story was being told.
Readers who like stories about justice will enjoy The Girl in the Blue Blazer. It's a fresh take on a sexual predator story.