Author: Beverley Kendall
Length: 368 pages
Publisher: Grayson House
Rating: 4 Stars
She’s brilliant, beautiful…and tired of being the only Black woman in the room.
Two years ago, Kennedy Mitchell was plucked from the reception desk and placed in the corporate boardroom in the name of diversity. Rather than play along, she and her best friend founded Token, a boutique PR agency that helps “diversity-challenged” companies and celebrities. With corporate America diversifying workplaces and famous people getting into reputation-damaging controversies, Token is in high demand.
Kennedy quickly discovers there’s a lot of on-the-job learning and some messes are not so easily fixed. When Kennedy’s ex shows up needing help repairing his company’s reputation, things get even more complicated. She knows his character is being wrongly maligned, but she’s reluctant to get involved—professionally and emotionally. But soon, she finds herself drawn into a PR scandal of her own.
Please enjoy this exclusive excerpt from
Looking for a job sucked. Getting laid off sucked even more. Three weeks ago, Kennedy Mitchell found herself in both unenviable positions. While searching for a new job in her field of expertise—marketing and five solid years of it—she’d accepted a fourweek receptionist position to tide her over. Hey, student loans didn’t pay off themselves and they couldn’t care less about your employment status. But, as grateful as she was to have money coming in, she hated the part of the job that had her slapping herself awake every five minutes. That also sucked. It would be one thing if the place were a bevy of human activity (she generally liked people and they tended to like her back). Nope, that wasn’t even close to what she was dealing with. Per the visitor log, a grand total of six had passed through the first-f loor lobby of ECO Apparel in the two weeks she’d been there. Three on one day alone. And during the hours when the employees were upstairs ensconced at their desks, the place resembled a ghost town. Seriously, she wouldn’t be surprised to see tumbleweed roll past the reception desk one fine windy day. Although, for a ghost town, the lobby was sleekly modern, all sharp angles, and glass and chrome. Glancing down at her cell phone, Kennedy released a longsuffering sigh. How was it possible that only three minutes and not an hour had passed since her last five-minute checkin? This was usually when she prayed for one of two things: the power to control time, or another job. Since the chances of either happening within the next seventy-two hours were zero to none, she grudgingly resigned herself to her fate and tapped the keyboard, bringing the sleeping monitor back to life, and the email from an interested recruiter back into view. Seven hours to go, and the jury was still out on whether she would make it until noon—much less to the end of the day. The ding of the elevator broke the lonely silence and was soon followed by the click of heels on the faux marble f loors. Twisting in her seat, Kennedy spotted Nadine from Administrative Services striding purposely toward her, folder and purse in hand. She hastily closed out of her email and treated the brunette to a bright smile. “Hey, Nadine, is it break time already?”The pretty admin assistant usually came to relieve her for a midmorning break at ten. Currently, it was an hour shy of that, and taking a break right now would upset the monotony of her day. How would she cope with the upheaval? “Mr. Mullins wants to see you in his office, and I’ll be filling in for you for the rest of the day,”her co-worker announced abruptly. Kennedy stiffened and her eyebrows rose at the hint of annoyance and resentment threading Nadine’s tone. Well good morning to you too. What the hell happened to the pleasant, chatty girl of not even twenty-four hours ago? And why on earth did the director of Human Resources want to see her in his office? Especially as she, like Nadine, reported to the manager of Administrative Services. Then Nadine’s folder landed with a splat on the desk near the monitor. Kennedy’s gaze f lew to hers and she found herself on the receiving end of a very pointed come on, get a move on, girlie. There’s only one chair and you’re sitting in it look. That was enough to galvanize Kennedy into action even as her jaw ticked and she prayed for calm. She hurriedly collected her purse from the bottom drawer before surrendering her seat to her visibly impatient co-worker. As if it’s my fault she’s getting stuck down here answering the phone. Despite Kennedy’s own growing annoyance, she paused and turned before leaving, her shoulders squared, and chin lifted. “Any idea why Mr. Mullins wants to see me?”Her voice was stiff but scrupulously polite. Since her interaction with him was limited to a brief walkby wave on her first day during a tour of the offices, she was at a loss. Nadine gave a bored shrug. “I hear no evil and speak no evil. They tell me nothing. I just go where I’m told to go, and do the work they pay me to do, if you know what I mean.”Kennedy’s heart instantly softened, and she excused Nadine’s uncustomary churlishness for what appeared to be the frustration that came with being the Jane-of-all-menial-work of the company. “Believe me, I know exactly what you mean.”They shared a commiserative what we women have to put up with look before Kennedy took the elevator up to the eighth f loor. Honestly, the drawbacks of possessing a vagina were sometimes too much. Giving birth was only one of them. Or so she’d been told. Her turn in the stirrups hadn’t come yet, but she assumed one day it would, and it wouldn’t be pretty. The company directory alone pointed to an obvious gender bias. Not one woman held an executive, director, or seniorlevel management position. Not. One. And it had been eight years since the previously all-male clothier had ventured into female clothing. One would think that one woman would have made it to the ranks of at least a senior manager position by now. What were they waiting for, a march on Washington? But wait, if she didn’t think it could get worse, it did. Kennedy had yet to see one Black face of any hue in the parade of employees who walked by her every day—that is, unless she looked in a mirror, and her hue skewed to the lighter shade of that spectrum. She wouldn’t be surprised if that was one of the reasons she’d been picked to grace the reception desk. In the twenty-first century, one would think that impossible. Especially in the city that didn’t sleep, and could be touted as America’s United Nations, every race, ethnicity, language, and sexual orientation duly represented on the postage-stamp island. Be that as it may, Kennedy knew better than most that the city tended more toward separate individual dishes—separate being the operative word—rather than one big old melting pot. Once off the elevator, she detoured to the bathroom where she freshened her lipstick, powdered the shine off her forehead, and gave her long, thick, brown curls a few twists. With her hair and face in order, she ran a critical eye over her outfit, a purchase of pure indulgence. Although had she even the vaguest idea that she’d be unemployed a week after she bought it, she most assuredly would not have indulged. But the cream pencil skirt and the baby blue fitted shirt ensemble had called out to her. Buy me. I come in your size. Your body will thank you in the end. And Kennedy, self-proclaimed clotheshorse that she was, hadn’t been able to resist the Siren’s call. Okay, so maybe due to financial constraints she was more a clothes pony. After ensuring no visible panty lines ruined the overall effect of polished professionalism and stylishness, she proceeded to Mr. Mullins’s office. She found him at his desk, the door to his office wide open. Upon seeing her, a smile broke out across his face. “Ah, Miss Mitchell, come in.”Kennedy met him halfway, where they shook hands, and she offered a pleasant greeting. He then gestured toward the table and chairs at the other end of the room. “Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”Average in height and build, hair graying and thinning at the crown, the man himself was as nondescript as middle-aged white men came. If his smile—wide and genuine—was any indication, she could relax, which she did one vertebra at a time. It didn’t look as if she was about to be let go early. Typically, people didn’t smile like that when they were about to deliver bad news. Unless, of course, they were psychopaths. No, they tended to furrow their brow, feigning concern and sympathy. Kennedy took a seat where instructed as Mr. Mullins swiped a sheaf of papers off his desk before joining her. She looked around for somewhere to put her purse that was not on the table or the f loor and found nothing suitable. In the end, she simply plopped it on her lap. Sliding on a pair of reading glasses, Mr. Mullins glanced down at the papers in front of him before directing his attention back to her. “So how are you settling in? Everyone treating you alright? No one bothering you I hope.”Yeah, nope! Absolutely not. No way was she falling into that trap. This was the kind of throwaway question people asked when they didn’t want or expect an honest answer. “No, everyone has been great.”She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that two of the managers had asked for her number and the head of IT asked her out for dinner. As someone personally opposed to mixing business with pleasure, and that included dating co-workers—been there, regretted that—invitations like that were shot down faster than a clay pigeon at a skeet shooting competition. “Good, good, good. Now, I’ve just been looking over your résumé—”he paused, glanced at it and then back at her over the rim of his glasses “—and by the looks of things—your previous experience and education—it’s apparent that you’re overqualified for the receptionist position. Any receptionist position for that matter.”For the measly sum of two hundred and fifty grand—the majority of which had been covered by scholarships or else she wouldn’t have been able to afford a school like Columbia—for both her undergraduate and graduate degrees, she sure hoped she was overqualified for the task of greeting visitors and forwarding calls. “Yes, but this wasn’t supposed to be permanent. The agency said it was a four-week assignment.”Mr. Mullins nodded. “That’s right. I’ve been told Nancy should be back in a few weeks.”He lowered her résumé, but still held it loosely between his fingers. “Does that mean you aren’t interested in a permanent, full-time position? I might have thought you’d prefer something in Marketing.”Kennedy watched as he turned the situation over in his mind. He seemed determined to solve the mystery of the overqualified temporary receptionist. But this wasn’t Agatha Christie–level stuff. No amateur sleuthing required. “I was laid off and this just sort of fell into my lap. The right job at the moment,”she stated simply. There were layoffs and then there were layoffs. Hers had been the latter as she’d been assured she’d keep her job after the merger. The following week, she’d walked into the offices of Kenners in the morning and was carting a box with every personal item she’d accumulated over the course of five years—including a dazzling pink slip—out the front door by the time the clock struck noon. Just like that, five years of job—no, financial security—ripped out from under her. And to add insult to injury, two weeks of severance was all she had to show for years spent busting her ass putting in fifty- and sixty-hour weeks. God how she hated them, pink slips, which shouldn’t be pink at all. They should be black like the hearts of the people who played favorites with other people’s livelihoods. “Completely understandable,”he replied, nodding. “Now, getting to the reason I wanted to speak with you. I assume you’ve heard of Sahara, right? She’s a singer. Won several Grammys. I believe she’s recently gotten into acting. Really a lovely young woman.”Had she ever heard of her? Almost everyone on planet Earth had heard of Sahara, and she wasn’t just some wannabe actress. Her first role garnered her an Oscar nod. Not too shabby for a small-town girl from New Jersey, who bore such a striking resemblance to Aaliyah, some people in your stuff here
It's not easy being a big fish in a small pond.
Especially if you happen to be a big, black, and very female fish. In the very male and very white pond of corporate pr.
Just ask our heroine. One Kennedy Mitchell. Once doomed to languish amid the drudgery and doldrums of the corporate reception desk. Despite her Columbia degree. Killer business acumen and exceptional style.
Until the day that her bosses at a certain fashion giant; start looking to woo the likes of a certain entertainment powerhouse. And realise that they need just that splash of color that Kennedy can provide.
Let's flash forward a little shall we. Kennedy is doing well for herself as the Olivia Pope-esque "fixer" of racially tone deaf Corporate PR.
Blonde, mega-rich, bestie, Aurora in tow.
When a certain tech billionaire/ big brother to aforementioned bestie/ Kennedy's first. Shows up with all of his good looks, charm, and a PR nightmare that only his ex can fix.
If that is...
She is game to becoming his sort of not ex.
It appears that the time has come to get as they say "down to the brass tacks" of this review.
So here we go.
Is this a sweet, funny, poignant, and sometimes overly obvious "acknowledge the black woman struggle romance?
Is it habitually readable?
Is its inclusiveness charming without being overdone.
Is it expertly written?
The character development and interplay is some of the best around.
And the emotional appeal is stellar.
The one thing that took away from some of the appeal.
The " only black face in the crowd" on repeat.
We get that.
Its a given...
Can we move on?
And I say this a a black woman.
It troubles me sometimes that in black writing the characters spend so much time being black. That readers are deprived of the experience of seeing them as anything else.
Right down to the supposed tongue in cheek name of Kennedy's company.
But I digress.
All in all this is a good, sweet, and very readable romance. With a heart melting HEA.
So much more than its name implies...
Token is no proxy...
Literary or otherwise.
Buy The Book Here:
Post a Comment
Thanks so much for stopping by. I love comments, so please leave a few.