Notes from Triada Investment Meeting:
As compiled by Scarlett Evans—executive assistant, grad student, and reluctant admirer of CEO Nick Hart’s snacktastic abs
Well, my fellow corporate drones, it’s another less-than-exciting investor meeting with the executives (Loud Talker, Human Buzzword, Master Delegator). And at the front, CEO Nick Hart, the world’s coldest—and ok, unbelievably sexy—tech badass. The man hasn’t smiled in the history of ever, he runs a tight ship filled with miserable employees, and gosh, he just really does not love feedback. Especially from me.
Development updates, acquisition delays, and…holy hell, why does he keep looking at me? I don’t work for him. I work for his brother. Which is good, because otherwise I’d spend every meeting secretly wondering what actually lies beneath that cool, aloof demeanor. Like, is he an uptight geek in the boardroom…and a sexy-assed freak in the bedroom?
He’d better not find out I’m the one stuffing the company suggestion box. What’s so wrong with a Valentine’s Day Social, anyway? But the fact that my notes are less professional and more entertaining is one seriously dangerous game. Because if he ever found out what I really thought of him, there’d be all kinds of sweet, delicious hell to pay…
EXCERPT:
“That makes two of us.” I shove my burger aside. There’s no way I can eat it now. Not with the prospect of some half-baked project hanging over my head like a guillotine.
Miles smirks. “Drumroll, please.”
I give him the finger, but Beck indulges him, tapping the edge of the table.
“Anonymous says we need a—oh, this is too perfect.” Miles howls as Beck and I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “A—” He chokes on his laughter and has to take a drink of water before continuing. “A Valentine’s social!”
He’s messing with me.
He has to be. Who would put that in the suggestion box? This is a place of business, not a fucking romper room.
Even if sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.
“Let me see.” I reach for the laptop, shooting Beck a dark look. They’re both laughing like hyenas now. “Have you two been stuffing the suggestion box?”
“Don’t look at me,” Beck says, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for that kind of petty prank.” He chuckles. “It is pretty ironic, though. You know, since the only thing you hate more than Valentine’s Day is the suggestion box.”
Miles is laughing so hard now it’s a wonder he doesn’t bust a blood vessel. Asshole.
Could this be his doing, some ass-backward attempt to make me appear likable? It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.
“Pick something else. February fourteenth is the Epos launch. The timing is terrible and four weeks isn’t nearly enough time to put something like this together.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Miles wags a finger at me. “You already agreed. Besides, that was the last one.”
Fucking hell. Leave it to Miles to pick the one week the damn thing isn’t overflowing.
“No way. It can’t be done.”
“Not with that attitude,” Miles says through peals of laughter. When he finally gets control of himself, he adds, “Relax. If anyone can handle it, it’s you.”
It’s true. I’ve never walked away from a challenge in my life, but what the hell do I know about planning a social? I’m the last person in the world who should plan this event.
On the other hand...
It could be the perfect opportunity to prove I’m not the controlling bastard Scarlett thinks I am.
Arrogant. Uptight. Cold.
Her words chip away at my brain with maddening persistence. I shouldn’t care what she thinks. I know it on a cerebral level, but after last year’s bad press, her ludicrous, ill-informed assessment is infuriating.
Salt on an open fucking wound.
“So?” Beck spears a piece of lettuce with his plastic fork. “Are you going to do it?”
My gaze slides from Miles to Beck and back again. It won’t be easy—I’m already spread thin with the Epos launch—but I’m no quitter. With a little time and a plan of attack, I can do this. And who better to help plan a Valentine’s social than Miles’s snarky, highly organized, whip-smart assistant?
“I’ll do it on one condition.” A slow grin curves my lips. “I want Scarlett to help.”
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