Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
My next meeting is with Andrew the Marketing Guy. For a guy who always jabbers a mile a minute, he’s shockingly slow to get to the point today.
It’s two o’clock before I’m back at my desk, feeling like I’ve just come from a marathon.
I plan to hit the café downstairs and grab lunch when I look up.
Susan the HR director hovers over my desk with an impatient look. As soon as she sees me she hits me with a question. “Paige? Can you get a meeting with the Brandt boys?”
I giggle. “Why does everyone call them that? It makes them sound like a couple of neighborhood brats up to no good.”
Then again, doesn’t the description fit?
Susan shrugs. “It’s how their grandparents always referred to them.”
I pull up Ward’s calendar, and it’s full of back-to-back meetings for the rest of the week. Maybe Nick can help her. I check his schedule. Not as booked as Ward, but he doesn’t have time to add meetings either.
“Oof. They’re pretty full all week, Susan. I’m sorry, is it urgent?”
She purses her lips. “If you want to keep this place running, it might be. I have three employees ready to quit including Trista Chisholm, the project manager.”
My heart drops.
“Oh, no. I just talked to her. I had no idea it was that bad.”
Susan’s face falls. “She says she doesn’t see the point in working her team around the clock when we don’t even have final acceptance yet, and she can’t do anymore midnight meetings for the next week. I pointed out how badly we need her right now, and how much Beatrice is counting on her. She says that’s the only reason she’s stuck it out this past week, and she didn’t think Beatrice would approve of such harsh expectations.”
I tap my fingers off my keyboard, searching for words.
“Tell you what, I’ll quit visiting the project team for updates and just gloss over it when Ward asks. That puts it on my head, so the first time she thinks she might hit a snag, she needs to reach out to me. I’ll risk the hit to keep up morale.”
“I’ll talk to her. I’m not sure it will be enough,” Susan says glumly.
“I’ll alternate days with her for the midnight meetings, if she can send me instructions on what she needs.” Might as well. It’s not like I remember what sleep is.
Also, maybe a teensy part of me would rather not have time to dream about a certain workaholic monster of a boss.
“That’s generous of you,” Susan says.
Actually, the reason I’m killing myself over it is because Ward and Nick are too worried about their Grandma to have to fret about key staff deserting them too.
That’s all.
It has nothing to do with the way Ward kissed me senseless in the hospital, or how I haven’t been able to get him out of my head since.
I curl my toes in the fuzzy slippers he bought at the hospital that day. They’re supposed to stay in my desk drawer, but I’ve been banned from wearing heels in the office. He says I’m a liability.
Cute. As if the tidal wave of crap he brings down isn’t a bigger one.
“See if Trista’s happy with that,” I say, nodding at Susan.
This is what I’m here for. Keeping the wheels in this big Brandt machine turning at its finest hour.
I just hope I don’t wind up getting flattened.
Nine hours later, I’m walking up the stairs to my apartment, sticky with the humid summer night, when my phone vibrates with a text.
Wardhole: How are the teams? I need an update.
Umm—maybe once I’m inside my air-conditioned apartment. But another message comes from boss Crankyface before I can get the door open.
I need the Winthrope files pulled as soon as you’re in tomorrow, then check with all of our other clients. That might be voluminous. If you need help, pull someone off whatever team you want to assist.
Really? It’s close to midnight.
I’ve got one foot—one—inside my door, and you’re texting me, barking orders? After you kissed me so hard my legs turned to jelly and then acted like it never happened?
Why the hell did I let that slide anyhow? That’s so not like me.
Neither is wanting to scream when my phone pings again.
BTW, don’t forget my coffee.
I punt my bag down, collapse on the couch, and prepare to answer without tearing his head off.
OMG, chill. Honestly, you’re stressing us all out. Please save what you need at work for tomorrow. I just got home. Also, I’ve never forgotten your coffee.
When I didn’t mean to, I add.
He responds a second later. But you have forgotten my coffee, Miss Holly.
I purse my lips. So we’ve regressed to Miss Holly after being on reckless kissing terms?
Nice.
You deserved it, I fire back.
And I won’t survive this week without coffee, he growls at me over text.