Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Sabrina: I mean, I’d tell her myself, but EAs don’t talk in meetings, or so I’ve heard...
Damn this girl.
She needs to learn there’s a time and place for her smart-assery, even if it’s wrapped in wisdom I will take seriously. I look up at Sabrina across the table. She raises her face just above her laptop, hiding a smirk, and returns to typing like mad.
“Sorry, forgot to mute my phone. Miss Lindt, ten percent is the minimum increase most of our clients see. Our Return on Ad Spend often sails north of fifty percent roughly a month after a campaign’s launch. When clients let it run for three months, the sales increase can go as high as seventy-five percent. Let HeronComm send your numbers to the moon. That’s revenue for new product lines and new hires. Our results speak for themselves, and I’m confident they’ll talk your language, too. The real question is, how confident are you in your team and its products?”
Lindt tumbles back and laughs so hard her chair rolls a few inches. “Oh, my. You’re good, Mr. Heron. Show me these ads.”
I do exactly that, with pleasure. Halfway through, as she’s complimenting everything, I hear Hugo breathe a bearish sigh of relief.
It’s almost too perfect.
She particularly loves everything we shot in the park after I shooed a crazy, latte-spitting woman off her park bench.
The meeting ends without a hitch, and when I shake her hand, it’s my turn to silently breathe a sigh of relief.
I’ll admit it. After the Woof Meow Chow stumble, today had me worried.
Hugo grins at my side so hard it looks like his cheeks hurt. He needed a win today.
Lindt pushes her chair back. “Thank you all for coming out to see me today. I’ll have that contract sent over by Monday.”
A minute later, we’re off, with the entire team swapping high fives behind me on the way to the elevator.
As we walk out of the glassy building into the L.A. sun, I tell Sabrina, “Nice job, Miss Bristol. Your performance note was on point and well received.”
She doesn’t say anything, just gives me a blank look.
“Nothing?” I grumble.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re so funny.”
Damn. I tried to give her a compliment, didn’t I?
“I saved your ass back there, Mr. Heron. Again,” she clips, casting a smile that’s anything but friendly. “You’re welcome. Is that what you’re looking for?”
My turn to roll my eyes now.
“Please. I would’ve sealed that deal either way, but I told you, I’m grateful for your help. I’ve done hundreds of multimillion-dollar negotiations long before your sass showed up.” I reach up, jerking at my collar to loosen it in this heat—or maybe it’s just the presence of one insufferable assistant who makes my blood run hot for outrageous reasons.
“Three words,” she says with a shrug. “Woof Meow Chow.”
“That was an off day. A rarity,” I grunt, lowering my voice so Hugo doesn’t hear us. “And to be fair, that was far more the design concept than anything I did.”
“If you say so, boss.” She’s wise not to meet my eyes after wagging that stinger of a tongue.
If she did, I’m sure she’d see flames shooting out to rival Hades. I’d fire her on the spot, if only she weren’t so damn good at her job.
We walk to the curb in icy silence and wait for our charter limo.
Ruby comes up behind me. “Hey, Mag, got a minute?”
I turn. “Sure.”
She glances at the other employees, clearing her throat.
“Over here, away from the team.” She walks almost back to the door, heels clicking.
Not good. I follow her, wondering what’s up.
“What is it?” I whisper as soon as we’re alone.
“What the hell are you doing to Sabrina Bristol?”
Wait. I did something? To Sabrina?
If memory serves, I sent her my driver and drove myself to the airport after going twenty minutes out of the way to make sure she had that stupid coffee flavored sugar milk. I even got her bear claws, for God’s sake.
“Excuse me?” I growl, trying to suppress the edge in my voice.
“She looks like hell. The warnings are there. She’s already twice as miserable as your other assistants looked right before they quit. Quit, you doofus! Do you hear me? At this rate, I doubt she lasts a month.”
“Nonsense. She’s doing just fine. Better than most EAs ever have. You’re being ridiculous, Ruby, stirring up drama over—”
“Watch your step with that bullshit. If you had a male HR manager, would you call him a drama queen for raising concerns about talent retention? You know every single one of your past EAs weren’t all problem children, right? It’s statistically impossible, even if you are King Asshole.”
A growl lodges in my throat and my nose wrinkles at Mariska Crista’s old nickname. Then I sigh.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply you were doing anything less than your job—looking out for my dumb ass,” I tell her.