Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
The email from my editor at Barrington came through while I was on the train. An exposé is only an exposé if the reporter isn’t outed in the middle of getting her story. Denise no longer has any interest in the piece on S&H, and I doubt she’ll want anything else from me in the future.
People say you can’t read tone from an email, but Denise is a professional word wrangler. Her five clipped sentences made it abundantly clear that she isn’t impressed.
Neither am I.
And neither are the angry, shocked, and betrayed faces that turn my way as Hannah spies me through the windows of the conference room and rises to open the door.
As I step into the charged space, I’m keenly aware of Jack standing in the corner of the room—the smell of him, the tension rolling off his powerful form, the way something deep in my chest aches to turn to him, run to him, wrap my arms around him and hold on tight until we find a way out of this mess—but I avoid making eye contact.
I can’t look at Jack, or I won’t be able to hold it together through what comes next.
I set my briefcase on the smooth glass at the head of the table, but I don’t sit down. Sitting will only make me feel more vulnerable, and I get the sense I won’t be here long.
These people don’t look like the friends and coworkers Eric knew. They don’t look like people who want to ask questions, listen, and come to an understanding. They look pissed off, scared, or too stunned to have an opinion, and I wish all over again that Jack had waited. That he’d trusted me, believed in me, and given me just a little more time.
Or that I had listened to his voice mails sooner, instead of shutting down communication and hiding in my lair like the old, socially dysfunctional Ellie because the thought of losing Jack and this story at the same time was enough to short circuit my coping mechanisms.
I understand why Jack felt backed into a corner, but did he really have to send out that group email last night, before we’d even had a chance to regroup?
If he had waited just a day or two, I might have been able to walk in here with my head held high, a criminal-activity-exposing hero. At the very least, I would’ve been armed with complete and professionally presented research that would have justified my deception.
But the notes and pie charts I cobbled together after finally listening to Jack’s frantic voice mails last night aren’t impressive.
As I pull the copies from my briefcase, my hands are trembling. Around two this morning, when it became clear I was going to need every second I could get to pull my presentation together, I emailed Jack, giving him permission to start the meeting before my arrival. I was hoping he would soften them up with the signature Holt charm, and then I’d win them over by explaining why my investigation was so important and dispensing evidence of my solid research skills.
But as I stare at the sea of angry, confused faces, my confidence in my plan crumbles faster than the stale muffin I forced down on my way to the train.
“Before we start looking over the numbers and statistics,” I say, my voice thin in the too-silent room, “I want to assure all of you that I never intended to make anyone feel foolish. I truly had, and still have, the best of intentions.”
“I don’t care about your intentions.” Rictor’s bark breaks the seal on the room, inspiring a chorus of angry grumbles from where the brokers are gathered. “I want to know if your undercover stunt is going to sink the company we’ve busted our asses to build.”
“It’s not fair,” Frame pipes up, dark eyes wide in his pale face. “A lot of us have families, people depending on us. Making S and H look bad in the media isn’t going to make the world a better place for women. It’s going to take food off the table for our wives and kids. And do you have any idea how much diapers cost?”
“And childcare,” Barb from accounting pipes up.
“I understand where you’re coming from.” My gaze shifts between Frame and Barb, willing them to see that my heart is in the right place. “This isn’t about throwing S and H—or any of you—to the wolves. Through my investigation—”
“Through your deception, you mean.” This from Lulu’s supervisor, Will Pool, who isn’t even trying to wipe the smear of smug satisfaction from his face.
Plowing on, I say, “I’d hoped to get an insider’s perspective and a clearer picture of where a typical financial institution is failing to provide equal opportunity and compensation, and by bringing that to light, start a conversation that might lead to change. Not just here, but—”