Max tilted his head. “It should be, I guess. But she goes on and on about me getting marrie—dating. I’m used to it.”
“Have you told her that we’re . . .”
“Fucking like bunnies? Funnily enough, no,” he said, chuckling.
Was that what we were doing? Just fucking? I wasn’t sure. I liked the guy, really liked him, but he was my boss and he had a daughter and this whole secret life in Connecticut I’d never seen.
“I think maybe she’s picked up on the fact that I like you,” he said. Butterflies in my stomach took my mind off my quickening pulse. “I know my sister has.”
Liked me? Did that mean it wasn’t just fucking for him? I wasn’t sure it was for me anymore either.
“Scarlett?” I asked.
“Yeah, she’s made a few comments when your name’s come up.” He slung his arm across the back of the seat. “Look, don’t feel any pressure, but I’d like it if you came up, even if it isn’t for the dance—it’s only three weeks away. You might have plans.”
“I don’t.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “You don’t have plans?” he asked. I shook my head.
“So? Does that mean you’ll come?”
“Sure.” I grinned and the corner of his mouth turned up. I could tell we both wanted to touch each other, lean in for a kiss, but there was some kind of imaginary force field that existed when we were in work clothes.
The cab pulled to a halt on Fifth Avenue. Shit, we were here.
“Max King for Peter Jones,” he said when we reached the receptionist.
As we made our way up in the elevators, he said, “I’ve done this a million times, Harper. I’ll step in if it gets too much.”
He meant to be reassuring, but I didn’t want him to step in. I wanted to nail this so the presentation to JD Stanley would be easy. Or easier. I really wanted my father to see what I’d been able to do despite him. Maybe then he’d wonder if he’d missed out, realize just throwing money at a situation didn’t mean you knew a person, influenced or inspired them.
“I’m good,” I said with an open, professional smile. “Everything’s fine.”
As we entered the conference room, three men stood from their chairs across the oval mahogany table to greet us. All white, all balding, all slightly overweight. In fact, I could have interchanged any parts of them and I was pretty sure no one would notice.
After the introductions, we took our seats across the table.
“Gentlemen, we have some slides we’d like to pass around,” Max said as I slid three copies of our presentation across the table.
Not one of them made a move to take the papers.
The man in a gray suit steepled his fingers in front of him. “Why don’t you just talk to us about the experience you have in Asia. Most of your competitors have local offices, and I’d like to understand a little more about how you’ll be able to provide any real value from your desks here in Manhattan.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
This wasn’t going as planned. The presentation was where I felt safe.
I glanced across at Max, who looked as relaxed as if he’d just been asked his mother’s maiden name. He sat back in his chair and nodded. “Sure. I’m very happy to talk about our strategic choices in terms of international reach.”
He went on to explain how his low overheads meant he could spend money employing experts on the ground, which could be different project to project, where his competitors had to use the people they’d employed in their local office regardless of whether or not they were qualified. “You see someone at their desk in Kuala Lumpur is still at their desk—they’re not out meeting people, finding out what’s happening on the ground. My network of contacts are the people living the day-to-day reality of the geopolitical situations across many industries.” Max sat forward as he spoke, looking at his audience as if they were the most important people in the world and he had precious information to share with them. They seemed to find him as compelling as I did.
Max batted away each of the questions as if he were Nadal returning serve, and as the meeting progressed, the suits visibly relaxed, even chuckling at a few of Max’s wry comments.
“Do you think the actual process produces anything we’ve not seen before?” The middle man tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “You clearly see it as part of your competitive advantage.”
Max turned to me. This was the part of the presentation I’d prepared. “Harper, did you want to add anything here?”
I lifted the corner of my mouth, trying to fake a smile, wanting to cover the fact my mind had gone blank. Completely blank.
“Yes, well.” I flicked through my copy of the presentation that had gone unopened. “As you said, we see this is as a key competitive advantage over others in the marketplace . . .” I glanced up and scanned the three sets of eyes all staring at me. I reached for my glass of water and took a sip. My mind was blank. I’d been over this hundreds of times, but I needed a prompt. “We like to conclude things,” I blurted. That was one of my key points, wasn’t it? I didn’t know what I was saying. I started flicking through my presentation manically. “I . . . If I could just . . .”
Max placed his hand on my forearm. “Harper’s quite right. One of the key things that differentiates us from others in the marketplace is the conclusions we are able to draw.” Several times Max paused and turned to me, which would have allowed me to step in and say something if only I could have thought of a single thing to say.
Eventually I tuned out and slumped back in my seat.
I’d been given this huge opportunity and I’d totally bombed. What the hell was the matter with me? I’d been well prepared for today. I couldn’t have done more. Did I subconsciously not think I deserved to be here? Had my father’s comments at lunch last week burrowed deeper than I realized? I was trying so hard to prove to my father I was worthy of this job, but I wasn’t sure I really believed it.
I tried to wash away the awful meeting at Goldman Sachs but my bath wasn’t helping. Nor was the Jo Malone bath oil or the so-called soothing music filtering through from my bedroom. I was trying to relax, calm down. Nothing was working. All I could do was replay the disastrous meeting earlier in the day over and over again.
I slid under the water, submerging my entire head in the vain hope it would cleanse away the embarrassment.
I came up for air. Nope, I still wanted to die.
Max must think I’m an idiot.
My breath caught at the sharp knock at the door. Perfect timing. Here he was to tell me so. Well, I didn’t have to answer the door. I ignored him.
“Harper, I know you’re in there. Answer the door.”
I shouldn’t have put that music on. I stood up and wrapped a towel around me.
Max started pounding on the door.
“I’m coming,” I shouted. I threw it open, then immediately turned around and headed back to the bathroom.
“Nice to see you, too,” he mumbled. I dropped my towel and slid back into the bath.
I expected him to follow me, but instead I heard cabinet doors opening in the kitchen. What was he doing?