“Good Morning, Miss Domico.”
“Jesus . . . Christ,” I yip while frantically clicking at my screen, doing everything in my power to shut down the almost-naked man gracing every last section of my twenty-four-inch computer screen.
But in my haste to exit out, all I do is make the pictures bigger.
Man nipple covers my screen.
Smooth man chest in full view.
Bulge poking the towel on . . .
Bulge?
I lean in for a better look as my assistant clears her throat. “Am I interrupting something?”
“What?” My head pops up over my screen. I’m thankful she can’t see anything I’m looking at. “No.” I click the exit button rapidly, but can you believe it, my computer freezes on me. “Not interrupting at all. Nope.” I shake my head and clear my throat while adjusting my blouse.
Is it hot in here?
“Just finishing up some uh, research.”
My cheeks flame and for a brief moment, I let down my wall, showing an ounce of vulnerability to my assistant. Probably the first time she’s ever seen me flustered, which leads me to believe this is exactly why I shouldn’t be getting involved with anything when it comes to Jason Orson. Not even donating to his charity, which I’m sure is for a good cause, but staying as far away as possible is smart on my end.
“Okay.” Jessica studies me. “Are you feeling all right? You seem a little flushed.”
I pat my cheeks, willing my body to cool down. I click on the exit button for the shirtless images again, and this time they go away. Thank God.
“I’m fine, just got a little fired up about an unanswered email.” If anything, Jessica knows how much I hate it when people don’t answer me.
“Would you like me to send a follow-up for you?”
She’s so efficient. Annoying when I’m trying to cover up my obscene work conduct.
“No, I’ll send something later.” I bring the Briar Hurst file closer and flip through it, acting like I’m making sure everything is in it when in actuality, all I can see on the paper is Jason’s taut nipples winking at me.
Damn it.
“Well”—I pat the folder—“looks like everything is ready. Any last things I need to know before heading into the meeting?”
“Yes, actually.” She lights up her iPad and with her Apple pencil and scrolls through her checklist. “The meeting with the Carltons next week. They asked if they could move it to eight, rather than seven.”
“That’s fine. Give them whatever they want, I’m flexible.”
“They also requested Italian when I asked what they preferred.”
“Great, we’ll take them to Piccolo. Make reservations for four.”
She winces. “I think it will have to be six.”
“Six? Sure, they can bring whoever they want.”
“That’s the thing.” Jessica adjusts her glasses. “They want to bring Heller and Parks with them.”
My eyes widen, my jaw growing firm. “They want to bring my competition to the meeting? Why would they want to do that?”
“They said they want to make the same pitch once and then go from there. They’re ready to sell, but they want to make it as easy as possible, really get to know the candidates.”
“Jesus.” I pull on my long black ponytail. “Fine, make it for six. Did you get the tip sheet yet? Do you know what they’re looking for when it comes to making a deal?”
The Carltons are selling one of the biggest pieces of real estate in the Chicago area, a ten-acre lot along the lake that’s currently used for warehouse storage. Heller and Parks, and of course Domico Industries, have been after the lot for a while. It’s now down to our two companies, and I’ll be damned if I let Heller and Parks win the bid.
“I wasn’t able to dig up too much. They want to know about future plans, how they’ll influence the city of Chicago, and then some inside factors that have not been revealed yet. They said they’d talk about it at dinner.”
“Great.” I stand from my desk and smooth down my pencil skirt. “I love being caught off guard. Ask for the rooftop table for added privacy. Tell them it’s for Dottie Domico, and they’ll make it happen.”
“Got it. Also, got a call from Frankie Lazaro looking for a donation . . .”
“Ugh, Frankie. He won’t get off my ass. Yes, it’s on my desk, so just fill it out for me.”
“Your usual amount?”
“Yeah, he’ll call me out if it’s anything less.” I round my desk, after plucking my phone from the drawer. “When is my dad coming into town?”
“Next week, day before the meeting. He confirmed his attendance for the Carlton dinner.”
“And what about the Hanks account, was that finalized?”
She nods. “Papers were signed last night. I sent them to Goldman and Zenlow.”
“Perfect.” Goldman and Zenlow Law had been handling our legal needs for a long time now. Thank God. They’re the best. She hands me a cup of coffee she must have set on the credenza when I was staring intently at the fine circular shape of Jason Orson’s nipples.
So symmetrical.
I take a sip from the perfectly tempered coffee and say, “Did you order the catering for lunch today?”
“Yup, and emails went out to all the employees, appreciating them for their hard work during the Hanks acquisition.”
“Did you give yourself a raise?”
She smiles. “Just waiting on your signature.”
“Remind me later.” I tilt my cup of coffee in her direction. “Thank you, Jessica.”
I give her a quick goodbye and then head down the bright black and white hallways of our newly renovated offices. Urban chic is what I call it, with exposed piping and brick and soft touches here and there with comfortable couches, lounge areas, and one hell of a break room with free food and drinks, and games to clear your mind. Am I trying to impersonate Google? Maybe, but then again, no one likes to live eight hours of their life in a humdrum cube farm.
My goal for every conference is to not only conduct a meaningful meeting, but to also be the first person to show up. Thanks to my peeping Tom Internet searching, I’m the second person to show up. Matthew, the intern, is already sitting in a chair in the back.
I give him a kind smile and then go to the front of the conference table where I place my notes. My phone lights up with text messages and because I’m a glutton for punishment, I unlock my phone and see what my idiot friends want now.
Lindsay: You totally checked the link out, didn’t you?
Emory: You entered to win, didn’t you?
I will take my snooping to the grave with me.
Dottie: You know I have better things to do with my life than look up pictures of Jason Orson.
Emory: ^^^ Did you read that, Linds? She said look up pictures . . . we never said anything about pictures.
Damn it.
Lindsay: Busted! How’s he looking these days? Fine, right? Did you see that towel picture?
Emory: Even I studied the towel picture, and I’m utterly devoted to Knox. It’s hard to miss the towel picture.
Lindsay: Or the obvious bulge. Oh God, I’m getting hot just thinking about it.
Dottie: You both are in the presence of children, texting about a man’s penis. Don’t make me report you.