"Don't be so jealous, Garrett. When you disrespect our names, you disrespect our mom. And we don't take too kindly to disrespecting our mother. We can't help that she's a fan of cheesy romance novels. Get your ass together. You're ruining Gun's day."
We both turned to look at the birthday boy who sat in the booth surrounded by a group of sorority girls. Each girl balanced a drink and plates with slices of birthday cake that we'd had delivered to the club. A curvy redhead sat on his lap and fed him forkfuls. Cheeks reddened—from the attention or the liquor—and curly hair mussed, he didn't look disappointed by my sour mood.
"He doesn't look sad."
"You're right. Gunnar looks happier than a pig in shit. Tanner's sexting Emilia. He thinks we don't know." Hunter laughed. "Hey, listen. I've struggled with how to discuss this with you, but why were you a dick to Jasmine and Lilah?"
"I had a bad meeting with Nic, and I took it out on them."
Not the entire truth, but not a lie.
"Stop it. Monday morning, you make it right with them." He poked me in the shoulder. He was bigger and my only genuine friend in the city, but I would fuck him up. I ignored him and took another sip of my drink.
Where's the loyalty? I'd known that my best friend had developed a friendly working relationship with the women quickly. After the status report fiasco, the three gathered for lunch. Though I was the odd man out, they had extended an obvious last-minute lunch invitation. By last minute, I mean they'd been heading out the door, and Jasmine casually threw the invite out. Her tense body language told me that she didn't want me there, and I figured that Lilah, and possibly Hunter, felt the same. I'd begged off by saying I had other plans. Instead, I'd retreated to my office to update the diagrams.
I had gigantic brass balls questioning his loyalty when I'd somehow entangled him in my drama with Nic. Hunter was smart, and we relied on him to suggest the perfect solutions. He could come up with a resolution for this blackmail, but now was not the time or the place to tell him. I would share when I was sober and not with his brothers.
"I mean it. If you aren't in lockstep, then it fucks with everyone. Make it right," he said—no, demanded—then walked away. My friend left me alone with my thoughts and an empty glass.
The next morning, I awakened to an alarm blaring from my phone. I winced as a sharp pain shot from the left side of my head to the right. I stumbled to the bathroom for much-needed relief. As I washed my hands, I glanced in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed my bloodshot eyes. My head pounded when I flinched at my reflection. I remembered little from the previous night. My last memory, a directive from my best friend.
"Monday morning, you make it right with her."
Jasmine
“Mister Wallace, I’ve developed the plan for the analysis of the financial systems. The only risk we have is with the Chief Financial Officer, Jeff Cagle. He’s responsible for several tasks and has not committed to our timeline. There’s a risk that we will not meet our November end date. I am working with his direct reports to see if I can shorten that timeline.” Lilah folded her hands and sat tall in her chair. She tried to hide her proud smile, but it was hard to miss.
Parker Wallace Junior’s round face, encased in black-rimmed glasses, filled the large television screen. He nodded while scribbling notes on a notepad. I knew Lilah’s update had impressed him. She’d used charm and influence to get what she wanted.
“Good job, Miss Monroe. Outstanding job. Let me know how I can assist. Miss Carmichael, how is the technical audit progressing?”
Lilah sat back in her chair, resting her forearms on the armrests. Both turned their attention to me.
Lilah and I usually had complete independence with client visits; there were only mandatory monthly check-ins with the Wallace management team. Given the revenue potential with the Dynex project, Junior subjected Lilah and me to weekly, Monday morning, teleconference meetings.
Junior was old school. Or he’d like us to believe he was. I’ve asked him to address me by my first name. Against my wishes, he’d continued to refer to me as “Miss Carmichael.” He’d like everyone to believe that he was a gentile, southern gentleman. The heavily accented southern dialect and exaggerated manners were an act. Junior had aspirations to be perceived as a modern-day Rhett Butler, but it came across as Foghorn Leghorn.
“Miss Carmichael, what is your update?”
“We’re gathering system documentation. There have been moments when I’ve doubted the team’s commitment to the effort, but I aligned everyone’s expectations.”
Now, I needed to understand Garrett Hamilton’s investment in our success. He was a dick. The kind of dick that you hate, but can’t stop admiring. At seven fifty-nine this morning, he’d strutted into the conference room. I’d ignored his sly smile when he’d dropped the rolled-up printouts next to my laptop.
“As requested, the updated diagrams,” he said coolly.
I’d avoided eye contact as I choked out a thank you. My voice sounded like I’d swallowed a bullfrog. I hated being a bitch, but I equally hated sharing any nicety with him.
I knew that I was supposed to go high when people went low, but I’d learned that you couldn’t be nice to some folks. They only respected you when you were a bitch. I’d noticed how Garrett shied away when I stood up to him. Yet, being an unapologetic bitch was cold; it wasn’t a part of my nature. I believed in collaboration, teamwork, and supporting each other. I liked to make alliances, but that asshole was not deserving of my kindness.
He’d wanted the hard-ass bitch, so that’s what he’d get.
After rudely plopping the documents on the table, he’d strolled to his chair. As he unhooked his brown leather bag from his shoulder, his shirt strained against his sculpted arms, and the sunlight from the neighboring window hit him at just the right angle. The beams highlighted and enhanced the magnificently chiseled lines of his facial features. I wanted to trace a finger along his masculine profile and stubbled chin.
A wave of disappointment flowed through me as I’d pried my eyes away. Why were all the assholes so good looking? Why was I so damn attracted to him?
“That’s good to hear. Keep up the good work. It’s important to impress our clients with our service. There’s a lot on the line. We don’t want them happy; we want them wildly impressed.” Junior’s booming drawl knocked me from my thoughts. He resumed writing on his notepad. “Same time, next week? Miss Monroe, I’d like to speak with Miss Carmichael in private.”
“Yes, I’ll leave you and Miss Carmichael to your meeting,” she answered in a chipper voice. She pushed away from the conference table and made a big show of walking to the door. Instead of exiting, she stood next to the television screen to eavesdrop on our conversation.
“Miss Carmichael, I want to remind you of The Pillars.”
Not this shit again. The Pillars were ER Wallace’s outline for achieving partner-level status. The guidelines emphasized a commitment to customer service and community, bringing in new business, showing professionalism, and achieving high ratings from the teams and client. From day one, the Wallace team drilled The Pillars into each employee.