“Well, what exactly happened? Because if she still has her keycard and employee pass, then it sounds like she wasn’t fired. What did you say to her? Did you actually say, you’re fired?”
“Yes . . . I mean . . .” I think about it. Did I? Did I say it out loud or did I say it in my head? “I thought I did.” Bram laughs hard. “Shit.” I drag my hand down my face. “Now I can’t remember. I definitely told her to get out and then she was gone for the day.”
“Yeah, prepping the space for Sir Dragomir. You so did not fire her.”
“Fuck.” I lean back in my chair, staring at the stupid spikey tree thing. “What do I do? Fire her now?”
“Sure, if you want to look like an ungrateful prick who has no common decency. She clearly wants to make you comfortable in your environment. Why not give her a chance?”
“Because she’s . . .”
Beautiful.
Smart.
Funny.
Quirky.
Annoying . . .
“Because she’s not right for the job.”
“Seems like she’s more right than you were ready for. Give her a chance and be nice. She’s clearly invested in making things easy for you.”
“I’m not being nice.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid she’ll actually see that you’re a good guy?”
“I’m not that self-absorbed. I can’t be nice, not when I don’t know her potential.”
“Let me guess, you’re going to put her through the ringer?”
“I don’t have an option,” I say while flicking one of Dragomir’s leaves. “If she wants to work for me, then I’m going to make sure she knows what working for me entails.”
“Christ,” Bram blows out. “Just promise me one thing and I’m serious about this.”
“What?” I ask, checking the time again. Two minutes.
“Don’t piss on the welcome parade she gave you this morning. She clearly put thought into it.”
I think about how the office looks vastly different and even though it’s not my style, Bram is right. She obviously put a lot of time and thought into it, especially to make it happen this fast. I have no fucking clue how she got all this up here so early in the day. And fuck. The security staff allowed some unknown to deliver the coffee cart? And a ficus? They don’t know her. How did she get that approved? And she paid for it. Who is this girl?
But then the businessman in me sees a spot of potential. She has connections and that might be a good thing moving forward.
“Okay, I promise.”
Chapter Six
CHARLEE
Linus: He called this morning, looking for Bram, as expected.
Charlee: Good, thanks for letting me know. And thanks for the help yesterday. I wasn’t sure the security team would actually let me up here. They obviously know who you are, Linus. Anyway, it means a lot to me.
Linus: You’re welcome. No way in hell are you going to be fired before noon. Not my girl. Keep me updated on everything.
Charlee: I will. Time to go into the lion’s den. P.S. I think he’s taking a liking to Dragomir.
Linus: I’m still snorting over the name. Rath Westin has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. Good luck, girl.
Charlee: Thank you.
I set my phone to the side and take a deep breath.
I’m not an idiot. I knew exactly what Rath Westin was doing yesterday. He couldn’t handle me and within the first interaction we had in the office, he sent me packing. Harold Danvers did the same thing, but never actually uttered the words, you’re fired. Therefore, I acted like it never happened.
Yes, my personality can be a bit much at times, but what these powerful businessmen don’t realize is that they need someone like me to keep them running.
Someone bright and shiny.
Someone who will respectfully refuse and decline meetings and events for them.
Someone who knows their eating schedule, meeting schedule, and poop schedule.
The puppet master, that’s me. I make sure these men function while making tough decisions and Rath doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to be the biggest asset to him. And when he does realize it, oh boy, will it feel so, so good.
Pen and notebook in hand, I stand, straighten my dress, and walk straight into Rath’s office, not even bothering to knock. We’re the only ones on this floor, he didn’t receive any incoming calls, therefore, I’ll walk right in.
When I do, I find him leaning over his desk, his hand in his hair, a position I’m sure I’ll be seeing many times.
It takes monumental effort not to burst out into laughter. How I’d love to be inside his head right now, watching him try to make sense of his morning. I know he’s confused, distressed probably, also maybe slightly relieved, which adds to more confusion.
I’d be confused too if I fired someone and then they showed up the next day as if nothing happened. It was a risk, but one I was willing to take, because even though we didn’t get off on the right foot, I know there’s a good working relationship between us ready to blossom. I can feel the give and take, I can see the long nights, and I can sense his need for me. It’s the only reason I didn’t go home defeated. Instead, I strapped my purse tighter to my shoulder and made a to-do list, maxed out my credit card, and cashed in on some favors.
I’m now hoping it all pays off.
“Uh-oh, looks like you haven’t touched your muffin yet. Can I make you something else? How about a breakfast burrito?”
He glances up at me as I approach and take the seat across from him. “I’m not hungry.”
“Did you eat breakfast?”
“Feeding me isn’t in your job description.”
“Not specifically, but it falls under the category of helping the CEO, so . . . did you eat?”
“I don’t eat breakfast.”
I shake my head. “No, no, no. That won’t do.” I take my work phone that I already plugged all my contacts into, and I type out a text to Vincent, my go-to Postmate driver. “You see, Mr. Westin, when they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day, they mean it. Your brain needs food. If a muffin isn’t your thing, then we’ll try something else. We’ll have some options here in fifteen.” I text away. “Bulldog and Brute are aware and will be bringing it up when it’s done.”
“Bulldog and Brute?” He lifts his brow.
“Yes, your security detail.” I roll my eyes. “You don’t call them by their nicknames yet? Such wonderful guys. Brute and his wife are expecting their third child soon. Father of three, wow, I can’t even imagine, but that’s beside the point. Let’s get to work.” From the pocket of my dress, I pull out a purple felt-tip pen and hand it to him.
He doesn’t take it.
“Here, go on, don’t be afraid. Tuesdays are for purple.”
“This isn’t necessary.”
“Mr. Westin, I assure you, this is very much necessary, because once you start color-coding your days, you’re going to notice a trend of when you’re most productive. If you know what color corresponds with what day, the trend will grow stronger. Thursdays are my hardest days. You would think it’s Monday, but it’s not. Thursdays I struggle with, that’s why I save green for Thursdays.”