Chapter 3
He quirks one dark brow. “So, tell us, Ms. Emerson, what”s your grand plan for dragging our stodgy brand into the digital age?”
His tone is polite, but there is an undercurrent of doubt and mockery there. The others around the big conference table stare me down with that signature, I”ve-got-a-stick-up-my-butt executive realness.
Remember why you’re here, Maddie,
Taking a deep breath, I give Jack-a-licious my best down-my-nose look.
”Well,” I begin, my voice steady despite the tornado brewing inside me. “Social media can give you engagement. You can show the human side behind all the technical jargon.” I pause, steadying my jitters. The suits stare me down as if I fell straight from the moon. “Platforms like Instagram and TikTok offer direct lines to younger demographics,” I manage to supplement.
Jack—correction, Mr. Whitmore raises an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his handsome face. “Flouncing about on socials won”t quite cut it. You think a bit of TikTok boogie can redefine years of established branding?”
His words sting, and I feel a lump forming in my throat. But I push back the tears, refusing to show weakness. Especially not in front of a full room of stuffy professionals. Or maybe I’m overreacting. Is this what a normal business meeting is? A clash of minds?
Not that I know much about the rules and rituals of the corporate world.
“You can make Whitmore Tech more approachable if that’s your goal.” My voice is firm. “Times have shifted. Young people live on social media. For a tech company, that’s where the goldmine is. Your future profits.”
There is a murmur around the room, some nods of agreement, others skeptical. But Jack”s expression doesn”t change. He is still impenetrable, all business, and seemingly unaffected by my words.
I can”t help but feel hurt. How can he sit there, so cold and distant, after that night we spent together? What kind of superpower does he possess to compartmentalize like this?
But I can”t dwell on it. This is my chance to prove myself, to show that I”m more than just a pretty face with a social media account.
And besides, what would I have him do? Burst out in hugs and giggles in front of all these people?
“I think it”s time you stop being afraid of modernity,” I continue, my voice growing stronger with each word. “Unless you embrace new platforms and new strategies, you”ll be left behind.” I pause for effect, the room silent as a graveyard, my eyes spearing him. “But it’s your call, of course.”
Jack”s expression finally shifts, a flicker of something, surprise, perhaps, or grudging respect crossing his features. But it”s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced once again by that infuriating mask of indifference.
He narrows his eyes, still unconvinced by my digital media spiel. “Cute ideas don’t generate revenue, Ms. Emerson. I suggest you come up with some hard metrics on how this social strategy of yours will improve our bottom line.”
I bite my tongue to keep from firing something back I’ll regret.
Breathe, Maddie. You need this job.
My forced smile feels more like a grimace. “Of course, Mr.Whitmore. I’ll put together a detailed plan for how to leverage new platforms and boost engagement and visibility with your key demographics.”
Jack gives a curt nod and a humorless chuckle.
“Well then. I look forward to seeing these magical numbers.”
As he straightens his suit jacket and turns his gaze to the man sitting next to him, I take that as my cue to flee this terribly awkward meeting. I nod at Amanda, grab my purse, and beeline out the door, not stopping until I have locked myself inside a blessedly empty restroom.
I sink down onto the closed toilet lid, breathing in the quiet solitude of the bathroom. The sterile office environment already feels suffocating after the freedom of working for myself. And I’m barely two hours into this life. The stark white walls, polished floors, and corporate rules are my prison now. But my sisters need a steady paycheck. I remind myself that as far as prisons go, this is a very beautifully decorated one.
I quickly hit Grace’s number on speed dial. “Hey G, you are not going to believe this,” I rush out. “Remember that random guy from the hiking trip who wouldn’t take my V-card, but gave me multiple O’s?”
“Yes,” her voice comes out in a chuckle. “The guy who had you naked and begging but wouldn”t bang you? How could I forget that sob story?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Y-yes?”
“It turns out he”s my freaking boss!”
“Come again?”
“It turns out Mr. Whitmore . . .the Mr. Whitmore of Whitmore Tech is none other than Jack. My dazzling mountain man!”
“What?”
“I know, right?!” I throw my hands up in frustration. “One minute he’s kissing me senseless, looking at me with so much heat. But then, it’s ‘you deserve better than a cave fuck, Little Bird.’ Like, excuse me?”
I huff, bitterness swirling with confusion. “Was I that hideous he had to restrain himself out of pity or something?”
“Oh, stop it,” Grace scolds me. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it. Maybe he truly cares about more than a cheap thrill? He didn’t seem like a total Neanderthal from what you were telling me.”
I make a face. “Well, Neanderthal Jack sure came out swingin’ this morning. He ripped me to shreds in front of everyone!”
“What? Why?”
“It was awful,” I groan, leaning against the cold tile wall. “He acted totally indifferent, like he didn’t kiss every inch of me under the moonlight!”
“What a beast.”
“At first I thought he was someone else,” I continue. “Then I thought he didn’t recognize me. Maybe he didn’t. You think that’s possible?”
“Slow down, Mads. Don”t let a hotshot exec scare you off.”
“You’re right. I’ll be working with Amanda, anyway. She seems nice enough. And this is just temporary. I’m banking on your book being picked up soon. Please tell me your meeting with the agent went well?”
Grace sighs into the phone. “I think so. He seemed excited about the concept and the samples I gave him. This could be my big break, Mads.”
I smile softly, picturing Grace hunched over her laptop night after night, eyes ringed with exhaustion and filled with drive. She has been working on this thriller for over a year, determined to make it big.
I sigh, images of Mom and Dad flashing painfully. Of little Aria, just starting her freshman year as an orphan. But she has me and Grace, and between our two jobs she will not be lacking in anything. Whitmore will give us the stability and the extra income we need until—fingers crossed—Grace’s novel takes off.
My throat tightens, remembering Mom gushing about the intricate world Grace was building through words. There wasn’t a day that she wasn’t encouraging her. Both our parents were extremely proud of her dedication to writing.
If only they could be here now . . .
“It”s not fair,” I whisper, tears springing up. “Mom and Dad won”t get to see what an amazing writer you”ve become.”
Grace makes a choked sound, and I instantly regret the dark turn in conversation. “I”m so sorry, I shouldn”t have?—”
“No, it”s ok,” Grace replies thickly. “I was thinking the same thing. I just wish they could be here.” She takes a shaky breath. “Mom always said everything happens for a reason, according to some grand plan. But I still don”t understand why they had to be taken in that freak car accident.”
“I miss them terribly.” My own grief bubbles up. I roughly swipe at my eyes. No more tears. I’ve done enough of that.
Then I remember again the night with Jack and waking up alone, the embers of our fire dark and cold.
I looked for him for the rest of my hike. Part of me hoped each bend would reveal his tall, sturdy frame, that crooked smile warming me more than the rising sun. As I was boarding the bus to the city two days later, I was still convinced he would appear at the last moment. But he never did. He was gone, as indifferently as he dismissed our connection today.
If I’m honest, I can’t be mad at him. It’s not like he didn’t warn me.
Relationships are not my thing, he said.
And I agreed to it willingly.
I shake my head, clearing away the memories. “It makes no difference what Jack Whitmore does,” I declare fiercely. “I”m here for you and Aria now. You two are all that matters to me.”
After all, I would withstand anything for my sisters. Even an icy boss intent on making my life miserable.
Grace makes a sound of agreement. After a moment, she asks tentatively, “So, uh, any chance tall, dark, and brooding out there can be swayed by that signature Maddie charm?”
I bite my lip, mind swirling with heated memories. My pull toward him hasn”t faded, even if his feelings clearly have. I have half a mind to burst back into the conference room and pick up where we left off in that moonlit cave.
Except this time, I imagine I would not let him slip away so easily.