Chapter Two #3
He nods. "Sponsorship call with the Harvey Group and Sienna at nine.
Planning session with PR at ten. Board prep meeting with Christian at eleven.
And the charity auction for the Hawkeyes next week needs some signatures from the party planner that Penelope hired.
" He pauses. "Everly asked me to remind you that you’re supposed to ‘look approachable for once,’ and to ‘pick a bride already so you two can be photographed at the event together for media coverage.’"
He doesn’t even blink as he quotes my sister verbatim.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Of course she did."
"Also, HR asked me to confirm that you delivered Miss Taylor’s termination notice personally."
I nod. "It’s done."
"Severance package filed as discussed. Two weeks beyond standard."
He says it free of any emotion either way. It’s not his job to approve or disapprove of my decisions. It’s his job to make sure they happen.
"Thank you for taking care of that. Anything else?" I ask.
"That’s all for now," he says. "Do you want me to have Facilities disable Miss Taylor’s access badge immediately?"
I mull the question a beat too long, which confirms letting her go was the right move.
"Yes. That's a good idea," I say at last. "Clean lines are the safest."
He nods and leaves.
Firing one assistant is a small decision in the larger picture, not that I revel in the idea of letting people go, but in her case, it was necessary for me to keep distractions low. So why does the office feel unbalanced all of a sudden?
My phone buzzes. Levi.
I consider ignoring it since he's been giving me shit ever since I told him that my assistant was off limites. Then I remember that if I don’t answer, he’ll just show up.
I swipe to accept. "What do you want Levi? I'm busy."
"Well, good morning to you, too," Levi says. "Did you fire the pretty assistant yet?"
My jaw tightens. "Levi."
"Oh, so you did. That was fast."
"She was a duplication. I told you this already."
"I remember. I also remember that you told me about the reports she pulls for you and how she organizes them exactly the way you like them. That’s like office porn for you.
I’m surprised you didn’t get down on one knee and propose right then.
At least you wouldn’t be in this mess of finding a bride anymore, now that Sienna dumped your ass. "
Sienna Brighton. One of the head business brokers for the Harvey Group. Smart, driven, arguably beautiful, and one of the youngest and most successful brokers in Seattle at twenty-eight years old.
"Sienna didn’t dump me. We were never together."
"I can’t force you to face reality if you refuse."
"Do you have a real reason for calling besides wasting my time?" I ask.
"I just wanted to check in and see how it was going with Aria," he says. "I know, since you barked ‘she’s off limits’ like a guard dog on Friday. That’s very on brand for someone who doesn’t notice her."
Heat flares under my collar. "I reacted because you were overstepping with an employee. We have HR policies for a reason. If you want to date, pick someone who doesn’t work for me."
"Who said anything about me?" he mutters. "But interesting that’s where your mind went."
"Levi…"
"Relax, Tin Man. I’m just saying, for once maybe examine why you’re reacting instead of doubling down on whatever robot script you’re running."
"I don’t have time for this. I have a board to prepare for."
He lets out a low whistle. "You’re really something, you know that? You’re going to die at your desk one day, and the coroner is going to have to pry your laptop out of your cold, dead hands."
"As long as the quarterly report is finished, they can pry whatever they like," I say dryly.
He chuckles. "I’ll see you tonight. Try not to scare any children with your resting murder face." He pauses. "Oh, and Everett?"
"What?"
"If you’re going to insist you don’t have a heart, maybe stop yelling about who is or isn’t off-limits to you."
The line goes dead before I can respond, and then I slide my phone face down back on my desk. The worst part is how his words sit in my head, echoing.
I don’t have a heart. That part I won’t contest because I’ve made sure of it.
I push away from the desk abruptly, as if distance from the furniture might translate into distance from the thought.
She’s gone. Her access badge will be disabled, her email deactivated.
The charity auction will happen next week.
The board will get its updates. PR will spin whatever version of me they want to sell to the public.
And the Aria Taylor problem will resolve itself the way all staffing problems do: quietly, efficiently, without lingering side effects.
I straighten my tie and clear my throat before heading down the hall to meet Christian.
Behind me, somewhere on this floor, a box is probably being packed. A desk emptied. A security badge turned in.
I don’t look back.
Because I have a bigger problem that needs my full attention.
I need a bride. And I need her fast.