Chapter 4 #2
He’s standing at the windowed wall behind his desk, his back to me when I walk inside, closing his office door behind me. His phone is glued to his ear and he’s barking orders down it. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing his strong, tanned forearms.
I grudgingly admit to myself that Lauren and Sophie are right.
From a neutral point of view he really is a fine specimen of a man.
His back is broad, his shirt barely containing the span of his shoulders, and his waist and hips are slim.
There’s a power to him that makes my own leg muscles feel weak.
Stupid leg muscles.
“It’s impossible,” he says to whoever’s on the other end of his phone. “It was valued at three mil, I’m not paying five. Tell them to shove it, we have other options.”
There’s a pause as he listens, and lifts his free hand to rake his fingers through his thick, black hair. His bicep flexes, his shoulder blade rises, and I’m starting to understand Leonardo Da Vinci’s obsession with the human form.
Then he turns and sees me standing in front of his door. “What are you doing here?” He does a double take, then quickly barks into his phone. “Liam, I’ll call you back.”
He throws his cell phone onto his desk and looks at me. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and for a moment he says nothing.
“I did knock,” I tell him. “I thought I heard you tell me to come in.”
He slowly shakes his head. “I didn’t hear you.” His eyes rake over me, and it’s like the blue turns dark for a moment. “Do we have a dress code here?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “We’ve never needed one.”
“Hmm.”
He doesn’t sit down so neither do I. I just walk to his desk and straighten my shoulders.
When I look up he’s watching me, his jaw tight.
“What is it you want, Ava?” he asks.
I meet his gaze firmly, determined to be strong. And then I stumble over my stupid words. “I, um… well, we were wondering actually, whether you’d be okay with…”
He sighs at my prevarication. Internally, I’m sighing, too.
I start to talk fast because it’s the only way I can get it out. “It’s a Smith and Carson tradition to give the team a glass of something fizzy on Fridays. To thank them for their work.”
“Something fizzy?” He frowns. “Like soda?”
“A bit like that.” I cough. “But it’s cava.”
“Cava?” he manages to draw the word out so it has a bazillion syllables. “You give them alcohol?”
“Just a glass.” I don’t dare tell him that after that glass everybody piles into The Hole in the Wall bar on the corner of the street and gets absolutely plastered. He’s on a strictly need-to-know basis on this one.
“Does Mediatech pay you less on Fridays?” he asks.
“No.” I try not to roll my eyes because I know where this is going.
“So they pay you to drink wine on company time?”
“Everybody’s worked very hard this week,” I tell him. “It’s a nice way to thank the team. We’ve survived this long because we encourage team spirit. We make this a fun place to work. Fizzy Fridays are part of that.”
“Fizzy Fridays. It has a name.” He runs his thumb along the line of his jaw, then mutters quietly, “Unbelievable.”
“You must do something similar in New York,” I say, ignoring the scowl on his face. “Maybe take your staff to a bar to thank them?”
“We work until eight most Fridays. And we don’t encourage drinking on company time.”
“Sounds boring,” I tell him, trying to make a joke. “Maybe you need to loosen up.”
“I’ll loosen up once I’ve figured out how to stop this place from going down the drain,” he says quietly. “Between your finances and your systems, there’s absolutely no reason why Mediatech shouldn’t move your backlist to New York and close this office down.”
A shudder snakes down my spine. For the first time since Monday he looks almost human. “I’m sorry, I…”
He waves his hand. “Have your Fizzy Friday. I’ll be in here doing my best to save all of your jobs.”
It doesn’t feel like a victory. It’s hollow and it feels bad and I’m already regretting coming in here. I stand and look at him, trying to decide what to say.
“Would you like me to bring you in a glass?”
“No thank you.”
Okay then. I offer him a smile that he doesn’t return and smooth my skirt down, feeling the burn of his stare as I walk toward his office door.
Predictably, everybody is milling around outside, trying to look busy while also waiting for me to come out.
“Are we on?” Ryan asks, his voice low.
“Yeah, we’re on.” I nod and everybody cheers, looking at me like I’m a soldier who just returned from winning the war.
MYLES
I stare at my closed door for a full minute after she leaves.
The image of that tight skirt clinging to her legs is still burned into my retinas as I pick up the phone and hit the speed dial to the PA I share with three other Mediatech editors in New York.
I’m not exaggerating when I say she has the patience of an angel.
“Myles,” she says, sounding annoyingly perky. “Long time no talk. How are you?”
“I’m good. I just saw your message about a meeting next week. I can’t make it – can you decline for me?”
“Sure. So I take it you’re not coming back to New York this weekend either?” she asks.
There’s no point. A four hour flight just to make calls from my apartment doesn’t make sense. I can make those calls from my short-term rental here and not have to worry about packing or getting through security, even if it’s the first class one.
“Not this weekend.”
“And what about my other message?” Emma asks. “Your mom called. She wanted me to check your schedule to see if you’re free the weekend of your dad’s vow renewal.”
“What did you say?” I ask, while making a mental note to never tell my brother anything. Liam is sure to have told her I’m not coming and now she’s decided to get involved.
“I told her you have your schedule on private.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t think she believed me. I wouldn’t have. What kind of assistant wouldn’t be able to see her boss’ schedule?” Emma clears her throat.
“It’s fine. I’ll deal with my mother. Next time she calls just refer her to me.”
“She says you never answer. Or on the rare occasion when you do, you never tell her anything. She says she talks to me more often than she does with you.”
“I’m busy.” That’s an understatement. Apart from eating, sleeping, and the occasional gym visit, I’ve been doing nothing but work.
Attempting to get Smith and Carson in order as well as doing my own work is more than challenging.
On top of that, we’re due to release a new Great Bear Endo book in quarter four and we’re nowhere near ready for that.
“I know, Myles. But she’s your mom.”
A twinge of guilt pulls at my stomach. She’s right. Mom can be annoyingly over interested in our lives, but she doesn’t deserve to be ignored.
“I’ll speak to her,” I promise. Then I look at my watch. It’s almost five. “You should probably be finishing up, right?”
Emma laughs. “Oh you know me. I’ll be here until eight. I have to talk to the recruiters, plus there are a hundred emails waiting to be sifted through in your inbox.”
“I’ll deal with the recruiters and the inbox.” My brows pinch together. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She doesn’t sound sure. She sounds slightly perturbed.
“Do you like working for Mediatech?”
“Of course,” she replies smoothly, and I wonder if she even heard the question.
“And the rest of the staff in the children’s publishing department, are they happy?”
“Define happy,” Emma says, her voice wary.
My brows knit together. How do you define happy? “Should we do more to make the office a good place to work? Like… I don’t know. Maybe on Fridays we could give them all a glass of champagne or something?”
Emma bursts out laughing. “What? Imagine the carnage. You want them alert and working, not rolling on the floor drunk.”
“It was just a suggestion.”
“I know. It’s kind of sweet. And weird. But if you want I can look into staff satisfaction and how we can improve it.”
“Yes, but don’t do it until next week. I don’t want you working all weekend.”
There’s a pause. I can imagine the lines denting Emma’s brow right now. “Myles, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking aloud.” I glance at my watch even though she can’t see me. “I need to go, I have some calls to make.”
“Of course. Have a good weekend.”
“You too. Don’t do any work,” I remind her.
“And don’t you work too hard either.”
I end the call, feeling like I’m on a boat in a choppy ocean, off kilter and out of control.
And I don’t like it.