Chapter 12 （continued）
Nika
Kilcullen Tech’s CEO was emailing me.
Personally.
I sat with that for a moment.
All it had taken was years of being passed from team to team without recognition, a pay rise conversation that had gone nowhere, and one beautiful homemade chocolate cake.
Funny how that worked.
Conrí Gallagher. I read the name twice, then clicked through to his profile on the company intranet out of what I told myself was professional curiosity.
The photo that loaded was exactly what I expected.
All rich men looked the same in their headshots.
Conservative suit, standing at a slight angle for the photographer, arms crossed, chin lifted just enough to suggest authority without trying too hard.
The smile never quite reached open or warm — it was that other kind.
The boardroom kind. The one that said I know exactly how much I’m worth and so do you.
I don’t like him.
The voice came out of nowhere. Again.
I paused.
Why? I thought back, genuinely curious.
Silence.
I sighed.
You’re probably right, brain. We don’t like him.
I zoomed in anyway. Just to be thorough. Just because knowing your enemy was basic professional strategy and had nothing whatsoever to do with the dark eyelashes or the green eyes beneath them. Such a specific shade of—
Don’t.
The voice snapped this time. Sharp and immediate, like a hand closing around my wrist.
You’re so uptight, I thought.
No response. Just a wall of pointed silence that somehow managed to communicate disapproval more effectively than words would have.
I frowned at my screen.
Why would my own brain be uptight about eye colour? That was new. That was a new development in whatever was happening to me neurologically since Croatia.
I thought about everyone in the office. The cubicle negotiations. The sheer chaos.
It was probably both, I decided. My brain and whatever was wrong with it.
I minimised his picture.
There was no point in irritating myself before a meeting I hadn’t asked for.
I opened the email again and read his request properly this time.
Conference room. Tomorrow morning. Bring available team members.
I lifted my phone and dialled Francis’s number. Everyone else on the team was probably still sick.
“Hi, Nika,” she said cheerfully. How she managed to be happy all the time was beyond me.
“Hello, Francis. You’ll never guess what.”
“What?” Cautious immediately. Smart woman.
“Conrí Gallagher wants us to update him on the project,” I said, pausing for effect before I continued. “Tomorrow. In person.”
A pause.
“Wait. Mr Gallagher? The Conrí Gallagher?” She said it like he was a celebrity.
“Yes. Yes. The CEO.”
“What should I wear?”
“What?”
“You know. For the meeting,” she said, then paused. “God, what if he speaks to me and I freeze?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Just picture him shitting himself.”
She barked out a laugh so loud I pulled the phone away from my ear.
“I’ll email you what I have, if you have anything—”
“Don’t you think he’s hot though?” she said. “He’s Irish but sadly doesn’t have the accent. They moved from Ireland when he was five or six. He has a brother.”
“Damn, Francis. Stalk much?”
“No, there was an article. You’ll never guess about his brother though—”
“I’ll email you. Bye, Francis.”
I disconnected before she could finish.
Don't get sucked in, the voice murmured.
I opened the email that I’d sent him initially, checked all the attachments and forwarded it to Francis. She was probably still fan-girling over him.
It wasn't until later that I wondered what it was that I could get sucked into.
??
??
??
I logged off from my work systems early and opened a blank presentation.
After thinking about it, I’d decided this was an opportunity.
Andy wouldn’t be there. Claire had been all too happy to pass the task to Francis and me—practically relieved, if her tone was anything to go by.
Nobody was going to swoop in and take credit for this one.
For once, there was nobody left to swoop.
It took a few hours to build it properly.
I was careful—structure, data, the budget anomalies documented cleanly with context, the testing outcomes presented in a way that a CEO could follow without needing the technical background.
I knew this project better than anyone currently upright.
That was going to be obvious tomorrow and I was done pretending otherwise.
I sent Francis a copy, made a note to run through it with her in the morning, and closed the laptop.
The flat was quiet. Finley was still at his mum’s—still a little upset from what I could gather, though I wouldn’t know for certain since I’d blocked his number and that worked perfectly well for me.
He would need to come and collect his belongings. But him blowing up my phone with drunk angry and sad messages at random hours was too much. I couldn't understand why he was so upset. Our relationship had long fizzled out. We both knew it.
The silence that used to feel like absence now felt like something else entirely.
Space. Just space and peace.
I made tea, pulled my legs up on the sofa, and let my mind drift.
It drifted, unhelpfully, to dark hair curling slightly at the collar. A jawline that could probably cut glass. Quite a thick neck, actually, the kind that suggested—
Go read a book.
I grinned.
Don’t mind if I do, I thought back, already reaching for my phone and opening exactly where I’d left off in book two of the Savage Alpha Shifters.
The discomfort that radiated back at me was palpable. Pointed. My brain, apparently, had opinions about my reading material.
I got comfortable and turned the page on the reading app.
I could absolutely get used to working from home.