It Wasn’t in My Plans

Chapter 1

"Mr. Hall." The sharp, unpleasant tone reaches every corner of the room without her needing to raise her voice. "Your work has been pathetic, and I'll leave it at that."

The twelve people seated around the table can barely breathe.

Diane Carter presses a button on the remote she's holding and the screen behind her changes, displaying several charts.

"You had two weeks to analyze the financial data for the Gales account and two more to design a growth strategy that would support the international expansion they're after.

" She turns her chair slightly and points at the screen with one long, perfectly manicured finger.

"And what you've done in thirty days is flag problems instead of opportunities, drive costs up instead of cutting them, and fail to advise senior leadership so they could make the right calls. "

"That's not—" Levi Hall stumbles over the words, and a single raised eyebrow from Diane is enough to snap his mouth shut.

"Who was on the team for the Gales project?"

She crosses one leg over the other with perfect composure and lets her gaze move across every face in the room.

She asked only to gauge her staff's reaction, because she already knows the answer.

Nothing happens in the business development department at Whitestone Consulting Group without her knowledge, and if she had to bet, she'd say that whenever something occurs anywhere in the company, she hears about it before any official announcement goes out.

The silence stretches for a few seconds until Michael García raises his hand, clearly aware he's volunteering for a public execution.

She glances at him and begins tapping her lips in a slow, steady rhythm, as if deciding the tragic fate of an enemy.

"Just you, Mr. García?" She starts rocking her chair side to side. The sheer panic some people feel around her bores her to no end.

Several more hands go up, and she counts the four who ran the Gales project.

"Fine." She rises with the effortless elegance that defines her. "You're all fired, effective immediately."

She buttons her black blazer and picks up a leather portfolio from the table.

A faint murmur moves through the room, but nothing loud enough to make out. Honestly, office gossip and the petty complaints of the people who work for her don't interest her in the slightest.

"HR already has your termination letters," she announces on her way out. "I'd suggest you pick them up and leave this company right now."

"This isn't fair." Tessa Daniels stands up — she'd been silent until now, eyes fixed on the table.

Diane lets her gaze travel from those hideous blue heels up to the blouse two sizes too small that the — now former — employee insists on wearing.

"What isn't fair, Miss Daniels, is that we've been paying you a salary for months that comes nowhere near the level of your incompetence.

" Her voice drops to a low, deliberate hiss.

"Do yourself a favor: study, sharpen your skills, become a professional actually worthy of working somewhere like Whitestone — and if you can't manage that, you can always flip burgers at some diner. "

She walks out with her chin up and a perfectly measured stride that announces Diane Carter is moving through the hallways of the third floor.

The staff never holds her gaze. They step out of her way whenever she appears, and in the fifteen years she's been running the business development department, no one has ever had the nerve to push back against her.

No employee at this company has her level of knowledge; no one here is capable of what she's accomplished in over a decade, and — best of all — she's made sure to prove it, so no one ever dares question her decisions.

She steps into her office, ignoring the anxious expression on her secretary's face — a small, mousy girl she finds deplorable, though according to Tatiana, her personal assistant, who's been home sick with a stomach bug for two days, the girl is perfectly competent.

Diane spends more than ten hours a day in this space.

She arrives at Whitestone at eight in the morning while the rest of the staff don't come in until nine, and she leaves more than twelve hours later, exhausted but certain she's done her job.

Her office is spare, yet comfortable enough that she could live there without any trouble if she had to.

At forty-five, she's absolutely clear that work is her life and always comes first on her agenda, which is why she keeps everything she needs to stay as long as necessary: a large sofa against the back wall, a side table with a coffee maker, a small cabinet stocked with protein bars and whatever else keeps her going, and at the center — her throne.

A desk so large she's confident she could sleep on it, built from walnut with bronze hardware.

She sits down and leans back, feeling the full weight of her exhaustion. It's been a grueling week, especially after the disaster with the Gales project — which she'd salvaged at the last minute by convincing the CEO she'd personally take over the strategy.

She checks the time. It's barely five in the afternoon, and she's tired enough to go home, but just the thought of the silence waiting for her there makes her body react with a shiver she can't quite control.

Two knocks at the door, and when it opens, she already knows who it is. Only one person has the nerve.

"Word is you broke your record this week." Clara Fitzgerald walks in with the easy sensuality that's been part of her whole life. "Six?"

"Seven." Diane looks at her, chin raised, counting the employees she's fired in just four days. "Didn't anyone teach you not to walk into someone's office without waiting to be let in?"

"I knocked."

"And you didn't wait for permission to enter." A low sound rises from her throat, and Clara's answer is to drop into the chair across from her.

"What impresses me most is that the board's on board with all those terminations." Clara picks up a piece of cut crystal set on a wood base engraved with Diane Carter's name — winner of an award for best business strategist in the state of California.

Diane snatches the award from her hands and has to endure Clara's stifled laugh. She stands and carefully sets it on a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit beside her bookcase, where she keeps every award she's won over the past fifteen years.

"Of course they are," she says, returning to her chair. "Firing those incompetents saves the firm millions in liability from other companies over botched mergers and expansions."

Clara Fitzgerald has been at Whitestone as long as she has.

The difference is she didn't start out running a department the way Diane did — it took Clara years to work her way up to leading the consulting firm's marketing division.

She knows she's learned a great deal from her colleague and has followed her lead in many ways, except one: she's never become the kind of cutthroat everyone fears.

Clara is made of different material, softer, and although she's demanding in her own right, she has a quality Diane simply doesn't: the ability to connect with people.

"Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you on the award and invite you over Saturday." She pauses, searching her friend's eyes. "Elizabeth's doing a barbecue with some of her softball friends. There'll be a lot of people — you might actually enjoy it."

Diane exhales so slowly that anyone who didn't know her well might think she was working up to a polite refusal.

"Stop. Trying. To. Set. Me. Up." The venom in her voice could take down a blue whale. "I'm not interested, and I'd rather stay home."

Clara knew the answer before she asked, but she's certain she'll never stop inviting her to the endless events Elizabeth hosts.

Elizabeth — for reasons mysterious enough to border on sinister — has a genuine, almost sisterly affection for Diane.

From the moment she met her, about eight years ago, when things with Clara were getting serious, she saw something in Diane she's never been able to explain; and so she keeps insisting, over and over, on dragging her to the kinds of places her friend and coworker can't stand.

"Your loss." The marketing director stands. "Don't stay too late, and don't forget to eat dinner."

Diane lifts her arctic-blue eyes and fixes them on Clara's face.

"Close the door on your way out," she snaps, and turns back to her computer screen.

An hour later, her eyes are burning and the words on the screen are blurring together. She decides her body needs a break, and while being home feels like a particular kind of torture she usually avoids, tonight she's fairly confident that after a long bath, she'll collapse into bed.

She's almost out the door when Samuel Barnes — one of Whitestone's majority partners — materializes in her office, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from asking whether he couldn't have picked any other moment to make her life miserable than the exact second she'd decided to leave.

"Samuel," she says, barely moving her lips.

"Heading out?" he asks, though she's standing there with her bag on her shoulder.

"Trying to."

The man smiles with a warmth she's never understood. She can't tell if he's the biggest hypocrite alive or simply too dense to know when to smile and when not to.

"I'll just take a minute of your time." He sits, and Diane is forced to follow. "I wanted to tell you in person rather than have my secretary send you an email."

Those words would make most people uneasy — they don't exactly sound promising. Diane just wants him to get to the point so she can go home.

She doesn't open her mouth. She waits in silence for him to speak.

"A new hire is starting in your department on Monday.

" The news lands worse than if he'd told her she was fired.

"The long-term plan is actually for her to work with Clara in marketing, but your departments are closely connected, and I'd prefer she start by getting familiar with business development, because—"

"Samuel." She cuts him off without a second thought about who he is.

"This week I fired seven people you insisted on placing on my team, even though you knew full well I'm the only one who chooses my staff.

Seven people who made unforgivable mistakes I have no intention of absorbing again — which is why I have to decline. "

Samuel Barnes is a tall, heavyset man with a kind face.

His hair is completely white, because at seventy, only a good dye job could cover all those grays.

He's one of the firm's most approachable partners — the kind who always has an open door, supports charitable causes, and works nearly pro bono as a mentor at UC.

Diane doesn't trust him. She doesn't trust anyone but herself, which is why the understanding look on his face strikes her as a bear trap.

"It's not a suggestion, Diane." He smiles again, and she clenches her jaw. "Cassidy Collins will join your department, spend six months working with you, and then move over to Clara's team."

Diane stares at him for a moment, unable to shake how sad it must be — a man his age, with some young woman whispering sweetly in his ear and letting him get handsy just enough to score a favor like this.

She knows she's not going to win this one. It stings, but she has to accept that she can't go to war with a power player like Samuel inside the firm. That doesn't mean she'll lie down and take it.

She stands, signaling the meeting is over.

"It'll be done my way. I don't tolerate incompetence in my department, and I certainly won't tolerate misconduct." Her voice is thick, dangerous. "If it doesn't work out, she's gone."

Samuel rises as well.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Diane." He tucks his hands into his pockets. "But don't worry — I have full confidence in Cassidy's abilities."

In her abilities to butter him up, she thinks, as he walks to the door.

"Thank you," he says pleasantly.

Diane doesn't respond. She lets him leave her office, then curses Cassidy Collins's birthday under her breath.