CHAPTER 12 #2
"C'mon, Helisa, you know I’m not some naive little girl out here!" Ciara hissed, her face contorting with a raw, bitter jealousy. "First, you're taking her out for a private lunch yesterday, completely leaving the rest of the department behind. Now, you’re standing out there in the open hallway trying to act like this girl’s personal therapist because she walked in with a look on her face? And let’s not forget—you actually invited her for dinner later tonight back at your crib. Your private crib, Helisa. You have never, in the five years I’ve known you, invited an intern into your personal home. "
I sat up straight, my spine going rigid as I slammed my palms flat against the desk, matching her physical intensity.
"First off, the dinner was Naomi’s idea.
Naomi wanted to host a small welcome gathering for the new cohort, and I volunteered the space because I have the square footage.
It has nothing to do with personal preferences, and it certainly has nothing to do with you. "
"Oh, don’t give me that corporate crap, Helisa!
" Ciara shouted softly, hunching over my desk even further, her face less than two feet from mine.
Her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were turning white against the wood.
"Are you actually into this chick? Are you really out here trying to fuck the help?
Look me in my eyes and tell me you didn't touch her. "
The sheer dominance of her posture, the wild, emotional heat she was throwing at me, let me know that shit was about to pop off right here in the middle of the business day.
Her territorial nature was completely suffocating, and deadass, I could not bother with this type of low-vibrational energy today.
I had a multi-million dollar production contract to secure, a team to manage, and a life to live.
I didn't belong to her. We had crossed a line once, years ago, and I had spent every single day since then drawing boundaries in permanent ink.
Knock. Knock.
A soft, hesitant clearing of a throat cut through the thick tension in the room from the other side of the frosted glass door.
"Erm... Ms. Smith?"
I let out a slow, silent breath, my shoulders dropping just a fraction of an inch. Saved by the knock, I thought to myself, a wave of pure relief washing over my chest.
Ciara stood up straight in one sharp motion, her eyes still burning holes into my forehead. She slowly unclenched her fists, reaching down to aggressively smooth out the wrinkles in her designer dress, her breathing heavy and shallow.
"We’ll finish this conversation later, Helisa," Ciara whispered, her voice promising a whole fresh round of war before she turned toward the entrance. "You can't hide behind the interns forever."
"Come in, please," I called out, my voice returning to its flawless, pristine executive register.
The heavy door opened up, and Miley walked into the room, holding the folders firmly against her chest. As she stepped over the threshold, Ciara met her right in the middle of the doorway.
Ciara paused, completely dropping all corporate decorum, and gave Miley a slow, sweeping look up and down—a brutal, sizing-up glare that was dripping with pure, unadulterated female malice—before she stepped out into the hallway and let the door swing shut behind her.
Miley stood in the center of the room for a second, her eyes locked on the closed door before she turned her attention back to me.
A smug, knowing grin played at the corner of her lips, but her posture was still carried by that sharp, defensive Harlem edge.
She wasn't intimidated by Ciara; if anything, the drama seemed to ground her, pulling her out of whatever funk she had walked in with.
"What’s that all about?" Miley asked, walking over to the desk, her stiletto heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor.
"Because that look she just gave me out there?
That wasn't a corporate look, Helisa. That was a 'I want to see you dead in an alley' look.
Is she always that heavy before her morning coffee? "
I let out a soft smile, gesturing with my hand toward the leather guest chair across from me. "Ciara is just getting in her feelings, Miley. She thinks there is a lot more to you and I than just spreadsheets and data tracking."
Miley let out a low, smoky laugh, smoothing her pencil skirt down as she slid her thick hips into the leather seat, crossing one long leg over the other.
"She catches on quickly, doesn't she? A bitch has intuition, I’ll give her that.
So what's the play? Am I in trouble or what?
Am I gonna have to watch my back by the water cooler? "
"Nah, don’t worry about Ciara," I said, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the glass desk as I looked into her dark eyes, the butterflies in my stomach kicking up a fresh storm. "I’ll take care of her. She’s been with the company a long time, but she knows where the boundaries are.
Let's focus on what matters. We still on for dinner at my place later tonight or not? "
Miley’s expression softened instantly, a beautiful, brilliant smile breaking through her stress as she let out a loud, genuine laugh.
"We are definitely still on, boss. I wanna taste that oxtail you been bragging about.
You better not be out here lying about your help skills in the kitchen, because I know what real food tastes like. "
"I don't lie about Naomi in any room, Palmer," I teased, a heavy, flirtatious warmth bleeding into my tone before I pointed toward the files in her lap. "Now, give me the data. What are we looking at with the Washington accounts? Tell me something that justifies the salary I'm fighting to get you."
Miley’s face shifted back into focus, her analytical mind taking over as she opened the first manila folder.
"Alright, so I’m looking deep into these Washington production files, Helisa, and the reality is ugly.
We are down by exactly 20 percent in our baseline production rate compared to last quarter.
The manufacturing facilities in the D.C.
sector are stalling out, the logistical pipelines are completely choked, and if we keep moving at this pace, the entire regional distribution is going to stall out by August. We need to increase production immediately if we want to increase the revenue margins we promised the board. "
My professional instinct locked in. The numbers didn't lie, and a 20 percent deficit was a bloodbath if it hit the quarterly report. "Understood. The manufacturing plants must be operating on an outdated schedule, or the shift managers are cutting corners on labor hours."
I didn't waste a single second. I reached over, grabbed the receiver of my heavy office phone, and dialed the direct private line of one of my main strategic contacts inside the Washington D.C. oversight bureau.
"Arthur, it's Helisa," I said, my voice cutting through the line with zero hesitation the second he picked up.
"I’m looking at the live metrics right now with my analyst. We have a 20 percent deficit in the production rate.
That is completely unacceptable, Arthur.
I need you to authorize an immediate overtime shift for the logistics team down there.
We have to increase the production rate by Friday if we want to protect the revenue pipeline.
Do it today, Arthur. I don't want excuses; I want results on my desk by tomorrow morning. "
I listened to his brief, stuttering compliance for thirty seconds before slamming the receiver back onto the cradle with a sharp, decisive clack. I looked up at Miley, a smug grin on my lips. "Done. Production will scale up by midnight. That’s how we handle business on the forty-second floor."
Miley looked at me, a genuine spark of admiration gleaming in her eyes. "Damn, Helisa. You really don't play no games when it comes to this money, huh? You talk to men in Washington like they owe you rent."
"They do owe me, Miley," I said, my voice dropping lower. "Everyone here owes me their best performance."
Miley leaned back in the chair, her eyes tracking my face for a long, quiet moment before she let out a slow breath.
The folder lay open in her lap, but she wasn't looking at the metrics anymore.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, turning heavy with a personal curiosity that had nothing to do with E-Tech.
"Tell me something, Helisa... and be for real with me," Miley said, her eyes locking onto mine with an intense, probing curiosity.
"Are you and Ciara involved? Like... romantically involved?
Because that look she just gave me up and down just now out there in the doorway wasn't normal, girl.
It was as if she was sizing me up like I was trying to walk away with her property. "
I let out a long, heavy sigh, the corporate mask completely slipping off my face as I leaned back into the deep leather of my chair.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, staring across the glass desk at Miley, knowing that if I wanted this girl to trust me—if I wanted to keep that fire burning between us—I had to give her the raw, unedited truth.
I couldn't treat her like an intern in this moment; she was too smart, too perceptive, and too important to my peace of mind.