6. Setting the standard
CHAPTER 6
SETTING THE STANDARD
EMMA
L et the record show that I do not enjoy being deceptive. Or unhelpful.
Despite what I promised Ivy and myself—and the mantra I repeated ten times while applying mascara this morning—I’m not sure I can be ruthless when it comes to Charlie.
Where do I even start?
Probably not with the coffee I bought as a peace offering.
As I place the piping-hot hazelnut mocha on his empty desk, I know Ivy is somewhere, shaking her head at me.
May my parents rejoice in years of etiquette lessons finally having taken root, I guess. At least I know they never managed to put out the fire in me.
See? I may be accommodating and unfailingly polite even when I’m imagining where a pencil could do the most damage (it’s probably the neck, but the testicles would be so much more satisfying), but polite does not mean passive.
So when Charlie greets my olive branch with nothing but an amused brow raise, I know one thing for sure.
He better be ready for a fight.
Calling the procedure bloated and illegible is being kind.
It’d be a hell of a lot easier if we were simply tweaking a few sentences and deleting references to the old system before patting ourselves on the back for a job half-done.
But I refuse to let the opportunity to really make a change slip through my fingers. As far as I can tell, all anyone’s ever done with this procedure is patch it with Band-Aids and duct tape for years.
That stops now.
If they want future proofing, I’ll give it to them. Worst-case scenario, all of my ideas are shot down and we keep using the same old standard we’ve been dragging behind us for at least a decade.
Best-case scenario? I finally earn my promotion.
In lieu of working with Charlie, I’ve split the document in half. On the surface, it’s an even division of labor between the two of us, a minor lie that Roberts accepted.
In reality, I’ve given Charlie the thankless job of covering retention and engineering metadata—the former is a wasteland of regulatory red tape, and the latter a series of unending contentious arguments with Projects.
That’ll keep him busy while I focus on the real work.
There’s no missing the moment he’s read my email.
“What the hell?” Charlie grits out, looming over his computer.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss.
His blue eyes are blazing. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says in a stage-whisper, “are you worried someone will overhear how well we’re working together?”
I stand and meet his accusing stare, then throw a glance over his shoulder toward Roberts’s office. The door’s open, but I can’t tell whether he’s inside.
Quickly, I stalk into the nearest empty meeting room, waving madly and glaring back at Charlie until he follows me inside.
Most days, wearing heels puts me on top of the world, but today I am a sovereign.
Ruler of Charlie’s goddamn universe , and he better be ready to take a knee.
“Okay, you’ve got me alone now.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Care to explain?”
It’s the first time we’ve stood this close, and as I’m staring him down, all I can think is I never realized how tall he is. He’s only got a few inches on me, and it puts him at what Ivy would call a “perfectly kissable” height.
No one’s lips can be that naturally plump.
Charlie, of all people, should not be allowed.
I inch forward, refusing to back down. “Weren’t you the one complaining about having a real job to do? I’m simply taking the bulk of responsibility off you.”
With a disbelieving huff, he fixes his tie and steps even closer.
I’ve always adored neckties. Watching someone put them on, take them off, finding other fun uses for them… well. There’s a lot to love.
Except when it comes to Charlie Walker.
Especially while he stands there in a charcoal waistcoat and narrow black tie, pretending to be sorry for risking my career.
Given the chance, I’d like to wring his neck with it.
He has the audacity to smile. “You know, if you really wanted to beat me, you’d give me something harder.”
A bark of laughter escapes me. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love something hard to beat.”
He slides a little closer, propping one hand on the wall beside me. His cologne is the deep, intense sort that I usually love.
It’s like he was designed in a lab to bother me on every level. His suits, his scent, those damn lips?—
“Got something on your mind, sweetheart?”
Heart skipping, I pull my gaze from his mouth.
“You wish.” I glare, ignoring the goose bumps that have spread along my spine. “We have a deadline. If you can’t do your part?—”
He pushes off the wall and steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’m not the one who has a problem here. Unlike some, I don’t always need to be in control.”
The jibe lodges itself between my ribs, twisting until the back of my throat stings.
It’s true, in more ways than he can possibly understand. Letting go isn’t easy for me, but I need to try.
What’s ironic is that my entire life feels out of my control. My parents, my body, my job.
And here comes Charlie, swanning in at the last minute, accusing me of what? Wanting to be in charge of my own destiny?
What a horrific fate for a woman.
Well, he can take that opinion and shove it up his extremely attractive ass. I’m not backing down.
I doubt he’d feel any guilt if our situations were reversed. Hell, he probably doesn’t feel anything at all.
I’m getting this promotion. And not only that; I’m getting Logan back.
“Roberts has already approved it. So I’ll do my thing and you can do yours, and we won’t have to even talk to each other.”
“Fine.”
“Great,” I grit out.