Chapter 8 #2
Eve doesn’t take her eyes off me, more glitter shimmering down from her hair with each angry breath. “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”
“Actually, yeah. I do.” I twirl her wrapped pen between my fingers, the crinkling sound apparently adding to her rage because her hands clench into fists. “The glitter was a nice touch, don’t you think? Really brings out your eyes.”
“I’m going to murder you.” She takes a step toward me, glitter falling from her movements. “I’m going to kill you so slowly that archaeologists will find your remains and wonder what the hell happened.”
“Stop it, Lopez. Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?” I drawl, enjoying the way her cheeks flush with fury.
She starts tearing into the wrapping paper with renewed violence, and more glitter explodes outward with each rip. “Stupid... fucking... sparkly... bullshit...” she mutters under her breath, each word punctuated by another shower of glitter.
A piece of wrapping paper gets caught in her hair, and she yanks it out with enough force to make me wince, sending another cascade of sparkles into the air that coats her burgundy blouse like she’s been dipped in fairy dust.
“You know,” I say conversationally, “you’re getting glitter all over your clothes.”
She pauses in her unwrapping to whirl around and face me, her dark eyes flashing with pure rage. “Oh, you think this is funny?”
“Hey, I didn’t force you to destroy my beautiful decoration. You could have left it.”
“When I’m done with you,” she goes back to attacking the wrapping paper, and more glitter explodes outward like confetti from hell, “they’ll need dental records to identify what’s left.”
Steven sighs heavily and looks up from his computer with the resigned expression of a man who’s refereed too many office disputes. “Okay, kids. Maybe we could all take a deep breath and—”
“Twenty bucks says she actually follows through on the glitter threat,” Joshua adds, not even looking up from his computer.
“Fifty says Caleb doesn’t survive the week,” Steven counters, giving up on peace-making with impressive speed.
I’m about to make my own bet when Iris’s voice cuts through the morning chaos.
“What in the world is going on here?”
Eve freezes mid-unwrap, a piece of pink paper hanging from her keyboard like a flag of surrender. I quickly pocket the wrapped pen and try to look innocent.
Iris stands in the doorway, her sharp eyes taking in the glittery disaster zone that is Eve’s desk, the scraps of wrapping paper scattered across the floor, and Eve’s mortified expression.
“Well?” Iris crosses her arms, waiting. I watch Eve, curious to see if she’ll throw me under the bus.
This is her perfect chance to rat me out.
Eve straightens up, smoothing down her blouse and lifting her chin with that stubborn tilt I’m becoming familiar with. As she repositions herself, her hair liberates another scattering of glimmering specks. “I was... redecorating.”
I blink. That’s not what I expected.
“Redecorating?” Iris’s voice is flat with disbelief.
“Yes.” Eve’s voice doesn’t waver, even though she’s standing in the middle of what looks like a craft store explosion. “I thought my desk could use some... personality.”
“Personality.” Iris looks around at the pink wrapping paper carnage and glitter coating every surface. “Right.”
“I’m almost done cleaning it up,” Eve adds quickly, bending down to gather more scraps. More glitter shimmers to the floor as she moves.
Iris watches her for a long moment, then sighs deeply. “Eve, I don’t know what this is really about, and I don’t want to know. But whatever you did to piss someone off this time, maybe try not doing it again?”
Eve shoots me a look that could melt concrete before turning back to Iris. “Don’t worry. I’m going to deal with it.”
“Good. Meeting in an hour about the Serastra timeline.” Iris turns to leave, then pauses. “And get that glitter cleaned up before everyone else gets in. This is a professional office, not a kindergarten classroom.”
As soon as Iris disappears around the corner, Eve turns to face me, her voice sickeningly sweet but loaded with disgust. “Just because I didn’t rat you out doesn’t mean I’m letting this slide. I’m going to handle you myself.”
“Handle me?” The words come out low and husky.
“Mm-hmm.” She stands up, arms full of crumpled wrapping paper, and finally meets my eyes. The smile she gives me is sweet as arsenic. “I don’t need Iris to fight my battles for me.”
Something hot and dangerous coils in my chest at the challenge in her voice. “Bring it on, Princess.”
“Oh, I will.” She dumps the paper in the trash viciously, glitter floating through the air like malicious confetti.
It takes Eve an hour to sweep the glitter away and set up her desk properly again.
She keeps muttering under her breath as she does.
The ground is still sparkling, but the janitorial staff will deal with it.
I make a mental note to leave them each a small gift for the extra work they’ll have to deal with.
The rest of the morning passes in tense silence as Eve and I work on the Serastra 70 campaign materials. Despite our mutual hostility, we fall into a surprisingly efficient rhythm. She handles the market research and demographic analysis while I focus on the visual concepts and messaging strategy.
Every so often, I catch her shooting murderous glances my way, but she keeps her comments strictly professional. “The target demographic skews older,” she says, sliding a report across to me. “Median age fifty-five, established wealth, traditional values.”
“Which is why the heritage angle works,” I reply, making notes on the mood board. “Classic elegance with modern upgrades. Not flashy, but sophisticated.”
“Exactly.” For a moment, she almost sounds like she’s agreeing with me, until she catches herself and adds, “Obviously.”
Around eleven-thirty, I overhear Iris talking to Holly at her assistant’s desk. “If Richard calls, tell him I’m in meetings all day,” Iris says, her voice strained.
Holly nods, her expression carefully neutral. “Of course.”
Flora, who’s just arrived late and is settling into her desk with her usual flurry of animal-themed accessories, catches my gaze and shakes her head, mouthing, ‘Trouble in paradise.’ Iris disappears back into her office, and I can’t help but notice the tension in her shoulders.
By lunchtime, Eve and I have actually made significant progress on the campaign framework. She begrudgingly admits that some of my ideas have merit, though she phrases it as ‘not completely terrible.’
“I’m getting lunch,” she announces, standing and stretching. “Try not to sabotage anything while I’m gone.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I call after her. She flips me off without turning around, which makes Joshua snort with laughter.
I’m finishing up some notes on the campaign timeline when my phone buzzes with a text from Ethan. The message makes me sigh:
‘My office. Now.’
* * *
Growing up with four siblings is not easy, especially when you’re the middle child.
Out of all my three brothers, Ethan and Nick are the most ambitious.
Ethan set up The Wilder Group five years ago by taking over failing companies and fixing them up.
Nick has his own tech company. Jake, Ethan’s twin, took over our father’s law firm.
Megan’s studying fashion. That leaves me. The lazy middle child.
I’m not ambitious. I’m not one to throw himself into his work like my brothers. I was perfectly content to fly under the radar.
I never wanted to run a company with employees under me. I didn’t want the responsibility. I also didn’t want to work for someone. So I started my marketing consultancy, a one-man show where I have to worry about no one but myself.
Of course, that makes me easy pickings for Ethan who keeps dragging me into his corporate messes like this one.
If the company he acquires has a shitty marketing department, that somehow becomes my problem.
The money is always good, but he’s a hard taskmaster, always wanting reports and constant updates.
I just know that’s why he wants to see me today.
I’ve not even been on the job for two weeks.
Does he expect me to produce the corporate spy out of my ass?
As I approach, I spot Clarice Jameson at her desk just outside Ethan’s door. Ethan’s personal assistant has been with him since he started The Wilder Group, and she runs his schedule like a well-oiled machine.
“Afternoon, Clarice,” I say, pausing at her desk.
“Caleb.” She looks up from her computer screen, her sharp brown eyes giving me a professional smile that’s genuinely warm despite her no-nonsense demeanor.
Her short cropped hair is perfectly styled as always, and in her tailored pencil skirt and crisp white blouse, she looks every inch the competent executive assistant.
“How are you finding the Marketing Department?”
I think of Eve covered in glitter this morning, threatening to murder me with craft supplies, and fight back a grin. “Never a dull moment.”
“I’m sure there isn’t,” she says with a slight smile. “He’s waiting for you. Fair warning—Jake’s in there, too.”
“Should I be worried?”
She gives me a look that says she’s not buying my innocent act, but there’s no malice in it. Clarice has always been straightforward with everyone—friendly enough, but she keeps her professional distance.
I knock twice and push open the door without waiting for permission—a habit that’s gotten me in trouble since we were kids, but one I’ve never been able to break.
“You know, it’s lunchtime and I’m starving, so this better be—” I start, then stop short.