Chapter 18
Bonnie
I can’t remember the last time I felt this nervous.
I and five other interns and staff trainees left New York early this morning and arrived in L.A. shortly before 1 p.m.
The others went to their hotel rooms to freshen up, but I came straight to the venue to ensure that the setup was right, and I’ve just realized my mistake.
When I tried to open the program, it was impossible. The guys on the organizing team, are telling me that there’s nothing they can do. They already sent emails to myself and my boss warning us of the incompatibility of their graphics processing unit.
I had nothing to say to that. Ethan kept telling me I’d messed it up, but I didn’t listen. I’d been so angry with him, and Jordan for that matter, that I’d plowed through the past week on fumes of anger, not even bothering to check if Ethan was telling the truth.
So, this is the last thing I need to happen.
Only two days ago, he’d texted me, and I blocked him. I should have known it was important if he’d pulled my personal details and contacted me on a weekend.
Shit. I’m in trouble.
I call Jordan. Thankfully he answers almost immediately.
“Hey, Bonnie, how’s L.A? Everything set for the expo?” He sounds cheerful. He’s always had my back from the start, even when Ethan vehemently kicked against Dreadlite. I feel so awful having to disappoint him now.
“That’s kind of the reason why I’m calling. Jordan, there’s a bit of a snag. I’m really sorry.”
“What’s the problem?” he asks, his voice tinged with worry.
“The program won’t work with the driver they’ve got here. I changed it a bit because I wanted to present it in VR, but I used a different graphics driver to what’s compatible here and I can’t change it back now.”
“Shit. That’s one hell of a problem. When does it start? How can I help?”
“I’m not sure. I thought maybe Sajid could help rewrite it and send it to me remotely.”
“Sajid isn’t here today, Bonnie, he’s off sick. And I can’t do much about Dreadlite. Not within the timeframe you’ve got.”
Jordan had not been involved with the build of Dreadlite at all, so his knowledge of the program is limited. Besides, that’s not his specialty. It’s more of Ethan’s and Sajid’s.
Crap . “Oh, God, I’ve fucked it all up. Jordan, there has to be a way to fix it.”
“Er…Ethan is here,” he suggests. His hesitation is proof he already knows what my reaction will be.
My heart slows to a stop. Ethan hates me, and Jordan has been fighting my corner, insisting I was right for the job, but here I am, proving Ethan’s concerns were founded.
“Isn’t there anyone else? A junior partner even?” I plead.
“Bonnie, Ethan’s the one you need to fix this mess,” Jordan insists.
“What can he do?” I ask, my heart in my throat.
Jordan huffs out a laugh. “What can he not do? Problem is, he won’t be happy about this.”
“I know!” A sob escapes me. “Jordan, he told me this would happen, and I didn’t listen to him because I thought he was just nitpicking. He might not want to help me now and might even fire me.”
“He can’t fire you, not without going through me first. Let me speak to him, okay? We’ll work something out, hold tight,” he says.
Jordan calls me back exactly thirty-two minutes later, while I’ve been going out of my head with worry and panic.
“He’s coming,” he says simply.
“What? He’s not rewriting it?”
“No, Ethan is coming to you, okay? He’ll be there before your presentation starts, and he’ll make it right. He wrote it, remember?”
Oh, God. Ethan’s coming to L.A. to clean up the mess I made. That’s the best and the worst thing I’ve heard all day. He’ll be livid. And smug. And a sight for sore eyes.
“Okay.” I sniff.
“Come on, Bonnie, you’ll be fine. Are the others okay?” He’s referring to the three interns and two staff trainees I brought along with me for training and exposure.
Ha! Good thing they’re not seeing me now. “They’re good. I only told them that I needed to sort something out.”
“Okay, cool, hang in there then, he’s on his way.”
Oh, God. Zeus is coming.
It’s seven-thirty.
The conference started one and a half hours ago, and I still don’t see Ethan. I can’t sit. I’m at the back of the hall pacing. I’ve had to admit to my team what happened, and now everyone is worried, which has made my anxiety worse.
I catch myself biting at a hangnail and stop. It’s a nervous habit I’d kicked many years ago but often rears its head again.
Of course I’ve unblocked Ethan, but that doesn’t mean he’s texted or called. I’m too scared to call him, but would it really kill him to send a reassuring text to say he’s on his way? I’m dying of panic here.
I approach one of the organizers again. He eyes my skinny jeans and white crop top, which I’ve thrown a black leather jacket over. My outfit isn’t much different from what the others are wearing, so I’m not sure what he’s staring at.
“Hey, do you know when Dreadlite is on?” I ask.
He checks his mobile tablet. “Should be around 8:30, okay? Not much longer to wait now.”
He thinks I can’t wait anymore. I wish. “Okay, thanks.”
Where the hell is Ethan? In one hour, I’ll be up, and I’ve got nothing to present.
I wonder if the audience would be happy to accept a kickass PowerPoint presentation instead and put aside the VR goggles they’d been given specifically for Dreadlite? They’ll probably throw me out and ban Acercraft in future submissions.
I suppose I’ll have to try something else. I return to the back of the hall heading to where my things are and pull out my laptop.
Maybe if I could do a mockup and re-animate the characters…
“Bonnie!”
I whirl at the sound of his voice, and sure enough, it’s Ethan, in the flesh, striding towards me. I can’t stop my sob of relief.
“Oh, thank God you’re finally here!” I sag against him, throwing my arms around his torso. Damn, he smells so good that I bury my nose in his chest and breathe him in. “I’ve been out of my mind panicking, and I know I didn’t listen to you. I realized it too late…”
I notice he’s silent, frozen in place, his arms hanging out by his sides. He’s not hugging me back. It dawns on me that we’re in a large, crowded exhibition hall. I push away awkwardly from him, embarrassed. Does he always have to be an ass? Would it kill him to offer a small hug, a pat of reassurance?
“The new program’s all set up.”
“But—you just got here now.”
“No, I’ve been here for close to an hour, the jet arrived ahead of schedule.”
“And you couldn’t think to let me know that? I’ve been dying of anxiety here.”
“Didn’t you block me?” he murmurs. His mouth lifts in an annoying smirk.
“Obviously, I’ve unblocked you considering the events of the last few hours.”
“Why, Ms. Russo, since I’m not omniscient, I didn’t get that particular memo.”
“Okay, fine. I’m sorry.” I say. “Still, all it would have taken for you to find out was a short text, ‘I’m on my way,’ or ‘Don’t worry, Bonnie.’ Anything!”
His lips twitch in amusement. “And risk hounding you? I thought it be much nicer to let you stew in your own juices for a few hours.”
“You’re such a jerk.” He’s thoroughly enjoying this.
“Fucking drama queen, you’re welcome,” he says with a full-on smile.
Goodness, it’s been four months, and I’d never seen him smile before. I like it. So much so that it triggers a flurry of delicious flutters deep in my pelvis.
I notice other things, too. Like he’s wearing a t-shirt that displays his ripped biceps and torso that makes me want press myself against him more than anything.
And he’s in a better mood than I deserve. He should be angry, but he’s not. He’s looking at me like he wants to take me in his arms. Or maybe that’s just me projecting onto him.
I want to ask why he didn’t hug me back just now. Best not to push his good mood . I’ve been burned too many times, so I’ve learned to ignore the elephant in the room and pretend the attraction between us isn’t real.
“So, what now?” I ask
“It’s all in their system. Just sit back and wait for your slot is at eight-thirty. If you need anything, ask for Chuck, he’s one of the organizers. Otherwise, I’ll be at the Rivoire.”
“You’re not staying?” I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed.
“Do you need me to?” He cocks an eyebrow in a mock challenge, and I know he’s daring me to admit I need him.
Yes .
“No, of course not. I’ve got it all handled from here.”
His lip twitches. “Great. Try not to fuck anything up. And Bonnie?”
“Yes?”
“Give them hell.”
He turns and leaves. Even his back is sexy.
Jackass.
“Bonnie, you’re like a cat with nine lives!” Grace Martinez, one of my interns, gushes. “I can’t believe a couple of hours ago you didn’t even have the program, and then, bam! You had everyone on their feet with your presentation.”
“Yeah, that was awesome, Bonnie. I learned so much,” Logan, another intern, adds.
It’s almost midnight, and we’re sitting at a bar in L.A. having celebratory drinks.
We’d all been so keyed up in the hours leading to the presentation, and having it turn out really well, the best out of all the programs according to numerous feedbacks, was such a heady rush for everyone that we decided to go and let some steam out.
We return to New York at nine tomorrow on business class, and we’ve been booked for the night into the Rivoire, a five-star hotel. It feels great to be this well looked after, and no snarky voice can make me feel guilty this time. I’ve earned it.
I incline my head almost shyly. “Well, thank you, guys, that’s very kind.”
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel uncomfortable with praise.
Yes, I know my presentation kicked ass and will be driving an insane amount of traffic and interest to Dreadlite. I even had a few companies try to poach me off Acercraft, offering me mouth-watering jobs.
But I’m just so relieved that I didn’t fall flat on my face. And that was because of Ethan and Jordan. But mostly Ethan. I can’t believe he came all the way to L.A. to fix things.
I only wish he'd stayed. I wanted to see his features bursting with pride and admiration. And when those other companies would have come to speak to me, he'd have gotten territorial.
That’s the least he could have done for me.
For his employee . I amend
Instead, he'd gone straight to the hotel like a typical boss, letting his minions do all the work.
Except he wrote the program. And rewrote it when I fucked it up. And carried it halfway across the country in time for my brilliant performance.
And asked me if I needed him to stay. I know if I'd said yes, he would have.
I suddenly get the urge to talk to him. To fight with him. Something, anything.
Don’t get mushy over him. He’s not that nice, and he doesn’t like you. Who knows, it might have been that Jordan literally held a gun to his head to make him come here.
My voice of reason has a good point. Still, I take out my phone and text him. It’s never a bad thing to say thank you.
Me: Hi
After ten minutes of no reply, I send another.
Me: I just wanted to say thank you.
Again, nothing.
It’s past midnight, the man is probably asleep, exhausted after you dragged him across the country.
Fine, I’ll leave him be.
By 1 a.m., we decide to call it a night and head to our rooms. I had my team check in on my behalf and collect my access card because I was too preoccupied with trying to get my fuck up sorted out to drop off my things.
I packed lightly with only one backpack, anyway. We scan our cards on the elevator console, and I’m surprised that my room is on the penthouse floor while the others are on a different floor.
I suppose because they are interns and staff trainees and only partners and senior executives handled presentations of new launches like Dreadlite. I’m not a partner, but heck, I’ll take the penthouse.
I remember Brooke’s advice. Yeah, it’s nice to have someone else give you a figurative back rub at the end of a hard time at work.
I could kiss you right now, girl.
The elevator continues upward after the others get out until it finally opens onto a wide, carpeted hallway, which lights up as soon as I step out. There’s a door on either end of the beautifully furnished corridor, and I approach the one matching my keycard. Penthouse B.
The door opens with a soft click, leading into a large space. It’s dark, and the lights don’t automatically come on like they did in the hallway, so I search for the wall switch.
I’m such a sucker for beautiful spaces, and this one doesn’t disappoint. The sprawling living area offers a panoramic view of the L.A. skyline thanks to the wall-to-wall glass.
Hidden ambient lighting in recesses and coves gives the room a cozy feel. The furniture is in plush velvet with scattered silk and cashmere pillows strewn throughout.
There’s champagne in a bucket, and the ice inside has since melted, but the chocolates sitting next to it are in mint condition. I suppose they expected that I’d check in much earlier.
I’m too tired to indulge and head straight into one of the adjoining rooms, which I assume is either the bedroom or the office.
I push open the door and step into the dark room. And I get the shock of my life.
It’s not empty.
There’s someone there. The silhouette of a man. A large, half-naked man, sitting at the desk in front of a very dim computer screen.