Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
She raises a brow. “Let’s hear it.”
“At this point, it doesn’t matter. I don’t answer to you,” I snap.
“Right. Because your reason doesn’t exist.”
“What?” My smile contorts into a frown.
“Clearing the air was your idea, boss. You say you have this wonderful reason for desperately needing four dozen cinnamon rolls, but you can’t say what it is. I’d be willing to bet five hundred dollars to a Regis roll the reason doesn’t exist—oh, wait! Only one person in this room is rich enough to make a bet as uneven as that, though, and it certainly isn’t me.”
“It exists,” I growl.
“Does it?” I hear her heel tap the floor impatiently.
I glare at her, burning her into the ground.
“It’s not your concern, Miss Poe. We should be discussing the vision here and workplace morale in more detail. That will help you understand why I’m bothering with this shit show.” I pause as she looks at me, wide-eyed and dripping disdain. “Look. I’ve worked hard to build an efficient work culture here. I’m not going to watch it get hammered apart purely because we get along like a mongoose in a cobra pit.”
“Am I the mongoose or you?” she asks absently.
Inhaling deeply, I don’t dignify her question with a response.
“Whatever. I guess I just find it hard to believe a man who’s almost criminally obsessed with his breakfast cultivated an atmosphere where people need to be friendly with each other. Then again, if friendliness is a job requirement, is it really friendliness or just forced socialization? And do you really think we can just call a truce and forget our run-ins? I don’t think so. I’ve never had so much venom from a total stranger in my life. I’ve only ever met one man who might be as self-centered as you, and even that might be a stretch.”
“Who?” I grind out. I’m a lot of things. Workaholic, yes. Jackass, sometimes. Self-centered, no.
“Huh?” She reaches up, fixing a loose lock of hair, suddenly avoiding my eyes.
“You said you’ve only met one man as self-centered as me. Who is he?”
She stiffens and goes red, clearly regretting the ammunition she’s handed me.
“Oh, so Miss Nevermore has secrets too?”
She’s even redder now, and I can’t tell if it’s shame or anger.
“None of your business,” she says quietly.
Too quietly, really.
Why is she so flushed? What happened to her fire?
“See? Sometimes you have the answer, but it’s not worth sharing with the world,” I say gently.
Her eyes whip to me, hurt and furious.
“I highly doubt it’s the same thing.”
I shift in my seat, curious who could leave this frosty impression on her.
“Let’s make a deal right here. Tell me who beats me in the pompous jackass department, and I’ll tell you my reason for trying to jack your Regis roll. We can understand each other, Miss Poe. You go first,” I tell her.
Of course, I can’t give her the full truth in naked detail. If she answers the question, I’ll come up with something.
Predictably, she stares at me in awkward, cold silence.
“Is there a fucking draft in here or is it just me?” I wonder out loud, giving her a stare that could melt the arctic circle.
I already know she won’t play ball.
Whatever else this strange blond slip of a woman in black is, she makes a mule look accommodating.
“That’s what I thought,” I say coldly when she doesn’t answer. I’ve regained control of the conversation, at least. “Now, moving on, I’d like to walk you through my vision.”
She glances at her digital watch and then grins at me like I didn’t just knock out her soul.
“Sorry. I’d love to stay and chat about your corporate vision, but Anna needs me in a meeting in five minutes and this place is huge. Have a blessed day, Mr. Burns.” She turns and strolls to the door, puts her hand on the knob, and looks at me over her shoulder. “Just text me your morning coffee order. I’ll be happy to bike it in for you tomorrow. Although, that sounds more like an assistant’s duty than a copywriter’s. I’m not sure what coffee runs have to do with marketing, but since you insisted, I’m a team player.”
She throws the door open.
Damn her, I never insisted on anything with the coffee.
“Wait,” I call.
She freezes, glancing back in slow motion.
“What?”
“You have a notepad. Just write it down now. Make it a large black coffee with a dab of heavy cream and two Regis rolls.” I reach into my wallet and pull out two crisp twenties, which I push across my desk to her. “Since we’re not friends, there’s no reason for me to have to text you, or for you to pay for my order, and since this is a personal matter, it shouldn’t involve a company card. I’ll expect my change.”
Our eyes clash like two warring cats, all teeth and claws in the silence, snarling for dominance.