1
A TERRIBLE HUMAN
First job?
Bridget:Hostess at a diner at fourteen. (I lied about my age.)
Cole:Financial analyst at a top-ten bank, age twenty-two.
BRIDGET
The most annoying thing about Cole Campion? His silence.
The second-most annoying had to be his coffee. The scent of it curled temptingly into my nostrils and reminded me that I’d skipped both breakfast and lunch because I hadn’t wanted to puke at my presentation. Golden-boy Cole didn’t know nerves like that. There was no tremor to his hand as he lifted the porcelain cup to his lips. I’d never seen him with a to-go cup from one of the big coffee chains. Nevereverthe coffee from the breakroom. No, Cole Campion was too good for that. I heard he had his own machine in his office that cost more than my first car. His admin special-ordered beans from some eco farm on a mountainside in Brazil. The delicious smell couldn’tbegin to justify the prickishness of that damned porcelain cup or the entitlement it represented.
Between his steady grip on that porcelain handle and his confident silence, I wanted to climb the wall of the small seating area outside the boardroom. His unflappable, boulder-like stillness and his steady breathing crawled under my skin. Skin so sweaty my silk blouse was glued to it.
I tugged the collar away from my damp chest and surreptitiously blew downward.
Cole Campion saw—damn him, he noticed everything—and the smirk that tilted his lips irked me too. The sleeve of his dress shirt pulled away from his wrist as he lifted his cup and drank. His watch, the limited-edition one that looked like a piece of minimalist art, glinted, reflecting the recessed lights.
“It’s warm in here, right?” I jumped up, making an embarrassing sucking sound as my thighs unstuck from the squashy leather sofa. “I’ll ask Finley to adjust the thermostat.”
“Warm? No,” he said in that irritatingly calm voice, like he wasn’t waiting for career-making news. He set his cup on the table next to his chair and straightened his suit jacket. “But if you’re overheated…”
“No.” I plopped back onto the sofa, avoiding the spot that was still warm from my body heat. “It’s fine.”
Fine?The situation was anything butfine. I should’ve already moved into the CEO’s spacious office down the hall. I shouldn’t have been sitting on the sofa of doom with a junior colleague. When John retired, the chief operating officer—me—was the obvious choice as his successor. During my fifteen years at Apex, I’d moved from marketing to logistics to operations, and my last three years in the executive suite had readied me for the big job.
Cole, on the other hand, had been a pimply teenager when I started working at Apex. Actually, scratch that. I’d bet theemergency twenty bucks in my wallet that Cole never had pimples. He was too perfect. From his shiny oxfords to his impeccably creased trousers to the sport coat over his pressed shirt—dry and not sweaty like mine—to his meant-to-be-tousled hair, he wouldneverhave suffered from a zit on his forehead on prom night.
Not that I had any experience with accidentally rubbing concealer all over my date’s rented jacket.
Jesus, I’d been sweaty that night too.
“How long do you think they’ll take?” I asked, smoothing my skirt over my knees.
“You have somewhere you’d rather be?” He crossed his ankle over his thick thigh like he didn’t have a care in the world. Everything about him was thick, from his muscular neck to his massive shoulders to thighs with a larger circumference than my waist. He was like a sequoia in a bespoke suit.
“Actually, yes.” I straightened, trying to appear taller than I was, like I didn’t need four-inch heels to reach the floor. “I’ve got reports to finish, the budget to wrap up, and a task list that’s a mile long.”
“Ah, you’re a member of the cult of busyness.”
“Am not,” I huffed. “I’m just…very busy.”
“Someone on your team should write those reports for you. If you can’t delegate now, how would you do it if you were chosen?” His eyebrows lifted as he sipped more coffee.
“Oh,Isee. The secret to your success is doing nothing at all.”
“I spend my time doing strategic work. A CEO needs time to think about the direction of the company.”
“Strategicwork.” I snorted. “In finance.”
“As CFO, I’m responsible for financial reporting, yes. But I also consider the financial future of our company, the best way to use our assets, the right investments that will propel us to the top of the technology solutions industry.”
I wanted to leap over the coffee table that separated us and crumple his tie. Anything to shock that smug smile off his face. But I was a professional. I used my palm sweat to slick down the hair that was escaping my chignon. “I do strategic thinking too.”God, how defensive I sound!I cleared my throat. “But I take a more hands-on approach to my department. Knowing everything about our day-to-day operations helps me make decisions quickly.”
If I hadn’t been watching his face so closely, I’d have missed the tightening of his lips. I had only a second to celebrate that small victory before it was gone. “I’m sure your long tenure at the company helps. However, the board may be looking for fresh ideas from someone less…entrenched.”
