Maybe he was right, because here I am, about to launch someStar Trek–level technology, and all I can think about is what Scarlett might be hiding.
Triada is my company, and, technically, all the devices and files are company assets. I have a right to review them.
Even if the owner refuses to share them?
Especially then. For all I know, she could be a corporate spy. It wouldn’t be the first time someone leaked Triada trade secrets.
Suspicion gnawing at my gut, I pull up the company directory and log in as an administrator. Beck may be the tech genius of the family, but I know my way around the systems. I key in Scarlett’s name and copy her ID. Then I search for her cloud storage.
Unless she’s saved the notes to her hard drive—which would violate Triada’s electronic record storage policy—they should be here.
I quickly scan her filing system.COO Memos. Expense Reimbursements. Meeting Agendas. Meeting Notes.
Pay dirt.
I open the folder and find her notes organized by date and meeting topic. No surprise there. The system is as neat and orderly as its owner. Hell, it’s a wonder she doesn’t have her own version of the Dewey decimal system.
Give her time. She’s only been here a month.
A wry grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as I double-click today’s date. The file opens immediately, and my efforts are rewarded with a standard meeting note template.
Everything looks routine. The formatting. The list of attendees. The action items.
So much for corporate espionage, you suspicious bastard.
I skim the first few lines before jumping to the body of the document.
Marketing—Hillary (aka Meeting Booker)
B2B and B2C ad buys finalized for Epos launch. Largest ad spend in Triada history.
Influencer campaigns kick off 2/7, one week prior to launch.
Follow-up meeting scheduled to showcase ad campaign…because we all need more pointless meetings that prevent us from doing our actual jobs said no one ever.
What the hell?
I skip to the next section, skimming through the hastily typed notes.
The document is riddled with phrases likeHall Monitor,Master Delegator, andHot Mess Express. She’s got a nickname for every member of the executive team.
No wonder she wouldn’t hand over the meeting notes.
If these got out, Miles would have no choice but to terminate her employment.
The commentary, while colorful, is surprisingly accurate. Insightful, even.
The Hot Mess Express, Katelyn, moves from one disaster to the next, and her personal life, which finds its way into every conversation, is always on the cusp of spinning out of control.
And Zac? He has yet to find a task he can’t delegate. Hell,I’mnot even sure what he does all day.
Master Delegator indeed.
A lightness floats up from the pit of my stomach, and a quiet chuckle escapes before I can stop it. It’s inappropriate—the notes and my laughter—but come on, that shit’s funny. She wrote what everyone in that meeting was thinking but didn’t have the balls to say.
Talk about gutsy.
Scarlett’s perceptive. And if these notes are any indication, there’s more to her than the meek and mild facade I saw in today’s meeting. The woman who made these observations has fire in her belly and a sharp, analytical mind just waiting to be unleashed.
