We’re in this together, after all.
“People are stressed.” He shrugs, like he’s so accustomed to working under pressure that it’s a non-issue for him. “Maybe it helps. Maybe it doesn’t. But it certainly can’t hurt.”
Clearly his imagination is stymied by his research, because I can think of a thousand ways this could go sideways.
“Think of it as a show of good faith,” Miles urges, “to prove that we’re here and we’re listening.”
The urge to argue rises—because anyone who thinks otherwise hasn’t been paying attention—but I tamp it down. Human resources is Miles’s wheelhouse. If he says implementing one of these suggestions will help improve morale, I believe him.
“Fine. It can’t be any worse than the request to put free condoms in the men’s restrooms.”
Some asshole actually said it was only fair, since the women’s restrooms were stocked with feminine hygiene products.
“That’s the spirit.” Beck chuckles. “I’ve gotta admit, I’m dying to know what you just signed up for.”
“That makes two of us.” I shove my burger aside. There’s no way I can eat it now. Not with the prospect of some half-baked project hanging over my head like a guillotine.
Miles smirks. “Drumroll, please.”
I give him the finger, but Beck indulges him, tapping the edge of the table.
“Anonymous says we need a—oh, this is too perfect.” Miles howls as Beck and I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “A—” He chokes on his laughter and has to take a drink of water before continuing. “A Valentine’s social!”
He’s messing with me.
He has to be. Who would put that in the suggestion box? This is a place of business, not a fucking romper room.
Even if sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.
“Let me see.” I reach for the laptop, shooting Beck a dark look. They’re both laughing like hyenas now. “Have you two been stuffing the suggestion box?”
“Don’t look at me,” Beck says, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for that kind of petty prank.” He chuckles. “It is pretty ironic, though. You know, since the only thing you hate more than Valentine’s Day is the suggestion box.”
Miles is laughing so hard now it’s a wonder he doesn’t bust a blood vessel.
Asshole.
Could this be his doing, some ass-backward attempt to make me appear likable?
It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.
“Pick something else. February fourteenth is the Epos launch. The timing is terrible and four weeks isn’t nearly enough time to put something like this together.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Miles wags a finger at me. “You already agreed. Besides, that was the last one.”
Fucking hell. Leave it to Miles to pick the one week the damn thing isn’t overflowing.
“No way. It can’t be done.”
“Not with that attitude,” Miles says through peals of laughter. When he finally gets control of himself, he adds, “Relax. If anyone can handle it, it’s you.”
It’s true. I’ve never walked away from a challenge in my life, but what the hell do I know about planning a social? I’m the last person in the world who should plan this event.
On the other hand…
It could be the perfect opportunity to prove I’m not the controlling bastard Scarlett thinks I am.
Arrogant. Uptight. Cold.
