What the hell should I even write?
Here are your notes, you entitled prick. Have a nice day!
Or not.
Reining in my snark, I draft an uber formal email, attach my notes, and hit send.
I’m halfway through the morning reports when Miles rolls in with a big-ass smile and a bounce in his step, looking like he just chugged a gallon of happy juice.
“Morning, Scarlett.”
“Hi, Miles!”Way too perky, girlfriend. Might as well wave a flag that says:Currently on my best behavior. Please don’t fire me!
“Thanks for covering the Epos meeting yesterday.” Miles slows and pauses at my desk. He darts a glance at Nick’s door, and when he speaks again, his voice is pitched low, almost conspiratorial. “Don’t tell Nick, but I hate those damn investor meetings. All that pomp and circumstance isn’t my thing.”
No kidding. Miles doesn’t have a formal bone in his body. The guy radiates casual cool with sun-bleached hair, a deep mid-winter tan, and the kind of clear blue eyes that make women throw their panties at him in droves.
So, basically, the exact opposite of his brother.
Which I guess shouldn’t be a surprise, since the Hart brothers are all adopted.
“How was it anyway?” he asks.
“Great.”
Aside from insulting a superior, ignoring a direct order, and walking out on your brother.
“Really?” He lifts a brow in surprise, and I’m fairly sure he’s not buying my bullshit. On the other hand, if he knew about my conversation with Nick, I’d already be fired, right? “Great is definitely not a word I associate with investor meetings.” He pauses, a mischievous grin curving his lips. “Maybe I should send you in my place more often.”
Oh, hell no.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I hop to my feet, the eager-to-please assistant. One who has her own agenda and doesn’t want to spend her days wasting away in boring-ass meetings. “I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want a cup?”
Normally, I hate doing menial tasks like this, but Miles isn’t one of those creeps who thinks he’s above getting his own coffee. Despite his laid-back attitude, he’s a good boss, and, unlike his brother, has respect for personal boundaries.
Plus, it’s the easiest way to warm him up.
“That’d be great.” He quickly checks his watch. “I didn’t have time to stop this morning.”
“No problem.” I wave him off, needing a few minutes of privacy so I can scrape together the courage to pitch my capstone project. I can’t afford to screw this up. Not unless I want to go crawling to Professor Donnelly for help—which I don’t. I’m a strong, independent woman.I can do this. “I’ll bring your coffee back when it’s ready.”
Miles disappears into his office, and I sort through the Keurig pods, searching for the extra bold blend he likes. I set up the machine and when it starts to brew, I return to my desk to check email.
Triada is paperless—almost nothing gets printed—but my inbox is always overflowing with questions about Miles’s schedule, financial reports, supply orders, and other minutiae that don’t take much time or brain power to sort out.
I refresh my inbox, and right there at the top is a message from Nick Hart.
Because apparently even his emails possess an unwavering sense of entitlement.
My gaze shifts from the monitor to his closed door.
Why is he sending me an email when I’m sitting five freaking feet from his office? He got his notes. What else could he possibly want from me?
Don’t just sit there like a coward. Open the email and find out.
My pulse quickens as I click on the subject line.
Miss Evans,
