I clasp my hands in my lap, and before he even says the words, I know what’s coming.
“I’m the executive sponsor, so you’ll be working with me on this project.”
My stomach goes into freefall.
FML.
Why does it have to be him? I’d rather work with the devil himself than Nick Hart. This is the exact opposite of things going my way.
There’s no way I can work with Nick.
We’re like bathtubs and toasters. OJ and toothpaste. Alcohol and cell phones.
We don’t pair well.At. All.
Oh, who am I kidding? Even if he was a Cupid loving, Hallmark card reciting, chocolate wielding fan of Valentine’s Day, this partnership would still crash and burn.
Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I can— What? Back out? Tell him I changed my mind?
Three seconds ago you told him you could handle it.
Doesn’t matter. I have to try.
“On second thought, I may not be the right choice.” I cock my head thoughtfully, as if an idea’s just come to me. “After all, Miles is going to be swamped with the Epos launch. I shouldn’t be distracted by hearts and flowers when he needs support the most.”
“According to Miles, you’re one of the most organized and efficient assistants he’s ever had. And if your creative note-taking is any indication, you can easily handle this project.”
Just my freaking luck. I’m being punished for being too competent.
Wait, what?“Creative note-taking?” I echo, processing his words a beat too late.
“I read your meeting notes.” His tone is smooth and unyielding as he levels his gaze at me. “The unabridged version.”
Fuckballs.
A cold sweat beads on my skin, tiny drops of perspiration pooling between my breasts. Miles is going to fire me. Once he finds out I insulted his brother, it won’t matter if I’m the best assistant he’s ever had. I’ll be out on my ass without a reference.
And not nearly enough money in my bank account to cover next month’s rent.
Maybe Nick didn’t see the part you wrote about him.
One glance at his face—at the hard set of his jaw and the narrowed eyes—and I know.
He so did.
I’ll be doing the walk of shame to the parking lot with a cardboard box in one hand and a pink slip in the other.
Are pink slips even a thing?
Does it matter?
No, no it does not. And if I’d kept my snark on the inside where it belonged, this wouldn’t be happening.
“I apologize if I’ve caught you off guard.” Yeah, right. The look on his face says he’s not sorry in the least. “I thought you’d appreciate the direct approach. Or was I mistaken?”
What am I even supposed to do with that?
I open my mouth to say I don’t know what, but he waves me off with a flick of the wrist.
