Upset? He hasn’t seen upset.
“You think?” I push my glasses up and huff out a breath. “Never mind. Stupid question. It’s obvious from your judicious use of red ink that you didn’t give a second thought to my feelings before you ripped my work to shreds.”
“What are you talking about?” He gestures to the papers in my hand. “You asked for feedback. I gave it. It wasn’t personal.”
“Not personal?” I roll my eyes and drop the pages on his desk. What a freaking cop-out. The average person spends one-third of their life working. Of course it’s personal. Anyone who says otherwise is a damn liar. “So I shouldn’t take it personally that you think all my ideas are complete and utter shit?”
“I never used that word,” he returns coolly, rearranging the crumpled pages so they lie in a neat stack, perfectly aligned with his tablet.Because God forbid I create chaos in his orderly little world. An idea sparks in the back of my mind—a deliciously wicked idea—and I vow to run with it. Because, let’s be honest, Nick Hart could use a little more chaos in his life. “And I’d prefer it if you didn’t put words in my mouth.”
I’m hardly putting words in his mouth, but if he wants to split hairs, I can do this all day. “The last time we spoke, you said you wanted the Valentine’s Day social to be a smashing success. That list,” I say, pointing to the neatly arranged printout, “was my plan to deliver the caliber of event you requested.”
Nick stands and braces his hands on the desk, his face just inches from mine. The tension between us is thicker than Texas chili and it’s all I can do not to reach across the desk and strangle him with his own damn tie. We’re so close I can smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne, which is like a warm summer breeze with notes of ginger and citrus, and when his eyes flare with an emotion I can’t identify, I notice for the first time that his umber irises are flecked with gold. It’s a beautiful combination.
And totally wasted on the obnoxious ass.
“The list was excessive.” He flattens his lips as if there’s nothing else to say on the matter, but no way in hell am I walking away now.
“There’s nothing excessive about creating a relaxing environment where people can enjoy light refreshments and entertainment while getting to know their coworkers.” I straighten, squaring my shoulders and channeling my inner calm. Snark won’t get me anywhere. Not with Nick. Cold hard facts are what he understands. “Did you even consider the indirect benefits? Just think of all the positive press Triada would garner for supporting so many local businesses and artists. You can’t buy that kind of goodwill. Especially when it comes to shaping the community’s perception of Triada’s culture.” I pause, looking him dead in the eye. “It’s an investment that would pay tenfold when we’re hiring.”
His dark eyes flash and he tilts his head as if considering. It would be endearing if he weren’t acting like such an ass. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Cue the eye roll becauseof coursehe didn’t. He’s trained himself to only think of hard benefits, never the soft ones. Most of his decisions probably hinge on balance sheets and budgets.
“Maybe that’s because you have no respect for the time and effort I put into it.”
“It’s not about respect.” There’s a tightness to his voice I’ve never heard before. “It’s about the fact that it was completely over the top. People plan weddings for less,” he adds, gesturing to the list in frustration.
It’s the first time I’ve really seen his control slip.
And I’m not sorry in the least that I was the one to cause it. Hell, I’m glad.
“Not for three thousand guests, they don’t.”
He sighs, but it’s clear he’s conceding the point.
“I didn’t realize you were such an expert on event planning.” He rakes a hand through his dark hair. “If I had, I might’ve requested a different co-chair.”
The words sting more than I want to admit, but what difference does it make? Like it or not, we’re stuck together now.
“Yes, well, if you have such strong feelings about the direction of this project,” I say, arching a brow, “perhaps you should take a more hands-on role in the planning process.”
And with that, I turn on my heel and march right out the door, not bothering to close it behind me.
At least you didn’t apologize this time.
Damn straight. The man is positively infuriating. How does Miles stand it? Talking to him is like talking to an ice slab. Nothing gets through.
Imagine how he’d react if he knew I was the one who’s been stuffing the suggestion box? Or worse, if he knew about my capstone project.
Just a few more weeks and this will all be over.
Right. I just have to stick it out until Valentine’s Day. Once the social is over, things will get back to normal. I can quietly finish my capstone project and graduate. And if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll even earn myself a promotion while I’m at it.
Worst case, I can start applying for jobs in my field. Jobs that would take me away from Triada Tech and its grumpy co-owner once and for all.
I return to my desk and pull up my email, determined to clean out my inbox and push all thoughts of Nick and the project from hell from my mind.
Which proves easier said than done.
