Shit.
I cannot be late for class.
“Levi, any news from the real estate developer?” the CEO asks, picking up a pen and repositioning it so it’s parallel to his laptop. Because God forbid anything in his perfect little world be out of order. “We need that land to support next year’s expansion.”
My ears perk up. Like all of Silicon Hills, Triada’s campus is sprawling. And from what I’ve observed during my short time here, the company culture is suffering from growing pains, unable to keep pace with the rapid growth.
What Triada needs is an Organizational Behavior Specialist, not another expansion.
Not that anyone’s asking me.
Levi clears his throat and leans forward, bracing his forearms on the table.
“I’m glad you asked.” His booming voice carries across the room easily, and the guy next to him flinches, sliding his chair back from the table as if it’ll protect his eardrums. “The developer owes me an update, but I know he’s getting some pushback. We’ve got a few folks who don’t want to sell, so he’s working through those negotiations.” He taps his pen on the table and shakes his head in apparent dismay. “We’re offering fifteen percent above fair market value, so I don’t know why they’re dragging their feet. If it were me, I’d take that deal and move in a heartbeat.”
I snort, and, realizing my mistake, quickly cough to cover it up as I update my notes.
Real Estate—Levi (aka Loud Talker)
Developer update overdue.
Acquisition delays despite Triada’s offer of FMV+15%.
No reason for holdout since residents can just pack up and go…says the guy who’s never had to load a U-Haul or shamelessly ply his friends with beer in exchange for help on moving day.
The chair to my right squeaks as the devil himself, Nick Hart, spins in my direction. His posture is relaxed, but when I meet his stare, there’s a challenge in his dark eyes. One that says he doesn’t appreciate the interruption. “Something you’d like to add?”
Nopenopenope.
Heat floods my cheeks and I shake my head, unable to force words past the giant lump of embarrassment clogging my throat.
His brow flicks up, but he doesn’t push.
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.
Relief washes over me as he turns back to Levi and says, “I want that update before you leave today.”
Shocker.
Long hours, missed lunches, and impossible deadlines are the status quo at Triada.
Oh, Nick Hart plays by the same rules, but for him it’s a choice. And from what I’ve seen, he never says thank you. Never offers a word of praise—because it’s expected.
The man is about as warm and cuddly as a Terminator.
Is it any wonder they call him Hartless?
When the meeting finally wraps up at a quarter after five, I pack up my laptop in record time. If I break about a thousand traffic laws, I might be on time for class.
Wishful thinking, sis.
Probably, but I have to try.
“Just a moment, Miss Evans. I’d like to speak to you in private.”
I’m halfway to the door when Nick Hart’s smooth baritone stops me in my tracks.
Shit.Is he going to reprimand me for laughing during the meeting? Panic spirals through my veins. Ithadbeen unprofessional.
