And it would be even more unprofessional to pretend you didn’t hear him just now.
I draw a steadying breath and turn on my heel. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hart. Were—” My voice squeaks like a cartoon mouse, and I try again, because nerves be damned, I am not okay being the type of person cowed by wealth and privilege. Or, you know, the chain of command. “Were you talking to me?”
“Is there another Miss Evans in my brother’s employ?” A sardonic smile curves the edge of his full lower lip as he looks me over from head to toe, his dark gaze leaving a trail of heat in its wake. I immediately realize two things. One, I’m in over my head. Two,thisis the side of Nick Hart I’ve been warned to avoid at all costs.
Chapter Three
Nick
Scarlett Evans’s eyes go round and her cheeks turn a shade of crimson I haven’t seen since Beck got burned to a crisp during his one and only golf lesson.
Christ. She looks like a kid who just got caught raiding the cookie jar.
How the hell does she expect to make it in this business if the sound of her own name terrifies her?
Then again, maybe it’s not her name but my reputation causing that look of fear.
I didn’t miss the way that asshole from Finance bullied her into a different seat at the start of the meeting. Or the way she took it without saying a single word. What the hell was Miles thinking hiring a girl—a woman—like this?
Meek. Fresh-faced. Doe-eyed.
Thisindustry will chew her up and spit her out.
Granted, the average age of our staff is twenty-four—a fact Miles touted during an interview just last week—but at twenty-nine, I feel like a goddamn babysitter most days. Hell, half the kids we hire can’t even follow the dress code. I mean, how hard is it to find clean clothes without holes in them?
It’s not like I’m asking for a suit and tie every day.
We are in tech, after all.
I study the barista turned executive assistant, taking in the fine details I missed when she barreled into the boardroom and commandeered Miles’s chair at the head of the table. The fitted blouse and skirt—which give off strong librarian vibes—showcase a slight, lithe frame. Her sleek, honey-blonde hair is pulled back to highlight a pale, heart-shaped face, and behind those hipster frames her eyes are the same serene blue as the Gulf, with thick expressive brows that seem to say everything her small pinched mouth doesn’t.
Namely, that she doesn’t appreciate being asked to stay late.
Too damn bad.
If you want to get ahead in this business—and stay there—you’ve got to work for it. Right now, that means putting in a little extra time.
Scarlett clears her throat, not quite meeting my eyes.
I gesture to the leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder. “I need a copy of the meeting notes.”
“Of course,” she says, without hesitation. “I’ll get them to you first thing in the morning.”
First thing in the morning? Like hell.
“That isn’t going to work for me, Miss Evans.” I’m careful to keep my voice level, despite my rising frustration. “I need them now.”
She bites her bottom lip, and her gaze darts around the room as if she’s searching for an escape. “I’m sorry, but…they’re not ready.”
The fuck? I don’t need apologies. I need those notes, the ones I saw her typing during the meeting. She’s new here, I get that, but surely she understands how important the Epos launch is to Triada? We’ve been working for years to perfect the technology, which lets business owners of all sizes accept mobile payment with a fingerprint or facial scan.
Epos is the future of mobile payments, and we can’t afford to fuck it up.
Triada needs this launch to succeed.Ineed this launch to succeed.
“What do you mean they’re not ready?” I close my laptop and stand, putting us on equal footing. Admittedly, I’ve got a good eight inches on her, even with her modest red heels, but I’m not about to sit on my ass while she refuses to do her damn job.
The whole point of her attending the meeting was to take notes.
