She had aplan. A few weeks from the end of this mat cover, she would start looking for an entry-level management position. Maybe in Miami, she thought spitefully, even though her sister’s life there was very WAG-centric with lots of hours devoted to hair and nails and parties as she kept up with the trends set by the other wives and girlfriends of the athletes.
Those athletes had a lot of money, though, and there were a lot of contracts for sponsorships that needed a sharp eye to dot i’s and cross t’s.
Alternately, she could move back to London and find something in banking or insurance. Or try San Francisco again. Programmers were a dime a dozen, but a lot of them worked on contract. There was a ton of opportunity for her there.
Now that she was gaining experience in acquisition at this tech company, she would be an even stronger candidate there.
So yes, Joaquin, I need this job, she silently shouted across the city at him.
She refused, absolutely refused, to let him jeopardize it.
Not that she brought her best game to the office when she finally got there. She felt hungover, nursing a vague nausea that she blamed on her lack of sleep.
When are you arriving?her sister texted midmorning.The children are asking.
She ignored Cinnia’s message, feeling too overwhelmed to think about Christmas when she still needed to get through the week.
Andthe staff party, she was reminded when someone came around collecting final numbers.
“Are you bringing a date?” they asked.
A wicked vision of Joaquin flashed in her mind. Would he ask her to dance?Oh, stop it, she scolded herself. What was she? Twelve? Ugh.
“I haven’t even found something to wear,” she replied, wishing she could bow out altogether, but these sorts of events were valuable networking opportunities. She would push through.
“We’re needed upstairs,” Oladele said, arriving at her desk to interrupt them.
Siobhan smiled a weak apology and gathered her things, accompanying Oladele to the elevator.
“You seem pale today,” Oladele noted. “Are you unwell?”
“It’s this color.” She plucked at the mustard-toned pullover. “I should give it away because it washes me out, but it’s one of my comfort wears.” The thick, soft knit felt like a hug.
“I have a cardigan like that. It’s full of holes. I can’t leave the house in it, but I refuse to throw it away.”
They continued joking about their reluctance to break up with favorite clothing until they walked into the boardroom.
Joaquin was already there with several other people. His gaze swept over her in a way that scraped at her composure.
Siobhan sobered and averted her eyes, heart squeezed by the vise of her behavior yesterday.
No more, she resolved as she took her seat behind Oladele and opened her laptop, preparing to take notes. She might respond to him physically, but that was a trick of chemistry that meant nothing. She was setting higher standards for herself.
They wereover.
Joaquin had steeled himself against so much as looking at Siobhan when she arrived for the meeting, but his damned inner radar had heard her voice approaching and turned his head.
Now, as he quickly ran through the agenda, making swift decisions around reallocating resources, all he could see was lipstick the color of pink gelato against a pale complexion, a chunky yellow knit clinging to narrow shoulders, and breasts he’d caressed as recently as yesterday.
The tension in his abdomen, and lower, came out in his voice.
“Where are we at with the defamation charges?” he asked Oladele, stubbornly keeping his gaze on her, not the stony, downcast face behind her.
“I was going to chase that this morning, but was sidetracked by a complaint lodged against me at the General Council’s office,” Oladele said.
“By who?” he bit out.
“It was anonymous,” Oladele said with an annoyed shake of her head. “But I’m sure we can guess who’s behind it.”
