Matthew
“Good morning, everyone. Sorry I’m late,” I say, stepping intomyoffice.
Dan, comfortably parked inmychair, doesn’t move. “It’s all right. We weren’t expecting you.”
I clench my jaw, forcing a polite smile, just as Ms. Sterling, the Boeing rep, rises along with her assistant. She shakes my hand warmly. “I was just asking Mr. Barrett here if you’d be joining us.”
A man who I’m guessing is Dan’s assistant pipes up. “Well, considering you just had a baby-”
“Oh boy,” Maya interrupts smoothly, eyes back on me. “Did Brooke have a boy or a girl?”
I smile, proud despite myself. “A girl. Penny. And besides, you’re not just any client. Of course I’m here.”
She beams at me, then cuts Dan a sharp side glance. “If I’d known this little detail, I never would’ve agreed to this meeting. We’re more than happy with the current terms of our contract. And, to be honest, I have an actual meeting to get to. Perhaps we can reschedule.”
“Of course, Ms. Sterling.” I answer.
“Just Maya,” she corrects with a small smile.
I nod. “Maya.”
I offer to walk her out. Right before the elevator doors open, she leans in. “Be careful of that one. He’s an ass.”
A laugh escapes me. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”
The doors close. I turn back toward my office, my smile gone.
I walk back to my office, but through the glass I can see Dan and his assistant rifling through files like they own the place. My blood itches for a confrontation, but I clamp it down. Not yet.
Instead, I turn on my heel and head straight for the Managing Director’s office.
His assistant’s eyes widen the moment he spots me. He springs to his feet, stammering, “Uh…Mr. Basen, we… I thought you weren’t back until Monday.”
“Clearly,” I say dryly, sparing him the embarrassment of fumbling further. “Is he in?”
“Yes-yes, just…” He grabs the phone in a panic, dialling. “Sir, Mr. Basen is here to see you.” His gaze flicks nervously in my direction, then darts away. “You can go in,” he says quickly, hanging up the phone with a thud.
I take a deep breath and push open the door.
It’s like a black credit card threw up in here. Chrome desk, leather chairs, framed “art” that looks more like something bought to impress than inspire. Mr. Knore clearly walked into a showroom and told someone to “give me the most expensive stupid shit you’ve got.” The whole place screamsentitled asshole.
“Matthew,” Knore says, looking up from his oversized desk. His silver hair is slicked back, his suit probably worth more than my monthly salary. “Back already? I thought we gave you until Monday.”
I step closer, jaw tight. “I thought I’d check in, since someone seems to be running my accounts in my absence.”
He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Ah. You mean Dan.”
“Yes, Dan.” My voice sharpens. “Who, last I checked, wasn’t even on our payroll.”
Knore smiles like a cat. “Old friend. Brilliant marketer. I couldn’t let a mind like his go to waste.”
“Funny,” I say, bitterness slipping in. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks less like merit and more like connections.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t flinch. “Connectionsaremerit, Matthew. The right people open the right doors.”
“And shut the wrong ones,” I shoot back.
He shrugs, almost bored. “Look, Hughes wants Dan on board. He trusts him. This is business. You’ll adjust.”
