I ignored the pinched, horrified expression on the server’s face, which probably had to do with me being on hands and knees on the filthy floor, scraping up bits of my phone, which were mixed with rock-hard crumbs, a solitary chocolate chip of indeterminant age, and something sticky in liquid form. Which was quite fitting,really. I’d finally hit rock bottom, and I’d done it in public and in front of the hottest guy I’d ever seen.
As I stood and nonchalantly brushed myself down, pretending I wasn’t shedding café-floor detritus like a shaken rug, I consoled myself.It could’ve been much worse, Faith. At least you didn’t wet yourself.
And if that didn’t sum up my day, nothing did.
CHAPTER 2
CURTIS
“That’s the third client who’s jumped ship this year, and it’s only April. What the heck is going on? You’re the CEO. Why aren’t you on top of it?” My father’s voice held all the frustration I felt.
Arms folded, back teeth grinding together, I stared out of my office window. My gaze skimmed across Madison Square Park to rest on the New York City skyline beyond. But despite the shit going down at work, my jaw relaxed slightly as I wondered whereshewas.
The fearless brunette with the stormy, blue-gray eyes and ball-breaking kick from yesterday had been on my mind ever since I’d walked into that café and seen that scumbag with his knife on her. I shuddered at the memory, but the way she delivered that blow was gutsy as hell. Because of her bravery in distracting him, I’d been able to jump in and help. Once I’d established that Aunt Steph and the fierce beauty were physically okay, I’d pounced onhim. She’d saved my aunt as far as I was concerned. And I hadn’t even said thank you.
I ran my fingers along the knuckles of my right hand. I certainly felt the ache today, but at least there were no broken bones. Frequently using the punching bag in my home gym and sparring with my PT—who was a second dan blackbelt in taekwondo—kept my bones in optimal striking condition.
“Well, Curtis? What are you doing about this?” My father’s droning voice yanked me back to the present. He was even more irritating than a mosquito because I couldn’t kill him with one slap. Just kidding. Maybe.
I turned back around, keeping all the frustration and growing anger from my face. Dad viewed anger like he did pickles on a burger—distasteful, misplaced, and unnecessary. I, on the other hand, enjoyed pickles on my burger. But if he saw me as a pickle, he’d demote me. Pickles didn’t run companies. “It’s an attack. It can’t be a coincidence. I’ve gone through everything, and we haven’t changed our pitching methods or prices. Our services are the best of any agency in New York… or London, for that matter. We’ve recently won two awards, for God’s sake.”
“This is the worst first quarter we’ve had in ten years. It’s not a coincidence. But an attack? Where’s your proof?” My father hinting that my bad management was the reason hit with sharp precision. He’d been wary at promoting me so young—thirty-two—but my mother and Aunt Steph—his sister—both convinced him I was ready. And I had been, dammit.
“It’s not his fault.” Victoria, our head of marketing, uncrossed her long legs and recrossed them on the other side. She lounged on my chestnut-colored, three-seat leather couch, her face relaxed. At least someone in here was. But then again, it wasn’t her job on the line. “You know there’s always some company who thinks the grass is greener, but the other firms won’t achieve the results we do. They’ll be back.” If only I shared her positivity. At least she wason my side… unlike my own father. Victoria’s parents and mine had been close friends for twenty years. We’d spent many teenage years at the same parties and getaways. My father had initially given her a job here when she finished university as a favor to her father, Don, but she’d been a great asset.
“Did you have any prior warning, Victoria? You are head of marketing, after all.” My father’s tone lacked the sharp edge he’d used with me. Figured.
Her back straightened, and her chin shot up. She’d had plenty of practice at taking offense—not surprisingly, it didn’t take much—and she’d honed her reactions to gold-medal levels. She flicked her gaze to me before returning it to my father. “No. And no one gave us a chance to renegotiate. If you ask me, it’s natural attrition. One of the companies has new management. You know what that can be like—out with the old, in with the new.” She waved a hand as if she was dismissing a waiter at the Michelin-starred restaurant we went to a few weeks ago. I’d left an extra-large tip to make up for it. Sometimes her station in life got the better of her. When I’d brought it up with her afterward, she’d laughed it off and said I worried too much what other people thought.
I’d bet Badass Girl was polite to waitstaff. Maybe she was one? She certainly wasn’t corporate. And that was a good reason to forget about her. Even if I ever ran into her again, which was unlikely in a city this big, I wouldn’t risk asking her out. Thanks to stupid tabloids, photos of myself and my family were often online, and she wouldn’t be the first woman to go after me for my money. Not repeating that mistake. And if I’d thought Dad was angry now, me risking dating a “lower class” woman would send him off the deep end—he was into “protecting his assets.” He’d definitely fire me then, and I’d worked too damned hard since I was sixteen when I spent all my summers here as an intern before I started university. I deserved this position, even if my father didn’t think so.
Dad stood. He briefly touched each of his two gold cuff links, a habit of his when he was finishing a meeting. “Well, Victoria, I’m glad you’re so relaxed about this.” He turned to me, his brown eyes all business, hardened as if he were talking to an adversary, not his son.
“You two certainly are full of excuses, but it’s time to face reality. We need to get on top of this before it gets worse. I want facts and figures—be ready to defend yourself next week at the director’s meeting. Find out who we lost these clients to. You need a plan….” The “or else” was implied.
I ground my molars together, but I didn’t answer straight away. My expression was blander than the fully beige canvas that sold for over a hundred grand last year. People were idiots. I waited for the tic in my father’s jaw before I answered. He hated waiting. “I’m well aware.”
“You know better than to take that tone with me,Son. When I was your age, I was still doing as I was told, working my way up. Don’t make me regret promoting you. You’re the CEO. Start acting like it.” He loved to spit that corporate bedtime story every time I dared open my mouth. It was practically engraved on his business cards. At this point, I half expected him to stitch it onto a pillow and leave it on my office chair. “Obedience builds legacy.” Monogrammed, of course.
But I breathed in and swallowed my retort—Mom hated when we fought. Dad would go home and bitch, and Mom had enough on her plate. It took everything in me not to bite, but I held back.Don’t be the pickle. When things were going well, Dad gave the most minimal compliment possible. When things started to slide, he was all over it like mold on month-old bread.
He walked to the door and turned back, fixing me with a look that made junior execs weep into their espresso shots. “I’ll leave it with you.” He nodded to Victoria—I’d forgotten she was even here. “Good luck.” He left, the loud click of the door closing echoing through the room.
“So, whatareyou going to do, Curt?” I didn’t bother reminding Victoria, I preferred Curtis. I’d been telling her since we were teenagers. She never listened. And I had real shit to worry about. Besides, in the mood I was in, I’d likely say something I’d regret.
My father was right on one point—as head of marketing, Victoria had more interaction with our clients than anyone else at this firm. Straightening my tie, I said, “Start digging. Find out where those clients defected to. Call them and ask why. I don’t give a shit if it makes us look weak. We’re past that.” I sank into my plush leather office chair, the best money could buy. Except it couldn’t save me if our net profit kept falling—as annoying as my father was, even I couldn’t defend my position against the numbers. To be honest, it worried me, too, but I knew I wasn’t the problem. I just had to prove it.
I pressed my intercom to call my assistant. “Margie, could you please come in here? Bring a pad and pen.” Some of our assistants used electronic devices to take notes, but Margie was old school. I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips. Shame of looming failure burned my cheeks. I shook my head. I was not going to fail. I didn’t fail… not anymore.
Margie, all five foot two of her, came through the door. She was in her fifties and always all business, which suited me fine. Useless chatter and niceties irritated me. She’d spent years working for the last CEO, my Uncle Antonio, until the douchebag had a midlife crisis, leaving his wife—Aunt Stephanie—and two adult children and moving to Paris with a French actress. None of the family were talking to him a year later. Aunt Steph was our HR manager and an amazing woman, and our loyalty was to her, not him.
Margie sat and poised her pen over her paper. “I’m ready, Mr. Knight.”
I wasn’t, but I had to start somewhere, and there was a lot to go through. “Here’s what I need you to do.”
After we finished and everyone left my office, I wondered what the turquoise-eyed badass stressed about in her quiet moments. Or was she like Victoria, brushing things off and always moving forward, slaying the next dragon?
I shook my head to rid it of café girl’s haunted eyes. Whatever she worried about was none of my business.
