I caught myself in a meeting a few weeks ago daydreaming about beating some junior executive at a media company with a police baton.Landon.
"I just don't see why we're putting so much faith in someone who isn't even a part of our industry." "Honey, I've got a master's degree in communications and media."
Motherfucker, numbers are numbers. And yours fucking suck.
But I couldn't say that and keep a good relationship with the company itself. While they'll be bought out within the year, I still need to maintain a good reputation, and I'll need to bring my findings to whoever buys them to keep the account.
"You're distracted," Eamon brings me into the present. I snap back into focus, my eyes narrowing on his handsome face. "Maybe now isn't a good time for you to be holding an axe. You could really hurt yourself."
"I'm focused," I bite.
Holding back a laugh, he gently grips the small axe in my hand. Not taking it, just easing it down. "You're not. What's up?"
Annoyance ripples through me, "Is this what we do now? Are we fucking buddies talking about our personal lives?"
His brows raise to his hairline, creating small lines across his forehead that I want to smooth.No, I don't.
He keeps that gentle tone, not taking the bait for once, "We're here to train. But if you can't do thatsafely, we won't do it at all."
"I'm focused." I have to be. Otherwise, I'll spend the rest of the next hour waiting to deal with that little prick again. I try to rip the weapon from Eamon's grasp, but he doesn't move even an inch.
"Isla," he sighs. "Personal or professional?"
"What?"
"Is it a personal or a professional problem drawing your attention away from something you've been looking forward to for weeks?" he asks, making me realize what's happening here.
Ihavebeen really looking forward to this. I've had my eye on this ultra shiny, deadly sharp little tool since the beginning. I mean, it's no mace, but apparently, I'm not ready for that yet. And I'm lettingLandonpull my attention away from letting off steam the way my body has been craving.
"Professional," I blow out a breath. Eamon releases the axe, stepping back and gesturing at the dummy. "This little shit at Paradigm Media thinks he knows better than me and doesn't even try to remain cordial."
"Alright, so what are you gonna do about it?" he asks, stepping out of the way of the blows he expects me to start raining down.
I shake off the excess energy, trying to bring myself back to center, swinging the axe until it plunges into the neck of what's left of my target. The hard landing radiates through my arm into my shoulder.
"There's not much Icando," I answer as I wiggle the axe free. "Just have to get through their numbers and report back."
"He doesn't like the figures you're giving? So they must not reflect very nicely on him."
Another blow lands, this time right in the forehead of the dummy. "No, they do not."
Hit after hit, Eamon asks me to explain the entire situation, letting me vent between the flying chunks of hard plastic and styrofoam.
He chuckles after I nearly take the head off the dummy altogether, removing the axe and twirling it in his hands. It looks so much smaller between his deft fingers, almost dainty.
"Threaten to walk," he shrugs, handing it back to me.
My hands fall to my sides, the catharsis of hitting an inanimate object long gone, "I can't just walk. My reputation."
"You have a sparkling, incredible reputation. If you threaten to walk, it'll be clear to them that he's the problem, not you. Like you said, numbers are numbers. And theirs fucking suck."
I don't think I ever said that out loud. My eyes narrow, suspicious.
If he notices the change in my demeanor, he doesn't show it. Instead, he throws the dummy out of the way, the loud clatter making me jump. With both hands, he wordlessly gestures for me to come at him with the weapon, and I freeze.
"I'm not going to hit you with this," I huff.
"No, you're not," he laughs. "But you're gonna try."
