Missing the point, the idiot gave a little nod.
Jerk.
I wassodone with this place.
And as far as those "things" Stuart had mentioned, I'd cleaned out most of them already – not because I'd known this would be my last day, but because of that trip to Miami.
With plans to be gone for a whole month, I'd lugged the important stuff home just yesterday to stop my fellow employees from pilfering.
I wasn't paranoid. I was practical.The last time I'd gone away for a month, I'd returned to find my purple stapler missing from my office and sitting on Brad's desk.
Yes, he'd returned it, but only after I'd asked.Repeatedly.
And now?
I was done asking for anything.
I squared my shoulders and strode toward the conference room door, bypassing Stuart as I went. I didn't look back – because I refused to give Evan Carver the satisfaction.
He was surely loving this.
Had he paid Toby for the sabotage? Orpromised him a future reward? Like a cushy job or glowing reference?
Whatever it was, it had to be good, because as I reached the open door, I caught movement in the corner of my eye and sawthe little weasel stand and follow after me, still clutching the phone like a golden ticket.
He wasn't the only one.All around me, phones were popping up everywhere – over cubicle walls, behind glass offices, and down the hall – while I stormed into the neighboring conference room like a girl on a mission.
Remember that trip to Miami?
Well,thatwas obviously toast.
Even if I still caught the flight, I'd be a fool to believe my hotel room would be waiting for me as planned. And forget my corporate credit card. If history held, it would be canceled before my shoes hit the first-floor lobby.
In the neighboring conference room – this one, all glass and no cover – I spotted the display I'd spent hours setting up at the crack of dawn.
I stopped to stare. Yup, there it was, in all its glittering glory – a long table covered with a pristine white tablecloth. On top of the table sat tiered acrylic risers, draped in tropical cloth runners and dotted with tiny LED lights.
Dozens – no,hundreds– of festive little bottles sparkled under the overhead fluorescents, arranged by color and flavor like some unholy hybrid of a massive minibar and a favor table at a wedding.
There were pineapple shooters in hot pink sleeves, coconut rum in metallic teal, gold-capped bourbon, lime-flavored tequila, and even espresso martinis in black matte glass.
And this was only the top row.Below that was a virtual cornucopia of tiny temptations in glass.
As far as signage, that was still in the works. But I'd set up the display anyway and had our photographer take some terrific photos to show those focus groups in Miami.
And the worst part?
I'd paid for that booze myself after the potential client had balked at sending so many samples.That little shopping trip hadn't come cheap.
I felt my eyes narrow as I stalked forward, ducked down, and flung up the edge of the tablecloth. On the floor below, I spotted the giant tote bag I'd tucked underneath.
I grabbed that sucker like a lifeline and stood. Slowly, I turned to stare at the crowd gathered at the door and along the glass.
I barked a laugh. "How'sthisfor swift action!" I turned and started shoveling bottles into the tote bag like I was raiding a grocery store with zombies on my heels.
As I fumbled with the bag, one of the straps caught on a nearby riser. To free it, I yanked the strap, and the riser tipped, causing a cascade of falling glass. Bottles slid, bounced, and shattered on the marble floor, the sound exploding through the room.
Nobody said a word.
