“No, I was just…”Embarrassing myself,she thought, but instead said, “having a meeting.”
“I didn’t think so. I’m sure I would’ve noticed you. George Wick,” he said by way of introduction, extending his hand.
“Lizzie Benítez,” she said, taking it in a quick and feeble handshake.
“Lizzie, can I buy you a drink? You look like you could use it.”
Lizzie knew she wasn’t unattractive, regardless of some CEOs’ description of her aschubby.Withlarge eyes over a pouty mouth, she’d even consider herself hot in some circles. But in Miami, the land of silicone and BBLs, she hardly got a second look, let alone someone actually hitting on her. Caught off guard by this stranger’s attention, and feeling flattered, she accepted the invitation.
George led her two blocks down Brickell to a corner café that looked like every influencer’s dream: neon “Café” sign, marble tables, a wall of fake ivy for photos. He ordered two Presidente Lights without asking, then slid into the booth across from her like he owned the place.
“Rough morning?” he asked, flashing a smile that belonged on a yacht brochure.
“Rough doesn’t cover it.” Lizzie rolled the cold bottle across her forehead. “The CEO just called me a chubby amateur to my face. Well, through the wall, but still.”
George laughed, low and smooth. “That sounds like Will. He’s allergic to anyone who might outshine him. Trust me, I would know.”
He leaned in, elbows on the table, voice dropping. “You see, I used to work at Pemberley. His dad promised me an executive track straight out of UM. I was family, basically. My dad worked closely with him, and I grew up at Pemberley Pharmaceuticals. Then my old man dies, and his dad retires, letting Will take over, and suddenly I’m ‘not a culture fit.’” He air-quoted with perfectly manicured fingers. “One day I’m running marketing for half the company, next day I’m out with a severance check and an NDA thicker than the Bible.” George took a swig of his beer and then added, “Probably should’ve told you that before. Better you don’t tell anyone I told you about this. I could be in violation of my NDA.”
Lizzie leaned in, happy to have an ally in her recent misery, and a common enemy to blame. “He fired you because his dad liked you more?”
“Pretty much.” George shrugged like it didn’t still burn. “Classic Will. Loyal to exactly two people: Charles and whoever flatters him hardest. Everyone else is disposable.”
Lizzie felt like she knew the type: rich white guy, who thought they were better than everyone else and didn’t like being challenged.
Lizzie finished the last of her beer and asked, “So what do you do now?”
George shrugged casually and said, “I dabble in chaos. High-end flips, angel rounds, whatever pays the bar tab.” He gave Lizzie a wink and gestured to the waitress for the check. “But it’s much nicer working for myself. These CEOs are all the same, just out to screw over the little guy.” The waitress dropped off the check, and George slid a $100 bill under it—like it was nothing.
George walked her to her car like a gentleman, chatting the whole way like they’d been friends for years, not strangers. Lizzie caught herself comparing George to the sour-faced CEO from her meeting and wishing their roles had been reversed. Surely she would’ve closed the deal with someone as agreeable as George Wick, making the decision.
At her Corolla, he leaned against the door, blocking her from opening it, close enough that she caught the scent of cedar and something expensive.
“You’re too good for that place, Lizzie Benítez. And way too pretty to let Will Pemberley make you feel small.”
His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist — just once — and her pulse betrayed her completely.
“Text me when you’re free of him,” he said, voice velvet. “I know rooftops with better views. And the NDAs are optional.”
He walked off without looking back, like he already knew she would be watching him.
Lizzie stood in the garage heat long after his footsteps faded. She smiled, thinking that meeting George was probably the best thing to happen to her today
* * *
Lizzie lived with herAbuelaand younger sister, Lidia, in their childhood home in West Kendall, a suburban area away from the hustle and bustle of downtown. Their father had raised them with their grandmother,SeñoraRosa, until he passed away a few years ago.
Lizzie always felt at home as soon as she could smell her grandmother’s cooking; a mixture of the scent ofsofritoandcafecitoseemed to live inside their home. She instantly felt more comfortable.
Lizzie kicked off her heels and hoped she could get into her office and get to work unnoticed for at least an hour or so.
No luck. As soon as she sat at her desk, she could hear the clack of her grandmother’schancleta-clad feet coming down the hall.
“Lizette, you’re home!Hoy me llamó tu Tía María, que tu prima Yanelis se casa con un dentista de Hialeah. ¿Y tú vendes… qué? Nubes?” (Tía María called—your cousin Yanelis is marrying a Hialeah dentist. And you sell… what? Clouds?)
“I don’t sell clouds, Abuela,” Lizzie said, exasperated—clearly not the first time she’d had to explain this. “I sell cloud-based solutions for supply chain…”
“¡Qué supply chain ni supply chain! Lo que sea, no trae hombre pa’ la casa.” (Supply chain, my ass. It’s not bringing a man home!)
