“How long ago did she leave?”
“Early this morning. Before I was up.” Carol scowls at me. “You don’t deserve that girl. You know that?”
That’s my Vicky; making everyone defend and protect her, merely by existing.
I walk away. Carol has nothing more to offer me.
It’s a setback, but only a minor one. I’ll get that resort and spa list Rita pulled up for me, and see who’s next on it. There were only two other names.
It’s irritating, but also cute.
So she wants to play? Fine, let’s play. It ultimately won’t make any difference.
Vicky can’t hide from me.
Come Monday, I’m in a bad mood.
Tracking down Vicky’s other friends consumed my weekend and ultimately proved fruitless. She’s gone, and I have no leads.
I turn up to work late for the first time in… ever… and walk into my office to find Rita, sitting at my desk, at my computer.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Saving your ass,” she says without looking up from the screen. “Have you forgotten we have a commercial presentation on Greenstone with DeLuca and Wilson in fifteen minutes?”
Shit.
“The financial models are already done.”
Her laugh carries a note of derision. “Heavy weekend, Alex? Not like you to be three steps behind.”
I close the door and walk in, my irritation rising. Partly because I know she’s right. My weekend wasn’theavy, but I know I’m distracted. Still, this is too much. “Watch your tone.”
She pauses in whatever it is she’s doing—onmycomputer—and finally looks at me. “The models we put together show a six-month turn-around and atwo-billion return.”
“I know,” I say sharply. “They’re my damn models.”
“Yes, my dear,” she replies, tone dripping condescension, “but do you think Wilson will accept them?”
I pull up short. Wilson may be the senior partner and DeLuca’s boss, but he’s Northbridge, not Company. We’ve modelled to DeLuca’s ask, not an internal bullshit meeting that’s nothing more than process.
Rita’s right. As always.
I switch tack. “How the hell did you get into my computer?”
“I know you only hired me for my figure,” she says, attention switching back to my screen, “but I have other skills, and an IQ almost your equal,sir. It comes with a highly developed visual memory.”
Impressive, when she’s only ever seen me type it in fromherside of the desk. “Then I’ll change my password.”
“Good idea,” she murmurs, focused on the screen. “Try not to choose the same one with a number two after it.”
I take a seat in one of the guest chairs, propping my elbows on the leather armrests. “You’re pissed about the way Friday night ended.”
“Do I look pissed?”
“No. But I know you are.”
That earns me a glance before she returns to the numbers she’s editing. “Yes, I am,” she admits. “Youhumiliated me, not merely in front of our Northbridge colleagues, but in front of the Company.”
