Holden would never approve something like this. My eyes rapidly blink a few times, rereading the article over and over again until a thick lump forms in my throat.
I can’t speak or swallow. It has been a little over two weeks since Holden strolled into our office begging for our help and this is the thanks we give in return.
Lena’s on a call. Chris is typing away and I—
I should yell at the top of my lungs. Better yet, storm into his office and give him a piece of my mind.
Chris Blackburn is the purest example of nepotism. The only real contribution he has to this company is his birthright.
And as of today, stealing other people’s ideas.
My teeth are chattering as I sink further in my chair. Of course, the pendant is activating in my worse moments of distress. Chanting and pleading, “A luz sabe.” The longer I sit here, an uncomfortable pain spreads across my neck.
I can’t take it anymore.
Swinging out of my seat, the wheels of the chair jut to the wall. Chris doesn’t even notice my presence until I am right in his eyeline, storming into his office.
“Why did you do this?”
“The press release?” He furrows his eyebrows. As if he doesn’t already know what he did…
“Yes, that,” I murmur under my breath.
“Albert loved the idea. Our firm needs to be in the front lines again.”
He is giving me the smuggest grin I have ever seen, downright satisfied…
“But—” The words are caught in my throat. The lump resurfaces again and every desire to yell and scream is quieted.
I resist every urge to ball my fingers into a fist in front of him.
“We have been getting so many calls since the release. This is great for us.”
“Does Holden know this interview is happening?” I say, feeling the twitch form in my left eye.
“He will now. Now, let’s discuss more of this tomorrow. I have another call coming in.”
Before he brings the phone to his ear, his eyes stay on me. “And Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“Good job for getting him on board with the idea. Just remember to keep your eyes on him. Your wins are our wins,” Chris states before jumping on the line to speak to the next person.
Good job?I rush out the door, leaving it open a hair, knowing he hates that. Just a few days ago he was dead set on a reality TV show.
On instinct, I run over to my desk, feverishly clicking on my sent inbox.
“Oh no! FUCK!”
I can no longer conceal my anger. I’m tossing all my things into my tote—my laptop, water, notepad—and bolting toward the door. Heading straight for the elevator as I look at the press release one more time.
I reread the date out loud, “Saturday, September sixth.”This is such a small amount of time to set his image straight. I can’t even get the man to talk to me, let alone an interviewer.
I put the idea in the palm of his hands.
When the elevator doors open to the ground floor of the business complex, I’m pushing past a crowd of people in suits and polished dresses. I notice her olive skin and long black hair before I see her face. She looks just like everyone else.
On the verge of needing a paper bag to breathe out of, I frantically search for my Bluetooth headphones at the bottom of my bag.
