When the rest of me finishes processing his scent. The warmth crests in a low and insistent wave, moving through my chest and down into my belly in a way my suppressants are supposed to prevent. My skin prickles on both arms. My pulse goes haywire, too quick, pressing at my throat, wrists, and the soft place behind my knees. I’ve had pre-heat warnings before. They are usually faint, manageable, and gone by morning after a dosage adjustment and one mortifying call to Dr. Omar.
This is different. This is my body sending a mass extinction alert.
Not now. Not here. Absolutely not in a room with Todd, alien royalty, and windows that do not offer enough privacy for whatever my hormones think they’re prepping for. I press my arm against my side and breathe through it.Call Dr. Omar the second this meeting ends.Double the dose. Triple it. Ask if there is a suppressant strong enough to turn my omega ovaries into raisins.
Also, buy Loora sushi. I am woman enough to admit when I have lost a bet. Eventually. Not today.
“You’re Todd Childs.”
Skylor’s voice rolls out low and rough, gravel smoothed by command. There’s a faint congestion at the edges. Sick, maybe. He still sounds like authority made into sound, which is irritating because I prefer my dictators less attractive.
Todd’s posture inflates in real time. “Yes, Ak Layn. It’s an honor. We’re thrilled to have you here at Athena.”
“Why is Athena Magazine failing?”
Todd’s smile twitches. Technically, the magazine is still called Athena, but Layn Corporate owns the parent company, the building, the debt, probably the air vents, and possibly my student loans if the rumors are true.
“The market,” Todd says. “Demographics shifted. Reader behavior has changed. Print-ad revenue—”
“Stop.”
One word, and Todd stops.
Skylor crosses to the table with no wasted movement. No hurry either. Men like him don’t rush unless something has already started bleeding. “You waste my time.”
Todd swallows. “The numbers are all in the report.”
“Which report?”
Todd’s hand goes to his jacket, then his sides and his chest. He finds the thin executive summary I sent him last night. A single page summarizing my work. Sanitized. Todd-friendly. Skylor looks at the skimpy offering and raises a brow.
I step forward and extend the leather binder.
Skylor’s eyes drop to it, then come back to my face. The gray sharpens into flint.
“You have it?” Skylor asks.
“I compiled it,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. That is the miracle of the morning. “Todd had other priorities.”
Todd’s head whips toward me. “Beatrice.” The warning in his voice is an old leash. For once, I don’t put my neck back into it. He's branded my work as his for the last two years because I allowed it. Those days are over. I'm taking a risk. But I'm not letting him continue to break my back while he uses it as a stepping stone.
Skylor reaches for the binder. Our hands do not quite touch. My pulse doesn't care about the distinction. They don't have to. Electricity arcs between our fingers as if I'm Dr. Frankenstein and he's my monster. His eyes snap to mine before he looks at our fingers. My heart slams once,hard, and I breathe through the aftershock when he opens the report. Pages turn fast. Too fast. His eyes move over charts, projections, margin notes, source references, and budget anomalies. He is not reading. He is processing. There’s a difference. He knows it. So do I.
“These projections,” he says. “They’re yours.”
“Yes.”
“He put his name on them?”
“He always does.”
"It is her job to compile the reports. That doesn't mean I didn't do the work. Ms. Watson is my assistant."
"Not anymore."
The room quiets until Todd’s sharp inhale slices through it. “My mother founded Athena Magazine.” Skylor continues. Quiet. Final. “I did not come to New York to hear a man blame his assistant for his failures.”
Skylor closes the folder and looks at Todd with a granite expression. “Layn Media Corporation made you Athena's editor seven years ago. In seven years, you've done little more than throw good money after bad. You blamed your staff and misrepresented data." He scowls at the paper Todd handed him. "A preliminary audit revealed your poorly concealed expenses.Even now, you don't accept responsibility for the magazine's impending demise.”
