Page 4 of Saved By the CEO

Very little, but some.

“Thank you,” I say.

He looks back at his computer, which is usually my cue to leave. I’m just about to turn around when he speaks again.

“You’ll do the press briefing on Friday.”

I freeze. “I’m sorry, did you say you wanted me to do the briefing? For the press?”

“I don’t like repeating myself, Miss Michaels.”

He starts typing, an obvious sign that he wants me to leave his office. But my feet are rooted to the ground. “I just—” I begin, trying to find a way to intelligently phrase the million questions floating around in my head. “Why?”

Give her a Pulitzer.

Mr. Bennett sighs and looks up again. “Because if I stand in front of the press and talk about construction phases, investment value, and long-term urban development, they’ll write the same article they always write.”

“Which is?”

“That BenCo is building another monument to corporate greed.”

My eyes drift to the printout of the rendering on his desk. The Laker Tower is all reflective glass, sharp angles, and dramatic height. Beautiful, yes, but also the kind of building that looks like it would raise rent within a five-mile radius.

“Well,” I say before I can stop myself, “it is a little monument-y.”

His gaze snaps to mine. A muscle ticks in his jaw, but I swear he’s almost amused.Almost.He pushes the memo toward me. “You understand the public angle.” He returns to the screen. “And I don’t need the briefing to become about me.”

I frown. “About you?”

He gives me a look.

My mind flashes to the emails currently filling his inbox.

“…Your picture has awoken something in me that I haven’t felt in thirty years…”

“…I dreamed about you last night. This is what we did:…”

“…I am a single mother, looking for a Daddy…”

Yeah, okay, I see his point.

“But I’ve never done a press briefing before,” I say.

“Then prepare.”

“What if I mess it up?”

“Don’t.”

Helpful. Truly inspiring leadership. Someone should put that on a poster and hang it in the break room.

“Are you planning on working as my assistant until you retire?” he asks.

I’d rather eat sixteen razor blades and a turd.

“No,” I say, but my voice goes up an octave at the end, making it sound like a question.

“Then you need to show that you are capable of more. This is an opportunity for you—don’t fuck it up.”