Page 77 of Saved By the CEO

The press briefings were new. Exciting, even. They made me feel useful in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. But they were also something added to the pile, tucked between calendar management and travel schedules and making sure Andrew had the right version of the right deck.

An opportunity, yes.

But also a weight.

Andrew lets out a breath. “I didn’t think about it like that,” he says.

“Yeah, well,” I begin, not really knowing what to say. “At least it made me realize what I want to do, what I’m good at. So that’s something.”

He looks toward the door, then back at me. “If you want to move down to Communications, I won’t stand in your way,” he says.

I almost laugh. “That’s generous.”

His expression flickers.

“I didn’t mean?—”

“Yes, you did,” he says.

He shifts his hand on the back of the chair.

“I can’t make that move happen for you,” he says. “Not cleanly. Not now.”Because of our situation.He doesn’t say it, but it sits there anyway. “If Marissa asks for you because she wants you, that’s different. But it has to come from her.” He studies me for a second, eyes softening. “You impressed people today, Carly.”

I shake my head. “Don’t be nice to me. I can’t handle it.”

His mouth presses into a line, like he almost smiles but thinks better of it. “All right.”

There is a pause. Then he says, “Atlas was wrong.”

I hug the notebook closer to my chest. “They missed out on a very competent little duckling.”

This time, Andrew does smile.

“Yes,” he says. “They did.”

TWENTY

I’m just about to fall asleep when my phone rings.

I answer with one eye half-open. “Someone better be dead.”

There’s a rustle on the other end, followed by Andrew’s voice. “Were you asleep?”

“As good as.” I pull the phone away from my ear and squint at the screen. 11:47 p.m. “Which you should also be, since it’s almost midnight.”

“I didn’t realize it was that late.”

That might be the most unsettling thing he has ever said to me.

“You didn’t realize it was the middle of the night?”

“I’m aware now, Miss Michaels.”

I sit up and rub a hand over my face. My room is dark except for a thin strip of streetlight slipping through the curtains and falling across the foot of my bed. On the other end of the line, I hear the soft, uneven tapping of fingers against a keyboard.

“Are you working?”

“Yes.”