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Jack's expression finally shifts, a flicker of something, surprise, perhaps, or grudging respect crossing his features. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced once again by that infuriating mask of indifference.
He narrows his eyes, still unconvinced by my digital media spiel. “Cute ideas don’t generate revenue, Ms. Emerson. I suggest you come up with some hard metrics on how this social strategy of yours will improve our bottom line.”
I bite my tongue to keep from firing something back I’ll regret.
Breathe, Maddie. You need this job.
My forced smile feels more like a grimace. “Of course, Mr. Whitmore. I’ll put together a detailed plan for how to leverage new platforms and boost engagement and visibility with your key demographics.”
Jack gives a curt nod and a humorless chuckle.
“Well then. I look forward to seeing these magical numbers.”
As he straightens his suit jacket and turns his gaze to the man sitting next to him, I take that as my cue to flee this terribly awkward meeting. I nod at Amanda, grab my purse, and beeline out the door, not stopping until I have locked myself inside a blessedly empty restroom.
I sink down onto the closed toilet lid, breathing in the quiet solitude of the bathroom. The sterile office environment already feels suffocating after the freedom of working for myself. And I’m barely two hours into this life. The stark white walls, polished floors, and corporate rules are my prison now. But my sisters need a steady paycheck. I remind myself that as far as prisons go, this is a very beautifully decorated one.
I quickly hit Grace’s number on speed dial. “Hey G, you are not going to believe this,” I rush out. “Remember that random guy from the hiking trip who wouldn’t take my V-card, but gave me multiple O’s?”
“Yes,” her voice comes out in a chuckle. “The guy who had you naked and begging but wouldn't bang you? How could I forget that sob story?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Y-yes?”
“It turns out he's my freaking boss!”
“Come again?”
“It turns out Mr. Whitmore . . .the Mr. Whitmore of Whitmore Tech is none other than Jack. My dazzling mountain man!”
“What?”
“I know, right?!” I throw my hands up in frustration. “One minute he’s kissing me senseless, looking at me with so much heat. But then, it’s ‘you deserve better than a cave fuck, Little Bird.’ Like, excuse me?”
I huff, bitterness swirling with confusion. “Was I that hideous he had to restrain himself out of pity or something?”
“Oh, stop it,” Grace scolds me. “You’re gorgeous, and you know it. Maybe he truly cares about more than a cheap thrill? He didn’t seem like a total Neanderthal from what you were telling me.”
I make a face. “Well, Neanderthal Jack sure came out swingin’ this morning. He ripped me to shreds in front of everyone!”
“What? Why?”
“It was awful,” I groan, leaning against the cold tile wall. “He acted totally indifferent, like he didn’t kiss every inch of me under the moonlight!”
“What a beast.”
“At first I thought he was someone else,” I continue. “Then I thought he didn’t recognize me. Maybe he didn’t. You think that’s possible?”
“Slow down, Mads. Don't let a hotshot exec scare you off.”
“You’re right. I’ll be working with Amanda, anyway. She seems nice enough. And this is just temporary. I’m banking on your book being picked up soon. Please tell me your meeting with the agent went well?”
Grace sighs into the phone. “I think so. He seemed excited about the concept and the samples I gave him. This could be my big break, Mads.”
I smile softly, picturing Grace hunched over her laptop night after night, eyes ringed with exhaustion and filled with drive. She has been working on this thriller for over a year, determined to make it big.
I sigh, images of Mom and Dad flashing painfully. Of little Aria, just starting her freshman year as an orphan. But she has me and Grace, and between our two jobs she will not be lacking in anything. Whitmore will give us the stability and the extra income we need until—fingers crossed—Grace’s novel takes off.
