Page 45 of Miss Manage

Chapter Twenty-Six

CHARLOTTE

“In the office.” That’s how I ended Gabriel’s sentence in my mind before watching him walk out my front door.

At least it wouldn’t be today. I’d completely forgotten he was heading up to the Los Angeles office in order to meet with the small team located there and not returning until tomorrow morning. I was grateful for the small reprieve, especially since I was meeting with the owners today.

A meeting for which I needed to get myself prepared.

Taking a deep breath, I yelled out to my mom, “Jumping in the shower. Be right back.”

“Take your time. And your man with you if you’d like.”

Jesus.

By the time I came back downstairs, dressed in my work clothes and wearing a mask of composure, my mother was on her second cup of steaming coffee and eating toast with butter.

“So…?” she prompted.

I let out a long sigh. Ever since Steve, I’d purposefully not introduced anyone to my family. Especially not to Austin. As far as I was concerned, no relationship would ever again be serious enough to do so. “Can we not? Please. And whatever you do, don’t tell Michelle.”

Her smile curved around the rim of her cup, sly and knowing. “Mm. Fine.”

I knew that would only buy me twenty-four hours, tops.

Walking into the office an hour later than usual, I went straight into work mode. Work mode was safe. Work mode was comfortable.

At least until Olivia knocked and came in with a big smile. “How was your night?”

Dammit. I could already feel my face heating. Although I trusted her in so many ways, this wasn’t something I was ever going to say out loud, let alone burden her with. “It was fine, thank you. You did a wonderful job, as usual, helping to organize the event. Thank you.”

She beamed at the note of appreciation. “It’s always a pleasure. Um, hope it was okay to send you a text so you could talk with Gabriel.”

Shit. I’d almost forgotten about her being the one to send the text. I could ask her about how she’d gotten involved, but I didn’t want to add any fuel to Olivia’s romantic notions. “Not at all. It was a welcome reprieve. And it gave us a chance to talk about him going up to LA today.”

She appeared mildly disappointed by my explanation of the reason for my conversation with Gabriel during the gala. “Oh. Yeah. Good. Um, so what time is your meeting with the owners today?”

Back to safe ground. “In twenty minutes. Wish me luck.”

Turned out I needed it.

I met the McMillion brothers in their executive conference room. Reggie greeted me with his easy smile and Ronald with the perpetual frown capable of curdling milk. We didn’t waste any time getting down to business.

Reggie flipped through the report methodically while Ronald only skimmed his copy, his brow furrowing while he asked the question, “Why are there two options?”

“One outlines the straight five percent reduction you requested. The other shows an alternative of three percent in personnel cuts, with the remainder offset by a potential lease renegotiation in London. Doing so would give us more flexibility to assess teams as the merger stabilizes.”

Ronald’s frown deepened. “Our directive was five percent, not a workaround.”

“Understood,” I replied evenly. “You’ll find the full five percent reflected in the first option. The second option doesn’t need to be on the table if you don’t wish to entertain it.”

Reggie gave a dismissive chuckle. “We’ll stick with the five percent by the end of next week. As for saving money with the lease, have the team investigate it.”

“Of course.”

The words were smooth, practiced. But the quiet weight of it settled. Five percent of the staff would lose their jobs by the end of next week.

It had been on the tip of my tongue to mention the lease idea had been Gabriel’s, but when Ronald’s expression hardened at the mere suggestion of sparing jobs, I was grateful I hadn’t. As Reggie shifted the conversation to revenue forecasts, something inside me went still. I’d spent years believing our choices came from strategy and foresight, not convenience or indifference. But currently, listening to them speak so easily about cuts and numbers representing real people, I couldn’t shake the quiet realization that maybe I’d been giving them too much credit.