Page 468 of Manhattan Bossholes

“We’re not discussing my abilities. We’re talking about a former retail employee’s challenges adjusting to life in a high-functioning corporate department. My department.”

“Your department.” I repeated back to him. “In my company.”

I glanced at Natalie and could see the hint of a smile playing around her lips.

“Biggest question: what do you think about Miss Reynolds’ designs?” I asked.

His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish on dry land, as if he was finally figuring out that he was headed for the gut bucket.

“They’re…they’re fine, for a beginner. They show a glimmer of promise, with the appropriate guidance from someone like me.”

I cocked my head at him. “Really? Is that what you told her?”

“I might’ve suggested a few changes,” he said and scoffed.

“I believe the word you used was ‘amateurish’?”

“And he called my gowns ‘department store prom rejects,’” Natalie added.

“But…critiquing is what I do. That’s my role. I’m quality control,” Clint sputtered, his face going a shade paler. “I call the shots.”

“Is that really your job, Clint? Or are you supposed to be guiding the creative team? Supporting them as they bring their sketches to life?”

“Supporting?” He laughed. “Please. They’re supposed to support me. Without my vision, this team would be a shambles! You seem to forget what was going down when I—” He stopped abruptly, as if finally remembering who he was talking to.

“Clint also implied that he has a problem with me because you hired me without sign-off from him,” Natalie said.

The hole he’d dug for himself was getting deeper by the minute.

Natalie and I locked eyes, as if finally understanding that we were on the same team. The warmth I read in her expression nearly knocked me off track.

No. Focus.

“Now hold on, I never said that.” Clint slammed his hand down on the table and Natalie jumped.

I didn’t respond as the sound echoed around the room.

“James, come on. Why are you doing this?” His voice took on a pleading tone.

“I’m not doing anything. You managed it all by yourself.” I turned to Natalie. “Would you mind sending Katrina in? She’s our last creative hire, about six months ago. I’d like to get her insights about her time with us.”

Natalie gave me a curt nod and stood up. Clint nearly tipped over his chair in his haste to beat her to the door.

“Hey, Clint, why don’t you give us the room? I’m really curious about how your team feels about you. I’m sure it’ll be…educational.”

His shoulders slumped and he walked out the door.

Over the next two hours I interviewed every member of the creative team while Clint tried not to get caught watching us over the ledge of his balcony. The issues that had been percolating were bigger than I’d realized, and I cursed myself for assuming that the situation was under control just because I hadn’t heard any complaints. More than a few people mentioned taking their concerns to HR, who sided with Clint without ever actually investigating the situation—and who never bothered to share any reports with me of any issues at all. Looked like HR could use a shakeup…but not as badly as the creative team.

After the last team member walked out, I called Clint back to the conference room.

He walked in sans blazer, not seeming to realize that he’d sweated through his shirt. He took a seat opposite me and I steepled my hands and leveled my gaze at him.

“Interesting couple of hours. I learned quite a bit about the way things work around here. Your ‘management style,’” I made air quotes, “if you can call it that. Gaslighting, overworking, belittling, stealing designs…”

“C’mon, James. Don’t do this. We’re practically family. We have history,” he whined.

I nodded agreeably and watched his expression brighten. I was loyal to family, definitely, but the cousin of my brother’s witch of an ex-wife sure as hell didn’t count. Back when Christopher had been running the creative department, he’d hired the guy because he’d been too in love with Amanda to ever tell her no, but that certainly wasn’t a problem that I had. Oh, how I was going to enjoy his take-down.