Page 563 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, then say, ‘We deeply regret the oversight,’” I sighed. “I know, that’s standard.”

Felicity’s head jerked back in unconcealed disgust. “Um, no, that’s one hundred percent wrong. ‘We deeply regret’ is not an apology, and calling it an oversight is downright insulting.”

I paused. She was right. “Okay, then what do you suggest?”

She leaned against the wall opposite me, clutching the rail behind her back and accidentally giving me a front row seat to her breasts—which were absolutely worth the price of admission. With an effort of pure will, I managed to pull my eyes away. “You need to offer a real apology, from the heart, then show how Veritique is going to make it right. And my suggestion is to do some sort of partnership with Her Refuge.”

“Go on.”

Her eyes lit up. “Scrap the hashtag, it belongs to them. Start a completely new campaign that shines a light on the prevalence of domestic violence. Center it around a product that isn’t related to marriage, like a simple gold chain.” Felicity paused to look something up on her phone. “Yeah, a chain works, because you can use the hashtag #BreakingtheChain. So, you’ll donate a portion of the proceeds of any gold chains sold during a certain timeframe to Her Refuge, then offer a matching contribution at the end of the campaign.”

It made a lot of sense. My father had always insisted that admitting wrongdoing was weak, but I knew better. The problem was that I was so steeped in his way of thinking that sometimes I didn’t stop to question what I was doing, or why. The faux apologies—or worse, no apologies—needed to become a thing of the past.

“I like it,” I said simply. “Direct, actionable…yeah. It works.”

“High praise,” Felicity smirked. “Thanks.”

“No, the high praise is me telling Sandrine to put your plan into action ASAP,” I replied as I quickly typed instructions to my employee.

It struck me as I hit send that my team had been right about her. Felicity was a standout. I’d been too stubborn to get past my first impression. Maybe I was more like my father than I was willing to admit. And if so, that was something that needed to change. The old “my way or the highway” perspective had gotten us in the crisis we were currently facing, thanks to my father. It was up to me to get us back out.

“Consider my help a freebie.” Her eyebrow arched up. “Which is all you’ll ever get from me.”

“I don’t accept freebies,” I replied as the idea quickly took shape. I didn’t want to second guess myself, so I kept talking. “Which is why I want you to reconsider working for Veritique.”

She’d gone back to the relentless pacing, but my offer made her stop in her tracks. “Excuse me?”

“You’re good, Felicity. You came up with a make-right plan within seconds, and crisis management wasn’t even on your resume.”

She snorted out a laugh. “Oh, you mean you actually read it? I’m shocked.”

“I did, before I knew it was you,” I admitted.

“Yeah, but I am me, and we already know that you and I,” she gestured between us, “do not work. So, thank you for the offer, but it’s a no, Mr. O’Connor.”

That wouldn’t do at all. People didn’t say no to me.

“Did you talk compensation with Andre Thibault during your interviews?”

“Yeah, shocker,” she laughed at me. “Your HR rep did mention the compensation package. Crazy, right? And I’m still saying no.”

I ignored the sarcasm in her voice. When I made up my mind, I didn’t stop until I won. And this scenario in particular was one in which I was determined to come out on top.

I coughed. Wrong word choice, given the way I watched her ass every time she started pacing.

“I’ll double it.”

Her pink lips dropped open, which seemed to be her go-to expression when she was struck speechless.

I sort of liked that I could do that to her.

“I…I…” she stuttered.

“Say yes,” I shrugged, confident I’d won her over. “It’s as simple as that.”

“No.”

It was my turn for my mouth to fall open in shock. “Excuse me? No?”