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“I’m working. I’m not about to drink on the job,” I say, steering well clear of that obvious trap.
“What the hell do you think I’m here for, if not the job?” Declan asks. “These kinds of things are not my idea of fun.”
“I’m having fun,” I inform him. “It is a good party. And I’m here to work. Not to lose focus.” I raise my eyebrows at him to make sure he knows I’m serious. “I’m not about to get distracted. Talking to you? It’s a distraction.”
Declan barks a laugh before turning around and leaning against the railing, propping himself up with his elbows. “I’m allowed to talk to my employees. In a majority of opinions, that would make me a good boss.”
I’m the one laughing now. “That’s an awfully nice compliment to pay yourself. Let me guess. You also buy yourself those ‘World’s Best Boss’ mugs, right?”
“In every style and color,” he says, joking easily. “I have a dedicated cabinet full of them. I only bring them out on special occasions.”
“That is something I would pay to see,” I admit.
“A reward reserved for the employee of the month,” Declan says. “They of course get a mug to mark their achievement.”
I have to marvel at the man in front of me. I’ve only really known him for a short while, since I started the job, and yet I wonder if I know him at all. I’ve seen him smolder, and then shut down completely. I’ve seen him schmooze, oozing charm, and now … this. It’s like there’s a Declan for every occasion, and I don’t know how I feel about that.
Before witnessing the one in front of me, who’s quietly open, funny, and a little self-deprecating, my vote would’ve been for the smoldering one.
I don’t like being shut out by the cold one. And the schmoozer version is a little sad. It’s like he has to put on a performance for the people who admire him so much. If only he could let them see the person in front of me right now.
Because I’m pretty sure that this is the real Declan, and I feel strangely honored to be allowed to see it. I briefly wonder what the occasion is. Why Declan has let this part of him show tonight. To me.
“So what do you think about all this?” Declan asks, lifting his chin back toward the party. “Good showing?”
“Sure,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. His eyes narrow. “I mean, yes. It’s very nice.”
“That’s not exactly a glowing review,” he says.
“It’s a great party, Mr. Wright.”
He snorts. “Don’t call me that. It’s Declan.”
I swallow hard, remembering how badly I wanted to know his real name so I could scream it in that bed in San Francisco. And I try not to read too much into it now, in this moment, him asking me to call him Declan. It’s not lost on me that nearly everyone else at Dynasty calls him Mr. Wright, Carol included, and he doesn’t protest a bit.
“Declan, then,” I say as lightly as I can manage.
“Now that you can call me by my name, I’m sure you can tell me what you really think about the launch party,” he says smoothly.
I’ve clearly been cornered, but I accept my fate. Declan wants to know what’s on my mind, and if I want to do my best at my job, I need to tell him. It’s too important to share instead of keeping my observations politely bland.
“It’s very fancy,” I say, then push forward at Declan’s raised eyebrow. “Too fancy, I mean. Exclusive, even. I know that Dynasty started out as a luxury brand, but all of this seems out of reach for the average consumer, who we’re trying to target with this new launch.”
“Is the party too fancy, or is the launch itself too fancy?” he asks quietly.
I’m afraid that I’ve offended him, but it’s too late to stop now. I’ve been encouraged, this is a subject I’m passionate about, and I have strong opinions about this not being the right thing for the brand.
“The way the whole new line is being pitched is a mistake,” I say. “I don’t think it’s too late to recalibrate, but if we don’t do it immediately, we'll regret it. I’ve talked to some of the people in there. I don’t know if you’ve noticed them. You’ve been really busy with the super fancy people in the middle of the room. In the middle of the action. The ones who don’t look like they’re comfortable being there—that’s our ideal audience. I’ll show you their stories. Their Dynasty experience. They don’t come from money like you do. They have to make an investment on these products.”
Something passes over Declan’s face, and I realize I’ve been flapping my mouth, going on and on, and I shut up as quickly as I can, buttoning my lips. I am one hundred percent sure that he wasn’t asking for all of this when he wanted to know what was on my mind about the party.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sidling a step or two away from him. His look is thunderous, and I regret not being a bubbly fan girl and swooning over Declan and his lavish launch party. I need to be more of a yes girl. Someone who is supportive of all the company’s efforts whether she agrees with them or not.
Exhaling sharply through his nose, Declan shakes his head. “No. Don’t be sorry. The only thing I hate is that you have a point. We missed a mark here. I appreciate the honesty, Sophie.”
I touch my hair, self-conscious of the praise and terribly aware of the flush creeping up my neck at the sound of my name on his lips.
“People have told me before that I’m too honest,” I admit, babbling a little as I wilt under the intensity of his full attention. “It’s kind of a weakness, really. I’m a terrible liar. It gets me in trouble.”
