Part 5 (1/2)

d.a.m.n it. I wish I didn't enjoy this so much. He was my client, and clients were always off the menu. Unfortunately, he was also funny and smart and basically every woman's wet dream. Definitely this woman's wet dream, like, every night this week. Good thing he was totally out of my league, and we'd never meet face-to-face. Because if we did, we'd probably have nothing to say to each other. So we'd have to fill up the awkward silence with something that didn't take any words.

”You wish,” I mumbled. Yes, unfortunately, I really, really did.

'Have a good day, Mr. Bennett.' Then I closed down my computer and went for a long walk...to the donut shop.

Whether the inventor of donuts knew it or not, she-had to be a woman who invented donuts-had created the world's most perfect coping food. Sugar, fat, bread, and sprinkles. With a hole in the middle so you could pretend you weren't finis.h.i.+ng off a big ball of calories all by yourself.

It got a little trickier to play that game after two of them, though. After three, I felt so ill, when the image of him and the blonde popped into my mind, the woman's face had been replaced by a cinnamon roll.

7.

Hayden

I dictated a short memo on my phone, sent it to Sira, then texted, 'Please type this up and have it ready when I get to my office. Need to send it out ASAP.'

'You're still home? Don't you have a meeting this morning?'

”Oh, d.a.m.n it.” I looked at the time-8:38. I had twenty-two minutes to get downtown for Bart's pointless monthly meeting with the heads of each department. Each of us would share what we were working on, and then Bart would spend the next ten minutes berating us for not doing it right. Regardless of the facts.

Everyone else was probably already there, waiting for the fun to begin. I shoved files into my briefcase, grabbed my jacket and phone, and ran. I took a cab instead of my car-not having to park would get me there faster.

Thankfully, when I arrived, Bart and a few heads of departments were still talking to each other in the hallway outside the boardroom. My father-in-law raised an eyebrow when he saw me rush past. I said a brief h.e.l.lo before setting down my things at one end of the table. Bart still proudly held the official head of the table, even though his role within the company had diminished to that of king-he waved at people from afar and gave an occasional angry speech when someone screwed up, but when it came to actual decisions, everyone knew he yielded no power.

When I set down my phone, I saw another text from Sira.

'Are we there yet?' And another. 'You're wearing pants, right?'

I chuckled, then texted back, 'Wish you'd reminded me of that earlier.'

'Oops. You're supposed to imagine other people naked, not be naked. I pray you're kidding but, just in case, I'll write up a sincere-sounding apology letter. Or maybe a forged note from your mom would be better?'

'You've obviously never met my mother.' I imagined Renee's excuse as to why I'd been late-making up excuses and lies were all she knew how to do. But she'd never lifted a pen or a finger to defend me.

'No, but I know she never bothered to teach you how to type.'

'True, but I know which fork to use, which is obviously so much more important.' Actually, most of my education had come from my father's fists, followed by my mother teaching Carson and me the importance of keeping secrets.

”Hayden?”

I didn't need to see Bart's face to know how annoyed he was. When I looked up from my phone, everyone was seated and staring, waiting for me to finish.

Something useful my father had taught me-not on purpose, mind you-was that apologies were bulls.h.i.+t, so I rarely bothered with them. In fact, I decided to do the opposite this time. I pointed at my phone and said, ”This is regarding Inspex.”

Bart grunted but didn't dare say anything. He understood our positions within the company-he was free to continue acting as if he were in charge, but we all knew my Inspex deal would catapult Conure into a powerhouse position and keep everyone fat and happy past retirement.

'My mother did teach me how to dress though, so I am fully clothed. Don't worry.'

'Thank goodness. I'll just rip up this application to the mental inst.i.tution then?'

I couldn't smile, but I wanted to. 'Might as well keep it handy.'

The murmurs grew as the group got restless, so it was time to say goodbye. Although...

”I'm going to record the meeting and have my a.s.sistant type up the minutes.” I looked at the secretary who'd been a.s.signed the task. ”You do a wonderful job, but she's still fairly new. This will give her a chance to see us all in action.” I winked. The real reason was that I had no interest in listening to Bart rattle on about things he knew nothing about. I'd let Sira decide if anyone had actually said anything interesting or not.

”Anyone have a problem with that?”

When no one spoke up, I opened the recording app and set my phone face up in front of me.

”Let's begin, then, shall we? Who has the agenda?”

When a new text popped up, I slammed my hand down to cover my phone, so no one could read it. As I typed, 'In meeting. Can't talk,' my eyes wandered up to what she'd written.

'What are you a 42-Long? I'm shopping for straitjackets.'

I smiled before I could stop myself. Then said to Bart, ”Good news about Inspex,” in explanation.

His lips tightened, but he didn't say anything, knowing I wouldn't share more.

An hour later, after a meeting that provided no information other than why I should start buying aspirin in bulk, I went back to my office.

About thirty minutes later, Sira emailed me a very short list of relevant points, along with a note that said, 'Your boss sure likes to yell a lot, doesn't he? He's very good at sounding important.' Yes, he was.

A few hours later, I took a break to stare at the chat icon on my computer screen. How could a tiny picture symbolize so much confusion? I didn't have anything new to give her to work on, so I had no reason to click on that icon. Except to chat. Did grown men 'chat?' Not with their a.s.sistants. Not just because he found her interesting and amusing and wanted to get to know her better. Grown men didn't do that.

Before I could make a fool of myself, I shut the d.a.m.n thing down and shoved tonight's work into my briefcase, knowing I could just as easily make a fool of myself from my phone. Mobile stupidity. Great.

”In fact...”

The head of marketing stopped me in the hall on my way out. ”You should try having lunch before three o'clock sometime, Hayden. It's all the rage these days.”

”Is taking a three-hour lunch the rage too, Tim? Because you do it really well. Maybe you can give me some tips.” I was only partially joking, and he knew it. No judgment-how people did their jobs wasn't my concern, and each of us had different goals. From the outside, it probably seemed like I cared about this. And peripherally, that was true. But, unlike Tim and everyone like him, money wasn't my goal.

I had more than enough in cash, stock options, and outside investments and, when Bart retired, I'd take control of the company he and my father had built. So money had never been my goal-proving my worth to my father had. Before he'd died, and every moment since.

I'd married my boss's daughter, the man who'd been my father's best friend until he died. This wasn't a job for me. It was a life. And d.a.m.n, wasn't that pathetic. My career was something that filled the time, my wife and I felt nothing for each other, and I detested her father with every cell in my body. Almost as much as I'd hated my own.