jackass who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“I am not childish.”
God’s gift on the other hand? My record speaks for itself.
“Oh, bite me.”
I wish.
“Nice comeback, Kate. Very mature.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“You’re a…an Alexandra.”
She pauses a second and looks at me blankly. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Think about it. It will come to you.
I rub my hand down my face. “Okay, look, this is getting us nowhere fast. We’re screwed. We both still want Anderson, and the only way we’re going to get him is if we somehow get our shit together. We’ve got…thirty hours to do that. Are you in or not?”
Her lips come together in flat-out determination.
“You’re right. I’m in.”
“Meet me in my office in twenty minutes, and we’ll get to work.”
I expect her to argue with me. I expect her to ask why we have to meet in my office—why we can’t work in her office—like a nagging housewife. But she doesn’t.
She just says, “Okay.” And leaves the room to get the rest of her things.
I’m surprised.
Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.
“That is the stupidest fucking idea I have ever heard!”
Nope, it’s much worse.
“I’ve researched Anderson. He’s the old-fashioned type. He’s not going to want to go blind staring at your laptop all night. He’s going to want something concrete, tangible. Something he can take home. That’s what I’ll give him!”
“This is a multibillion-dollar business meeting—not a fifth grade science fair. I’m not walking in there with frigging poster board!”
It’s after midnight. We’ve been in my office for a little over twelve hours. Except for these few minute details, every aspect of our presentation has been banged out, negotiated, compromised.
I feel like I just bartered a goddamn peace treaty.
By now, Kate has released her hair and lost her shoes. My tie is off, the top two buttons of my shirt open. Our appearance could make things feel friendly—intimate—like an all-night study session in college.
If we weren’t trying to rip each other’s throats open, of course.
“I don’t give a shit if you agree or not. I’m right about this. I’m bringing the poster board.”
I give in. I’m too tired to fight about paper. “Fine. Just—shrink it down.”
We ordered food a few hours ago and worked through dinner. I had pasta with chicken, while Kate preferred a turkey club with fries on the side. Much as I hate to admit it, I’m impressed. Obviously, she doesn’t subscribe to the “I can only eat salads in front of the opposite sex” rule of thumb a lot of chicks swear by. Who gave women that idea? Like a guy’s going to say to his friend, “Dude, she was one fugly chick, but once I saw her chomping that romaine, I just had to nail her.”
No man wants to fuck a skeleton—and nibbling crackers and water like a prisoner of war at dinner isn’t attractive. It just makes us think about what a cranky bitch you’re going to be later on because you’re starving. If a guy’s into you? A cheeseburger deluxe is not going to scare him away. And if he’s not? Ingesting all the greens on Peter Cottontail’s farm isn’t going to change that, trust me.
Now back to the battle royal.
“I’m doing the talking,” I tell her firmly.
“No, no way!”
“Kate—”
“These are my ideas, and I’m presenting them!”
She’s purposely trying to make me nuts. She’s deliberately trying to drive me off the deep end. She’s probably hoping I’ll throw myself out the window, just to get away from the annoyance that is her. Then she’ll have Anderson all to herself.
Well, her evil little scheme isn’t going to work. I’m going to stay calm. I’m going to count to ten. I won’t let Kate get to me.
“Saul Anderson,” I say, “is an old-fashioned businessman—you just said it yourself. He’s going to want to talk to another business man , not someone he sees as a glorified
“I am not childish.”
God’s gift on the other hand? My record speaks for itself.
“Oh, bite me.”
I wish.
“Nice comeback, Kate. Very mature.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“You’re a…an Alexandra.”
She pauses a second and looks at me blankly. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Think about it. It will come to you.
I rub my hand down my face. “Okay, look, this is getting us nowhere fast. We’re screwed. We both still want Anderson, and the only way we’re going to get him is if we somehow get our shit together. We’ve got…thirty hours to do that. Are you in or not?”
Her lips come together in flat-out determination.
“You’re right. I’m in.”
“Meet me in my office in twenty minutes, and we’ll get to work.”
I expect her to argue with me. I expect her to ask why we have to meet in my office—why we can’t work in her office—like a nagging housewife. But she doesn’t.
She just says, “Okay.” And leaves the room to get the rest of her things.
I’m surprised.
Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.
“That is the stupidest fucking idea I have ever heard!”
Nope, it’s much worse.
“I’ve researched Anderson. He’s the old-fashioned type. He’s not going to want to go blind staring at your laptop all night. He’s going to want something concrete, tangible. Something he can take home. That’s what I’ll give him!”
“This is a multibillion-dollar business meeting—not a fifth grade science fair. I’m not walking in there with frigging poster board!”
It’s after midnight. We’ve been in my office for a little over twelve hours. Except for these few minute details, every aspect of our presentation has been banged out, negotiated, compromised.
I feel like I just bartered a goddamn peace treaty.
By now, Kate has released her hair and lost her shoes. My tie is off, the top two buttons of my shirt open. Our appearance could make things feel friendly—intimate—like an all-night study session in college.
If we weren’t trying to rip each other’s throats open, of course.
“I don’t give a shit if you agree or not. I’m right about this. I’m bringing the poster board.”
I give in. I’m too tired to fight about paper. “Fine. Just—shrink it down.”
We ordered food a few hours ago and worked through dinner. I had pasta with chicken, while Kate preferred a turkey club with fries on the side. Much as I hate to admit it, I’m impressed. Obviously, she doesn’t subscribe to the “I can only eat salads in front of the opposite sex” rule of thumb a lot of chicks swear by. Who gave women that idea? Like a guy’s going to say to his friend, “Dude, she was one fugly chick, but once I saw her chomping that romaine, I just had to nail her.”
No man wants to fuck a skeleton—and nibbling crackers and water like a prisoner of war at dinner isn’t attractive. It just makes us think about what a cranky bitch you’re going to be later on because you’re starving. If a guy’s into you? A cheeseburger deluxe is not going to scare him away. And if he’s not? Ingesting all the greens on Peter Cottontail’s farm isn’t going to change that, trust me.
Now back to the battle royal.
“I’m doing the talking,” I tell her firmly.
“No, no way!”
“Kate—”
“These are my ideas, and I’m presenting them!”
She’s purposely trying to make me nuts. She’s deliberately trying to drive me off the deep end. She’s probably hoping I’ll throw myself out the window, just to get away from the annoyance that is her. Then she’ll have Anderson all to herself.
Well, her evil little scheme isn’t going to work. I’m going to stay calm. I’m going to count to ten. I won’t let Kate get to me.
“Saul Anderson,” I say, “is an old-fashioned businessman—you just said it yourself. He’s going to want to talk to another business man , not someone he sees as a glorified
Similar Books
