surprise off my face, I bobbed my head. The truth was the HR director had never asked me to sign a non-disclosure agreement. For the second time in less than a week, Dora’s distractedness was working in my favor.
“Well, the PA before you started an anonymous blog about an unnamed, bitch-faced fashion CEO. She messed up when she blogged about a very specific argument she and Margaret had.” Snorting, Stella signaled the bartender for another lemon drop, even though she wasn’t halfway finished with her current drink. “And the assistant before her had sex in the conference room.”
“With Oliver?” I hated that he was the first person who came to mind when I thought of someone screwing an assistant on the executive floor—and I hated that my chest tightened at that thought.
She swirled her drink. “Oliver Manning steers clear of his mama’s employees.” She was silent for several seconds, and then, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, she informed me, “The VP was on the other end of the conference room romp.”
“ What ?”
“Uh huh. The man can’t keep it in his pants to save his life.”
Although he hadn’t been with the company when my father was CEO, I’d seen pictures of the company’s vice-president on Emerson & Taylor’s website. From what Margaret had told me, he would be on company business in London for the rest of the week, but I was in no hurry to meet him, especially now that I knew he was a horn dog.
“Well, since I don’t have a blog or a desire to hump a man whose official bio lists him as being happily married with four children, I should be safe.”
“Yes.” Stella murmured a “ thanks” when the bartender set her second drink in front of her. Scratching her head, she leaned away from me, her dark eyes inquisitive. “You’re not going to ask about Oliver?”
“What’s there to ask?” But of course my thoughts automatically pinged to the ridiculously expensive gift card waiting in my desk drawer and the email from last week I’d yet to erase, even though he hadn’t messaged me since. “He doesn’t work there.”
“You’re not going to ask about him and Dora?”
“If I did, what would you tell me?”
I could clearly hear Oliver’s voice pounding in my skull, telling me that he absolutely wasn’t sleeping with the HR director.
“That there is no Dora and Oliver.” She studied my expression carefully as I grabbed my beer and downed a mouthful.” “They’re just close friends.”
“Close friends?” I felt my face heat up when I blurted the question.
“Yes ma’am.” Polishing off the remainder of her first drink, she lifted her shoulders playfully. “Not that there was anything to ask.”
Chapter 5
––––––––
W hen I stepped into the comfort of my apartment an hour and a half later, I kicked off my black heels and left them by the front door. Plucking the hairpins out of my updo, I dropped them on the foyer table and padded across the laminate floor, following the sound of Pen’s voice to the dining room. I found her at the table, squinting at her laptop screen. She was holding her phone between her ear and her shoulder and making quick notes.
“Hey, I’m home,” I whispered.
Her head popped up, and she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “August business,” she explained.
August. The name conjured up images of strong shoulders and a ready laugh. I’d met Pen’s longtime associate —another “white hat” hacker who did the occasional side job—only a handful of times, but he’d always been friendly.
When my tire had blown out on I-15 almost two years ago while Pen and I were on our way back to my place after a Best Buy excursion, she’d called August instead of her brother to help us. He’d come to our aid quickly, looking more like a model than a tech whiz. While I watched him change the tire—so that I’d be able to help myself if it ever happened again—he’d made small talk with me. We
“Well, the PA before you started an anonymous blog about an unnamed, bitch-faced fashion CEO. She messed up when she blogged about a very specific argument she and Margaret had.” Snorting, Stella signaled the bartender for another lemon drop, even though she wasn’t halfway finished with her current drink. “And the assistant before her had sex in the conference room.”
“With Oliver?” I hated that he was the first person who came to mind when I thought of someone screwing an assistant on the executive floor—and I hated that my chest tightened at that thought.
She swirled her drink. “Oliver Manning steers clear of his mama’s employees.” She was silent for several seconds, and then, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, she informed me, “The VP was on the other end of the conference room romp.”
“ What ?”
“Uh huh. The man can’t keep it in his pants to save his life.”
Although he hadn’t been with the company when my father was CEO, I’d seen pictures of the company’s vice-president on Emerson & Taylor’s website. From what Margaret had told me, he would be on company business in London for the rest of the week, but I was in no hurry to meet him, especially now that I knew he was a horn dog.
“Well, since I don’t have a blog or a desire to hump a man whose official bio lists him as being happily married with four children, I should be safe.”
“Yes.” Stella murmured a “ thanks” when the bartender set her second drink in front of her. Scratching her head, she leaned away from me, her dark eyes inquisitive. “You’re not going to ask about Oliver?”
“What’s there to ask?” But of course my thoughts automatically pinged to the ridiculously expensive gift card waiting in my desk drawer and the email from last week I’d yet to erase, even though he hadn’t messaged me since. “He doesn’t work there.”
“You’re not going to ask about him and Dora?”
“If I did, what would you tell me?”
I could clearly hear Oliver’s voice pounding in my skull, telling me that he absolutely wasn’t sleeping with the HR director.
“That there is no Dora and Oliver.” She studied my expression carefully as I grabbed my beer and downed a mouthful.” “They’re just close friends.”
“Close friends?” I felt my face heat up when I blurted the question.
“Yes ma’am.” Polishing off the remainder of her first drink, she lifted her shoulders playfully. “Not that there was anything to ask.”
Chapter 5
––––––––
W hen I stepped into the comfort of my apartment an hour and a half later, I kicked off my black heels and left them by the front door. Plucking the hairpins out of my updo, I dropped them on the foyer table and padded across the laminate floor, following the sound of Pen’s voice to the dining room. I found her at the table, squinting at her laptop screen. She was holding her phone between her ear and her shoulder and making quick notes.
“Hey, I’m home,” I whispered.
Her head popped up, and she covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “August business,” she explained.
August. The name conjured up images of strong shoulders and a ready laugh. I’d met Pen’s longtime associate —another “white hat” hacker who did the occasional side job—only a handful of times, but he’d always been friendly.
When my tire had blown out on I-15 almost two years ago while Pen and I were on our way back to my place after a Best Buy excursion, she’d called August instead of her brother to help us. He’d come to our aid quickly, looking more like a model than a tech whiz. While I watched him change the tire—so that I’d be able to help myself if it ever happened again—he’d made small talk with me. We
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