Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“Got it. What about…us?”
I stopped short and glowered. “There is no us, Raine.”
“Oh, I know, I know. I meant should we talk about procedure or protocol or maybe just…forget it happened,” he suggested in a rush.
“If only it were that simple,” I mumbled to myself.
“What was your name, again?” He struck a quizzical pose and rubbed his temple.
The gesture pulled at the fabric of his suit coat. I ignored his quip and pointed at the splotchy mark next to his pocket. “What is that on your shirt?”
“Uh…nothing. I, um…”
“Show me.”
He blew out his breath in a theatric rush and unbuttoned his suit coat, revealing the perfect print of an iron. “Appliances are kinda tricky here. No one warned me about English irons. American irons don’t do this.”
For the first time in weeks, I threw my head back and laughed aloud.
I moved to the door as my phone buzzed. “Right. I must go.”
“Yeah, of course.” His forehead creased adorably. “I’ll just…wait to hear from you?”
I regarded him for a beat. “Come to my office at the end of the day. Today or tomorrow is fine.”
Raine cleared his throat and nodded. “Got it. I don’t know where your office is, though, and something tells me I need to cross a bridge, feed a troll, and climb a castle wall for access. Or a secret code.”
I snorted. “I’m sure you’ll find your way, but I suggest not referring to Bernadette as a troll. You’ll regret it. But she may let you pass if you tell her you have the new file for Mint and Cooperton I requested.”
“Got it.” He gave a thumbs-up. “Mint and Chipperfield.”
I fixed him with a sardonic stare and flung the door open. “Good day, Raine. Do stay out of trouble.”
“Yes, sir.”
I strode down the hall, my lips twitching as I lost the battle with the smile I’d held from the moment he’d walked into that office. It grew until it hurt my cheeks and startled an employee. I nodded curtly at the young man and schooled my features into something less…jovial.
Damn it. This was not good. This was the opposite of good.
What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas. That was a rule for a reason. Unnecessary complications caused distractions, and I didn’t do distractions. Certainly not in the middle of an acquisition.
He had to be dismissed…or reassigned. He could be someone else’s assistant in another country. Oh, that was a good idea. It wasn’t his fault our paths had inexplicably crossed again. As difficult as it was to believe this was a coincidence, the shock on his face had been genuine. I was definitely the last person Raine had expected to meet at the office.
What had Julia been thinking? Was something wrong with her? Truthfully, she hadn’t been herself lately at all. She’d been fidgety and nervous…and anxious to leave for Aberdeen of all places, yet she’d stayed for more money. Was she in some sort of personal trouble? I couldn’t guess, but I knew something was amiss.
There was no reasonable explanation as to why she’d hire an underqualified American as an assistant she intended to pass along to me. Raine was completely out of his depth. He looked like what he was…a guppy who’d been dropped into an ocean filled with sharks.
Whatever had led to this…oddity would have to be dealt with later.
I took my place at the head of the table in the Bridge Conference Room, our grandest conference space, named for its dazzling view of Tower Bridge and the Tower of London, and greeted Blower and our teams with a friendly nod. Julia shot a questioning glance my way as she slid over my fully primed tablet filled with notes and tactical points of action.
“Mint and Cooperton is hemorrhaging in Paris,” I began. “According to our numbers, that office should have been closed a year ago.”
“Wait just a minute here,” Blower blustered, sitting taller in his chair.
He was a squat, balding, red-faced man in his late fifties with a gray mustache and a penchant for rich foods and expensive suits. Once upon a time, he’d been a competent, progressive-minded businessman, but success had gone to his head…and his waistline, and left him with a false impression that he held all the cards. He did not.
I motioned for the slideshow to begin and turned the table’s attention to the darkened far wall. “Numbers don’t lie, Blower. It’s unfortunate, but possibly avoidable with an infusion of considerable capital.”
I babbled on about tax laws and capital structure, providing visual graphics to support research and giving detailed solutions designed to preserve the integrity of the institution he’d run into the ground. It was a gentle reminder that this cordial acquisition could be orchestrated with a big budget and minimal bloodshed…as soon as he signed on the dotted line.
Blower twisted the end of his mustache and released a low, grumbly noise. “Keep the Paris office open. I won’t hear of it closing.”