Billionaire With a Twist(7)
Family: it’s f*cking magical.
There was a heavy sigh, as if I had just single-handedly brought about the fall of Western civilization. “It is called etiquette, dear. It exists for a reason.”
Is that reason to give you something to nitpick about other people, all of the time? I very nearly said, but avoided voicing out loud since I didn’t want to be the first person to cause spontaneous human nuclear explosion.
“I’m coming, Mom. Put me down for a plate.”
“If you’d simply responded to the letter, dear—”
Yep, that’s right. My mom sends gilt-edged paper invitations through the U.S. Postal Service for the weekly family dinner. And then expects you to respond in kind. Sometimes I stop and think about how much free time she must have, to think of all these tiny, pointless things to fill it. And then I eat an entire carton of ice cream to try to stop being depressed.
The elevator reached our floor, and the Douchebros and I made our way to the conference room as my mom rattled on despite my best efforts to tune her out. “And try to wear something appropriate this time, dear, I know more and more women think slacks are appropriate attire these days, but they’re just so unfeminine, and really a skirt is much more flattering for our body type. Why, I remember when your father first started courting me—”
This was what happened when you made your whole life about a man.
I wasn’t going to let it happen to me.
I took my seat at the conference table, and saw the elevator button light up. That had to be the Knoxes! And I’d barely had time to go over Sandra’s tips!
“Gotta go, Mom!”
“Allison Brierly Beignet Bartlett, is that any way for a proper young lady to—”
“Probably not, love you, bye!”
I jammed my finger down on the power button, killing my cell with only a weak buzz as its death throes, before unceremoniously stuffing it into my purse. I was going to pay for that later, in spades, but there was no point in dwelling on that now.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down my skirt as I stood, ready to greet the new arrivals. I thought about puppies and chocolate and tried to make that translate into a friendly smile on my face.
Meanwhile, Harry puffed out his chest and stretched his neck like a bird doing a mating dance.
The first Knox representative into the room was a small, weedy man with platinum blonde hair and watery blue eyes. He looked like he’d gotten his fashion advice from the same place as the Douchebros, but hadn’t managed to get the sizing quite right. His eyes fastened on me, and a leer began to tug at the corner of his mouth.
I ratcheted up my internal gears in an effort to keep my own smile from disappearing. “Mr. Charles Donahue—” I started.
“Call me Chuck,” he barked in a heavy New York accent.
“Certainly. I’m—” I hadn’t even gotten out the first syllable of my name when Harry practically threw himself between us, like a bodyguard trying to stop a bullet.
“Bro, that tie pin! Nobody said you were a—” He preceded to rattle off more Greek letters than I’d even known were in their alphabet.
Chuck’s grin widened. “Good to see the brotherhood still going strong. What year were you?”
“2009, my man.”
And just like that, they were chatting away like best friends, and I’d lost my big chance to establish a personal connection with the client. I watched with a sinking feeling in my gut as Chuck and Harry gabbed away as if everything were already a done deal, and resisted the urge to grind my teeth. Shut out of the boys’ club again.
Still, Hunter Knox, the CEO and owner, was still chatting with some of his flunkies down the hall by the elevator, and he was the one I really had to convince—
I turned to take a closer look at Mr. Knox, and froze.
Bourbon eyes—
Caramel waves—
Freckles like a sweet dusting of brown sugar—
Hunter Knox was my one-night stand.
THREE
What the actual f*ck…
For a terrible second all I could think about was the multitude of insulting things I had said about the brand the night before: had I really called it an old person drink? Done a cringe-worthy impression of an Appalachian miner? Oh God, and I had shot down all of his ideas too, hadn’t I?
I was well and truly screwed, and not in the way I’d wanted to be last night.
I did an abrupt about-face and took my seat, not willing to risk him recognizing me—oh God, please let him have been too smashed last night to recognize me now—and avoiding his eyes as he made his way into the room and we all introduced ourselves. I mumbled my name, pretending to be completely absorbed in the task of setting up for my presentation. Move along everyone, nothing to see here—
“It’s lovely to see you again,” he murmured as he passed me, just low enough for me to hear, and I blushed what I was sure had to be a brilliant crimson.
Thankfully, time was money, and Chuck was determined that none of us waste any of it; we moved quickly into presentations. The Douchebros were going first—I certainly bet not for the first time—and I was actually grateful.
Maybe this’ll give me enough time to compose myself and give a pitch so great it’ll totally blow Hunter Knox away. Or at least make him forget how close I came to blowing him.