Billionaire With a Twist 3(19)

“Hmmph,” he said. “Well, I hope you’re not expecting to get paid for these ‘mental breaks.’”

Asshole. “Of course not, sir.”

“Good.” He fussed with his tie, straightening it. “Where are you at with the hygiene products, then?”

“Almost finished!” I assured him. “Just waiting to hear back from Sandra. And I’m halfway through those forms you left for me. When I’m done, if there are any projects that need taking on—”

“Everything’s already been assigned several months out,” he interrupted. “And we can’t give you anything until your schedule’s more regular, you understand? Of course, after the way things went last time, we think it’s best to take it slow, give you a nice soft ball out of the park.”

Could he be any more patronizing?

“I appreciate the consideration,” I said through gritted teeth. “But I’m sure that this family emergency will have cleared up in a month, and if you look at the numbers—”

“Advertising isn’t solely a numbers game, my dear,” he said condescendingly. “It’s an art. You need to have a feel for the client, an instinct for their point of view. A sort of Hemingway-esque ability to immediately grasp the situation. And, well, with so many CEOs being men, women just often aren’t able to bridge that gap. Not a reflection on you at all, my dear, just the truth.”

“But if you look at the actual results that that approach is getting, if you look at the way sales and share prices are tanking on the Dou—on Chad’s projects, for example—” I started to protest.

“My dear, please,” my boss said, a frown crossing his brow. He disliked it intensely whenever anyone didn’t help keep up the fa?ade of his feminist credo, and here I’d gone on challenging him for a whole fifteen seconds. It would not stand. “Do you really think you’re helping your case by crying on my shoulder here? Now, be a good girl and go back to your office and do your work without complaining, and if it’s good enough, I’ll think about letting you try again in a year.”

And then, just like that, all my anger crystallized into a clear vision of the future. And I knew exactly what I had to do. I nodded to myself, a grin spreading over my face.

“Actually, sir, you know what I think would work better?”

“My dear, I assure you—”

“I quit.”

My words hit him like a gunshot, and I spun on my heel and strode away, savoring the memory of the stunned look on his face, still hearing his inarticulate spluttering.

I wished him all the best of luck in finding someone else who would put up with his bullshit.

Not.

The cool night air hit me like a blessing as I breezed out of the office doors. It had never felt so refreshing before, like a cool glass of water I could drink with my skin. I had never felt so alive before, so free.

Things had never been so clear.

They would never respect me. I knew that now. I had known for a long time, but I had hidden from it, unwilling to start all over again, constantly convincing myself that I could change things if I just worked a little bit harder, if I just took a little bit more shit, just for a little bit longer. But that game was over. I allowed myself a moment of grief for the opportunity I had hoped this job would be, but it didn’t hurt as much as I had thought it would. It felt more like something that had happened long ago, to an Ally that might as well have been another person.

This Ally had nothing but the future opening up before her, and it was time to start following my own advice and stop clinging to the past.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Hunter’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

“Ally, what’s up? How’s work?”

“Work’s just starting,” I said, a smile blooming on my face. “I’m on my way with some information I think you’ll find very interesting, and a whole new plan…”





NINE


Persona was a restaurant that had seen other restaurants’ attempts to be fancy, and had turned up its nose at their pathetic failures.

The floors were pink marble. The chandeliers were carved from rose quartz and gilded in what I had a sneaking suspicion was real gold. Tapestries that would have been at home in a European castle hung from the walls, their lush fabric absorbing sound until it seemed as if noise itself might be some sort of nasty plebian habit that had no place here. The waiters were dressed better than most Oscar winners on the red carpet.

Naturally, I was nervous as hell.

My leg bounced up and down under the table where Hunter and I sat, and I was grateful for the luxurious floor-length red tablecloth that hid my nervous tic so well.

I couldn’t hide it from Hunter, though, who could plainly feel the vibrations from where his leg was pressed up against mine. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Relax. It’s going to work.”

“How do you know?” I demanded.

He squeezed my hand again, looking deep into my eyes. “Because you came up with it, and you’re brilliant.”

The tension eased out of my shoulders and I smiled up at him, still a bit nervous but now also warmed and touched. What had I ever done to deserve this man?

“Flatterer.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” he said, his hand sneaking under the table to steady my knee. Heat spread from his palm, all the way up my thigh, and I knew there was no way I was misinterpreting that signal.