IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(14)

I grinned, now looking forward to tonight more than ever.





5





Conor





The moment I stepped out of the conference room, I practically collapsed into a trembling mess on the floor. Deb, Wells Grange’s assistant, was standing by the receptionist’s desk and must have seen how unsteady I was because she instantly appeared at my side.

“Everything okay, Mr. Newell?” she asked, placing a hand under my elbow.

I nodded, still unable to form words. What had just happened in there? Had Wells actually been coming on to me?

Had I been coming on to him?

And had I really just stood up to him?

I shuddered. Half in relief at being free of the man’s intense gaze and half in memory of how that intense gaze had made me feel. Like I was the most delectable dish on the menu and he was a man who hadn’t eaten in months.

She cut a glance toward the conference room and lowered her voice. “I know Mr. Grange can come across harsh, but he really is a nice man underneath the bluster.”

I snorted. That Asshole? Unlikely. “If that man is nice under the bluster, you must define bluster as a thick hard shell of dense kryptonite wrapped around a hundred and eighty pounds or so of jackassery. And, by the way, I’m Superman. So that shit is extra harsh.”

And since the man in question was a healthy, trim specimen, that didn’t leave much room inside for “nice.” Not that I noticed his figure because I certainly did not.

She pressed her lips together, trying to smother a smile. But she couldn’t keep the spark of amusement from her eyes. She cleared her throat and ushered me toward a pair of chairs tucked into an alcove. “You did a good job in there.”

I shot her a sideways glance. “You are a very smooth liar.”

“And I get paid well for it.”

“You must. I imagine you sleeping on piles of hundred-dollar bills falling out of your mattress.”

“Pfft. I sleep on silk, sweetheart. And the bills are safely tucked inside my brokerage account.”

I laughed as I collapsed into one of the ornate chairs. But then the horror of the last few minutes swept over me again. I’d almost thrown up on myself. And half of the R & D team of Grange BioMed. In front of Wells Grange himself. Who may, or may not, have wanted to eat me alive. In both a good and bad way.

I shuddered again at the thought and dropped my head into my hands. This was a disaster. “My mom was supposed to have taken that slide out of the presentation. I must have loaded the wrong file on my USB drive.”

“If she’s anything like my mom, maybe she was testing your internal fortitude.”

I looked up at her with a smile. “One of those, huh?”

“Oh yeah. She once sent me to ballet class with only my tap shoes. When I asked her about it afterward, she said I should have taken it as an opportunity to learn how to tread lightly.”

I couldn’t hold back another laugh. “Cruel bitch,” I said. “You poor thing.”

She chuckled and nodded. “Don’t worry. I got her back. That Sunday I ‘accidentally’ wore my tap shoes to church. It turned out, I never did master the treading lightly thing.”

“Please tell me you’re from the South. Because I swear to god if that was in one of those ‘women should be silent in the church’ churches, I’m going to praise Jesus and pass the collection plate.”

She raised both hands to the sky. “Amen, Brother Newell. Natchez, Mississippi, born and raised. Went to State. And people wonder why I’m such a bulldog.”

“Southern girls are ruthless. Never say never to a cheerleader or sorority sister. I learned my lesson at a young age,” I teased.

“You have a sister?”

“I wish. Only child. You?”

“Four sisters, Conor. And all of them meaner than spit. Why do you think I had to get the heck out of there? I’d be married with three kids and a monogrammed SUV right now if it weren’t for a one-night-stand-turned-into-long-weekend in the Hamptons. When that unfortunate event went south, I happened upon a really nice businessman who took pity on me and offered me an entry-level job at his company so I didn’t have to go crawling back home to Mama.”

I had a feeling I knew who she was talking about. I didn’t want to hear anything nice about Wells Grange.

“Hmpfh.”

Her laugh was so sudden, it made me jump. “He stripped off his kryptonite and jackassery long enough to bring me here and get me started as an errand-runner. He hooked me up with two other young women in human resources who had a spare futon in Queens.”

“Not possible,” I grumbled. “The man is the first successful prototype of cryonic suspension while still living.”

Deb rolled her eyes. “Scientists. I swear to god, the jokes around this place. I should have applied to work at The Daily Show recording studio. The comedy has got to be way better there.” She winked at me. “Feeling better?”

I nodded and gave her what I hoped was a grateful smile. She’d helped me gather my wits and regain my equilibrium. “Thanks, Deb.”

The smile on her face softened as she locked eyes with me. “You can do this, Conor. You each have what the other wants. Don’t forget that.”

It took me a split second to remember she was referring to the deal. I had the printer, and he had the cash.