The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(37)

“That’s not what I asked,” Elliot replies sharply. “Who uploaded this system?”

Fuck’s sake.

“I did,” Bob whispers.

Elliot sits back in his chair, and glares at Bob. “Tell me . . . Bob.” He sneers. “How many Miles Media employees are in this building?”

Bob swallows the lump in his throat. “Around two thousand, sir.”

“Two thousand, one hundred and seventy-one,” Elliot barks. “And what do you estimate the hourly wages are for that many people, Bob?”

Bob begins to perspire.

“Mr. Miles, with all due respect . . .” I say.

“Do. Not. Interrupt. Me. Kathryn,” he bellows.

We all wither in our seats.

“The hourly wages for this building alone are seventy-four thousand, nine hundred pounds.”

We all sit still. Fuck . . . get me out of here.

“Let’s multiply that by the three hours that I didn’t have any goddamn internet,” he growls.

Bob drops his head.

“That’s two hundred and twenty-four thousand and seven hundred pounds your incompetence has cost me.”

I exhale. Oh hell.

“Would you like me to deduct that from your salary?” He looks at the three of us.

We stay silent.

“Answer me!” he bellows.

“No sir,” we all reply.

He stands and leans on the desk with both hands as he glares at us. “And yet, you have deducted it from mine,” he growls. “Tell me why I shouldn’t terminate your contracts on the spot.”

He’s such an asshole.

I sit back, angered. “That’s fine with me, terminate my contract.”

Elliot narrows his eyes, his temper seconds away from an impending explosion. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Run away from your incompetence instead of facing the music. I don’t know why I would expect better.”

I roll my eyes.

“Do not roll your eyes at me,” he yells, making us all jump.

The door opens. Christopher pokes his head in and looks between us and fakes a smile. “Elliot, can I see you for a moment, please?”

“I’m busy,” he snaps.

“Now.” He widens his eyes.

Elliot marches from the room and the door clicks closed behind him. Bob and Joel slump in their seats.

“Don’t you dare resign,” Joel whispers.

“I agree,” Bob says.

“Screw this,” I whisper back. “I’m sick of his shit, he’s a fucking asshole. I’m out of here.”

“Calm down, he’s been like this for years. Why is it suddenly bothering you now?” Joel whispers.

Because I didn’t want to sleep with him then.

“I don’t know why he’s going on and on,” Bob whispers. “He makes two hundred thousand pounds every ten minutes.”

The door reopens and Elliot walks in, takes his seat, his composure completely restored.

Christopher Xanax Miles: he’s the only one who can calm Elliot and his temper.

I’ve seen it many times.

Elliot picks up his pen and sits back as he looks between us. “This is not to happen again, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” the three of us reply.

“I’m disappointed. When I pay for the best, I expect the best.” He exhales heavily as he looks between us and tosses his pen onto the desk as if giving up. “You may return to your offices.”

We all stand.

“Kathryn, you stay back. I need to see you as regards to the prospectus you sent through.”

My anger bubbles and I sit back down, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something snarky like Fuck you and fuck right off.

The door closes behind Joel and Bob and his eyes come to me.

We stare at each other for a moment until I can’t stand it anymore and I raise my eyebrow.

“What do you want to discuss about the prospectus?”

He gets up and comes around the desk and leans his behind on the back of it. He crosses his legs in front of him at the ankle and grips the desk behind him with two hands.

“Don’t threaten me, I don’t like it,” he says calmly.

“It wasn’t a threat.”

“I keep my professional and private lives separate, I thought you could too.”

“I do.” I straighten my back. “I mean, I am.”

His eyes hold mine. “That’s a lie. You’ve never threatened to leave before. In fact, you have stayed to spite me. Suddenly today, you want to resign?”

“Nobody gets to speak to me like that, whether I’m sleeping with them or not.”

“We haven’t slept together . . . yet.” He accentuates the yet. “Although, I’m rectifying that situation very soon.”

You wish.

I stay silent, unsure what to say that won’t sound melodramatic. He’s right, I’ve never contemplated leaving before today; maybe I can’t separate the two.

“I leave for New York in the morning,” he says.

I nod.

His eyes hold mine and then he raises an impatient eyebrow. “And?”

“And what?” I reply.

“Am I going to see you tonight?”