Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
He steeples his fingers, resting his chin on top. “Do you think we could sneak in shots for Diosa and Icon as well?”
I nod my head vigorously. “Of course. Italy gives us so many options.”
We spend the next hour reviewing my notes and making changes on the computer. Charles comes alive when it comes to organizing and planning. He rolls up his sleeves and jumps right in, which is completely opposite to the CEOs I’ve worked with in the past.
Those men and women were happy to sit back and simply oversee. They worked on landing accounts and rubbing elbows. They never got into the nitty-gritty unless it was to bitch about this or moan about that.
Watching him work and seeing his passion for this makes me like him even more.
Not good.
“Here,” he says, standing. “Let’s trade seats. It will make it easier.”
I rise, brushing against him as I move past to take his vacant seat. Those pesky tingles rush through me at the brief touch, and I turn my head so he doesn’t see the blush creeping up my neck.
I focus on the job, organizing and adding to the various files as Charles calls out ideas. We work in harmony, and the hours fly by.
His leg brushes against mine, and a shiver races along my spine, but I ignore it, continuing my work. Being professional. Proving that I’m the right person to lead this account.
I have to.
At eight thirty, Charles orders pizza, and I don’t say no when he opens a bottle of wine. I’m not sure this is proper office behavior, but I won’t look too much into it. He is the owner of the company, and if he’s okay with wine, who am I to turn it away?
For my own sanity, I tell myself this is the least I’m owed for working this late.
Not that I need to worry. Despite this rather intimate setting, we only speak about work matters. We never once veer into personal territory, which I know is for the best.
“I think we’ve got this pretty nailed down,” I say around a bite of cheese pizza.
He grins. “You’ve got a little something there,” he says, pointing at my mouth.
My tongue swipes out, wiping away the sauce from the corner of my mouth. I grab a napkin and dab at my lips to ensure no more sauce remains.
“I think so, too,” he says. “Once we have our team in place, we’ll be set.”
“About that . . .” I wasn’t going to broach the subject, but I really think Reagan deserves a second thought.
His résumé is impressive, and he handled Charles well. He’d be perfect, and I’m not willing to let this drop and lose out on him.
“I really wish you’d reconsider Reagan. We need him.”
Charles purses his lips, leaning back into his chair. “Give me three good reasons.”
I blow out a harsh breath, annoyed that I have to sell him on something that should be a no-brainer.
“I looked up his net worth. He didn’t need his MBA, and he doesn’t need this job. He wants it, which means he’ll work hard.”
Charles grunts. “And?” he drawls.
“He’s well-spoken, good at sales, well-dressed . . . should I go on?”
I’m determined, and it’s coming through in my tone. For a moment, he’s not the owner of the company. He’s a coworker who’s being an idiot, and only God knows why. My elbows are on the desk, and I’m leaning over, probably looking like I’m about to strangle him.
Charles’s eyes darken. “I have a feeling you’re going to, whether I want to hear it or not.”
I don’t even flinch as I continue. “He held his own against you, even when you put him through the gauntlet. He can handle talent and run a tight ship.”
“Anything else?”
I shrug. “He’s smart, Charles. He’ll do well on the Icon team. I think Spencer will love working with him.”
Charles takes a few deep breaths, seeming to consider what I’ve laid out in front of him. Eventually, he nods. “Fine. Hire him.”
I squeal, covering my mouth with my fist, trying to rein in my excitement at getting my way. “This is so exciting. You won’t regret it.”
“I already do,” he says, grabbing another slice of pizza. “But we need these spots filled. As much as I hate to admit it, out of all the candidates we’ve met so far, he’s been the best, and I agree, he’ll run a tight ship.”
“He’s certainly my type.” My hand flies to my mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to say he’s the type. The type,” I repeat to emphasize where I went wrong.
Charles grins. “Do your cheeks always turn that lovely shade of red?” On cue, my cheeks heat even more.
“They do not,” I say, trying at denial. Grabbing the glass of wine, I take a large sip.