Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“And you’ll keep ignoring it,” I whisper to my reflection in the compact. “Because he is off-limits, a cocky egomaniac, and most definitely not thinking of you as anything but a pain in his ass he would like to have surgically removed ASAP.”
With a nod, I snick my compact closed and head for Jack’s office, mustache and defenses firmly in place and fingers crossed that they’ll stay that way.
CHAPTER 5
Jack
Day 3 Friday 8/3
“Close the door.” I don’t give Ellie a chance to sit before I start in on her. “You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me not to shut this whole thing down.”
“What? Why?” She turns from the door and walks—sashays, rather—toward me, making me more aware of her curves with every swish of her hips, despite her low-riding men’s dress pants. “We had a deal, Jack. You’re supposed to back me up.”
“And you’re supposed to lay low, but clearly there’s been a miscommunication about—”
“Lie.” Ellie sighs as she flops into the chair across from my desk.
“I beg to differ. We agreed—”
“No, I mean the phrase. It’s lie low. Lay is the past tense of lie, as in—I lay low yesterday, but today I’m going to lie low. Present-tense lay refers to something you physically do to an object.”
Fucking hell.
I’d like to present-tense lay her, right here on my desk. And maybe in my fifteen-hundred-dollar ergonomically superior Herman Miller office chair.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the entirely-too-detailed image out of my head before I do something insane, like ask Ellie if she’s interested in a little afternoon delight. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and ten minutes isn’t nearly enough time for a woman like Ellie. I’d want to savor every moment of her, the sweet taste of her kiss, the silky-smooth feel of her skin, the sounds she’d make as—
“Sorry for being the grammar police,” she says, biting her lip. Her voice yanks me out of the fantasy, but the lip-nibbling does nothing to ease the ache below my belt. “That’s what you get for hiring a writer.”
“I’m well aware of what I signed up for with you, Eleanor.” I say, taking pleasure in the way her eyes spark when I say her full name. I use her momentary distraction to adjust myself in my chair, grateful for the giant slab of a desk that’s presently hiding my crotch. “My point remains. People are already asking questions.”
“What people?”
“Rictor was in here twice. Wanted to know how well I vetted the new guy. He’s not sure you fit the mold.”
“The Rictor mold? Please. I can do Stephen ‘Dude-bro’ Rictor all day long.” Ellie clears her throat and reclines in the chair, casually tossing one arm over the back. “Hey, bruh! You catch the game this weekend? Killer, am I right? Dude, you see the new waitress at Blue Bay? She’s tight as hell. I’m totally gonna hit that. And seriously, I got the hookup on these biotech stocks, bruh. You in it to win it? No? Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you’re caught with your dick in the wind.”
I raise an eyebrow, barely holding back a laugh.
She pins me with a narrow look. “You know I’m right.”
“Twice in the span of five minutes,” I tease. “Must be a new record.”
This gets a grin, but it doesn’t last long.
“I’m not walking away from this, Jack.” Ellie’s smile fades. “Not for Rictor or anyone else. It’s a good story. And it’s important.”
“I understand. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t believe it was important. But—”
“Seventeen.” She crosses her arms over her chest, refusing to give an inch. “That’s how many instances of overt sexism I’ve already witnessed today.”
I lean forward, all traces of our earlier jokes gone. “I’m listening.”
“Aside from the ‘locker room’ talk?” Ellie pulls a small steno pad from her inside coat pocket, flipping past several pages of notes. “We have men expecting high-level female colleagues to fetch their coffee, taking credit for women’s work and ideas, and allowing clients to treat female brokers as if they’re about as qualified as the potted plants in the break room.”
“Really?” My gut clenches. S&H is supposed to be different. A fair, fun, and challenging place to work. That’s how Ryan and I always envisioned it—for every employee, regardless of salary or title.
How did we get so far out of the loop on this?
Looking around my posh office, I have my answer. I may as well be in a damn ivory tower. I’m insulated from the day-to-day here, from all but the senior staff. We don’t even share the same break room.
“As far as I’m concerned—and I know Ryan feels the same way—none of that is acceptable,” I say. “But generalizations and observations aren’t enough. Not for your article, and not for HR to start making real changes.” I gesture toward her notebook. “What else have you got?”