Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 29567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“I think everything looked good,” I say carefully. “But… it feels a bit hollow. Like a luxury brand wrapped in a fast-food wrapper.”
Marcus laughs.
“Oh, great,” he says, leaning back. “Let’s take branding advice from the girl who cost us the Costco campaign.”
“I didn’t cost you that campaign.”
“You showed up late, spoke out of turn, and then you embarrassed our team in front of a mid-tier client and got flagged three times before we even locked the second round of ad testing.” He rolls his eyes.
I glance at Mr. Sutton, hoping he’ll intervene, but he doesn’t.
“But hey, maybe you’re right.” Marcus is still going. “Maybe we should burn down months of hard work because you feel like it’s hollow. Maybe Skittles would much rather hear about that than things we’ve actually worked on.”
Heat burns behind my eyes, and I stand to my feet.
“Thanks for the feedback, Marcus,” I say. “My opinion still stands.”
“That’s all it is.” He glares at me. “A useless opinion.”
I storm out of the room, heels hitting the concrete floor harder than I mean to. I make a straight line for the elevator bank, every step fueled by humiliation and fury. I jab the button and keep my eyes on the numbers.
No one follows.
Good.
The doors open and I step inside.
I press L for lobby and lean against the back wall, breathing hard.
Just before the doors seal shut—Mr. Sutton steps in.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, voice low but sharp.
“Going home,” I snap. “You dismissed everyone else, so I assume that now includes me.”
“I dismissed you for lunch,” he says, stepping closer. “Not the day.”
“Well,” I say, matching his tone, “you failed to mention my new position came with a side of dealing with another selfish suit, so I’ll go ahead and cut my losses now.”
I press the ‘lobby’ button again as if that’ll make the elevator move faster.
“I still expect a check for my ill-wanted contribution today,” I add, lifting my chin. “That’s enough money to cover a few bills.”
“Cut the shit.” He hits the emergency stop button, and the elevator jerks to a halt between floors.
I suck in a breath as he turns toward me and places his hands on the panels above my head.
“You don’t strike me as the sensitive type,” he says. “And yet here you are—ready to throw away an opportunity because someone talked to you the way you recently talked to me.”
“I’m not the sensitive type…” I pause. “But I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
“By him or by me?”
“What?”
“I don’t understand why you’re letting Marcus get to you so easily.” He ignores my previous question. “Did he bruise your ego?”
“No.” I glare at him. “And for what it’s worth, that wasn’t a bruise. That was a full-blown hit job.”
“And?” he says evenly. “I have a feeling that you would’ve cut him off a lot sooner if it had been me.”
“I would never disrespect you in front of other staff members.”
“So that’s just something you’ll keep doing in private?” he says, stepping even closer. “I actually expect you to contribute in marketing meetings when you’re not doing the assistant tasks. I didn’t give the promotion for you to stand there like wallpaper, and I would’ve really appreciated you stopping that catastrophe long before they got halfway through the slides.”
“Oh…” My pulse hammers.
The silence between us feels too loud, the elevator too small.
“I want you back upstairs in twenty minutes,” he says, quiet and lethal. “Clear your head, grow thicker skin, and if all else fails, just pretend like you’re talking to me… in private.”
He reaches past me and presses the button to restart the elevator.
“Oh, and,” he adds, glancing sideways as the doors begin to open. “No—I won’t be giving you a check for your work today.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll need to earn it first.”
THE CEO
DOMINIC
Ihave a feeling I’m going to regret taking on Skittles as a client. Maybe not now, but somewhere down the line.
The last time we worked with a candy company—Mars, Inc., via their M&M’s line—their sales skyrocketed for three straight quarters. Then they hired a new CEO who credited all their success to “vibes” and fired us.
Their numbers tanked six months later, and they’re still trying to rebuild the bridge they torched—without paying my new “fuck around and find out” fee.
That issue aside, there’s one thing I already regret:
Hiring Ivy.
After yesterday, I should’ve relegated her to the twenty-fifth floor with the rest of the marketing execs. Somewhere far away from my gaze. And my dick.
Needing a distraction, I scan the notes she left in my book. I’m halfway through reviewing the budget breakdowns when she reenters the room—ten minutes early.
Our eyes meet, and her cheeks flush pink.
We stare at each other a beat too long, and just when I open my mouth to say something like “You’re being reassigned, effective immediately,” the team filters back in with loud conversations.