by Alexa Davis
My legs are hanging over the side of the bed, and Nick is bending down to deliver dozens of eager kisses to my lips, my neck, my breasts.
I’d close my eyes if I didn’t think I’d wake up.
Nick lifts my legs, so my feet rest against his chest, and I almost feel like a virgin again, only this time, there’s no blinding pain.
He’s so deep in me now, and I’m writhing in delight on the bedspread as he enters me again and again. Right as I’m getting to where I feel like my body can’t contain all of the pleasure he’s giving me, though, I hear a door somewhere else in the apartment open and close.
My eyes go wide.
“Hold on,” I whisper.
He stops. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Did you hear that?” I respond.
“Yeah, it sounds like Naomi just got in,” he answers. “Why?”
“Yeah, she knows you’re here, and she’s not above walking in here, pulling up a chair and asking you if you know Benedict Cumberbatch while we’re having sex,” I tell him.
“I’ve met the guy, but I wouldn’t say I know him,” Nick answers. When I don’t laugh, though, he nods, saying, “All right. There’s plenty of time.”
We barely manage to cover up before I hear the sound of Naomi picking my lock.
Chapter Six
Reverb
Nick
“Mr. Scipio, you know we all trust your vision, but what are you doing?” Cal, the only member of the board not to have called to bitch at me before now, says. “We can set up an office anywhere, but the world is in New York. You’ve got to get back here.”
“Is anything going wrong, or are you just wetting yourself thinking it might?” I ask. I like to think of myself as a good man, but in the world where I live, kindness is almost always mistaken for weakness. Of course, in that world, most of the time kindness is a weakness, so who knows?
Cal sighs. “Do you have an idea when you might be heading back?” he asks.
Across the presidential suite, Ellie’s slipping out of her bathrobe and into her regular clothes. I probably should have offered to have them cleaned or have one of my many assistants run out and get her some new ones. We haven’t left the room in almost a week.
“To be honest with you, Cal, I think I might just stay here for the duration,” I answer.
“You can’t do this, Nikolai,” Cal says. “You’re risking the company on a pipe dr—”
I hang up the phone.
“Everything all right?” Ellie asks as she slips back into the same dress she was wearing when we had to sneak out of her apartment a few nights ago to avoid Naomi.
Ellie wasn’t kidding about her sister, either. The woman didn’t knock or even say anything before she picked the lock and showed herself into Ellie’s room. Getting out of there wasn’t easy.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I’ve got to head down to the office for a little while, though. Apparently, people are starting to notice I haven’t been around that much the last few days.”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” she says. “I just suggested we get out of the apartment. You’re the one who said we should come here.”
I smile. “I think we’re both to blame,” he says. “Not that blame is the word I’d use here. Although you’re the one who wrote that sign and put it up on the door.”
“Sign?” she asks, looking around. “What sign?”
I groan. “The one that says, ‘Do not disturb or you’re fired’?” I ask.
She claps her hands together, laughing.
“Why do you get such a kick out of hearing me say that?” I ask.
She’s still tittering as she says, “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. It’s probably something to do with you actually being able to threaten people with something like that and the fact that, in some small way, I managed to snag a bit of your power for my amusement.”
“The power not to be disturbed,” I say and snicker. “You know, I was going to make a joke there, but that’s a magnificent idea.”
“All right,” she sighs.
“We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?” I ask.
She’s eyeing me like she thinks it’s a trick question. Slowly, she says, “Yes.”
“Great,” I tell her as I’m getting my shoes on. “I can’t wait. If you need anything, you know where I am. If you get hungry, give a call down to room service and,” I say, finishing tying my shoes, “I’ll be back later.”
“Have a good day at work, dear,” she says. “I’ll stay here with the kids.”
I smile and shake my head, and I’m out the door.
As soon as the latch clicks behind me, my heart starts pounding. I held back when I was on the phone because Ellie was in the room, but the truth is I’ve been incommunicado long enough things are starting to get missed.
Don’t get me wrong, as far as I’m concerned, it’s worth it. All the same, though, if I don’t get us back on the right course, we’ll start losing real money. We start losing real money, and people are going to lose their jobs.
I get down to the ground floor of the hotel to find the conference room in upheaval. People aren’t speaking into phones; they’re yelling at them.
The tents around the edges of the room are gone, and in their place are makeshift plywood offices. At the moment, they don’t look much better than the tents, but at least we won’t have to worry about someone tripping over a pole and de-officing someone anymore.
It had happened six times before I insisted on a change.
“Sir!” Malcolm, head of the Mulholland Project, says. “We’ve lost another twelve points. We need some decisions or things are going to start unraveling.”
“They already are,” I tell him. “Twelve points?” I ask.
“Since the market opened,” Malcolm says. “People are losing confidence because you’re …” He starts scratching at the back of his neck with such force I almost expect to see blood on his hand when he brings it back around.
“Because I’m here and not in New York,” I say. “Okay, do we have any projections on how bad this is going to get?”
“It’s hard to say with any certainty,” he says, “but the longer you’re here, unable or unwilling to take meetings back home, the line’s just going to keep going down.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Do me a favor and schedule me a flight back there sometime next week.”
“Next week, sir?” Malcolm asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “After that, I want you to give a call to your friend in the times and let him know Daddy’s coming home soon. That should stop the hemorrhaging, at least.”
“Got it,” Malcolm says and walks away. “You don’t want to take the private jet?”
I smile. “I think I’ll start using that when it’s a necessity and not for every trip,” I tell him.
I get about two more steps into the room before Marly from my legal team stops me, saying, “We’re having a hard time getting around the board on the final plans for the new headquarters.”
“I have a majority vote,” I respond. “What’s the problem?”
“They’re calling your capacity to remain as CEO into question,” she says.
“Anything I should worry about?” I ask.
“Not yet,” she answers. “Still, we can’t keep them in the dark much longer or this whole thing’s going in the loss column, and I don’t know how many of us are going to survive something like that.”
“As long as I’m here, you’re here,” I say. “You know that, Marly.”
“That’s the problem, though,” she says. “If things don’t change, it won’t be long until—”
“Find Malcolm,” I tell her. “He should be about done booking my flight back to New York.”
“You’re going back?” she asks.
“Find him,” I tell her.
I manage to get to my desk without further interruption, but I don’t get a chance to sit.
Malcolm’s back already and Marly’s close behind
him.
“Sir,” he says, “I booked you a flight out of here on Tuesday morning.” I love that he works that quickly. “It should put you back in New York by early afternoon. There are some things we need to go over before anything else happens, though.”
“Marly?” I ask.
She looks up from the notepad she’s scribbling in and says, “I’ve got it, sir. I’ll put in a quick call to my friend at the Post.”
“You’ve already called the Times?” I ask Malcolm.
“Not yet, sir,” he says. “I wanted to run a few things by you, first.”
“Could it wait a few minutes?” I ask.
“I can’t make the call until we speak, but yeah,” Malcolm says. “Just let me know when you’ve got a free minute.”
He starts to walk away. “Hold on,” I say.
“Yeah?” Malcolm responds.
“Why can’t you make the call until we talk? Marly just went to call hers,” I say.
“I know,” Malcolm says. “The thing is, you know how Ambrose wanted that exclusive into the acquisition of Middlemarch Tech?”
“With a name like that, no wonder he went into writing,” I muse.
Malcolm nods slowly, saying, “Yeah, anyway, he’s been breathing down my neck about wanting an exclusive, and I don’t think he’s going to do us any more favors until we give him something.”
“We are giving him something,” I tell Malcolm.
“I don’t think a personal interest piece regarding how you’re heading back to water the plants is going to cut it, sir,” he says.
Me, I don’t say anything. I just tilt my head to one side and raise my brow.
“Oh my god,” he says, covering his mouth. “Sir, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”
“Swallow your heart back into your chest,” I tell him. “Take a breath.”
His eyes are still about as big as they are wide, but he takes a slow inhale.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Now, what did you have in mind we should give him?” I ask.
“He’s been trying to convince me to work out an interview with you, actually,” Malcolm says. “I don’t know. Maybe we could fly him out here so he can see all the progress we’ve made.”
“Yeah, but the progress isn’t tangible yet,” I tell him. “We’ve worked out permits and turned this hotel into Stingray’s mobile unit, but I don’t think a tour is going to drive home the impression we’ve got everything under control. Call your friend, tell him that I’ll sit down with him for fifteen minutes after I’m back in New York a couple of days.”
“Great, sir,” Malcolm says. “I’ll call him now.”
My cell phone buzzes in my coat pocket, and it’s to my ear before the ringtone has a chance to start. “Scipio,” I say.
There’s no answer.
I look down at the screen. It wasn’t a call; it was a text message. It’s from Ellie.
I’ll have to save it for later, though, because the IT guy whose name I don’t think I’ve ever heard is standing in my doorway.
“Excuse me, sir?” he says. “I know you’re busy, but do you have a minute?”
“What do you need?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “we’ve got the main display up and running the way you wanted, but we’re having some trouble with the phone lines.”
“The phone lines?” I ask. “You’re having trouble with the phone lines, so you come to the CEO about it?”
It’s not that I’m mean. I just never get tired of seeing grown men choke on air.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” he says, “but Sandra told me you’d want to have some input.”
I sigh. “What’s the problem?” I ask.
“The phone lines work and everything, but this place is pretty old, and I think the wiring is starting to go down,” he says. “The electrical seems fine, but we’ve been dropping calls almost as fast as we can make them.”
“That sounds like a pretty big problem,” I tell him.
“It is,” he answers.
I shrug my shoulders and open my palms, so they’re facing up. “Okay,” I say. “What did you want me to do about it?”
IT Guy says, “If I could just get your go ahead to call someone from the phone company—”
“Call,” I say. “If there are problems with the phone lines, it makes sense to call someone to get them taken care of. Is there anything else?”
“Not just yet, sir,” he says. That means “Yes, but I need a valium first.”
IT Guy leaves, but I wait a few seconds before bringing up my phone again to check my messages. Ellie’s text reads, “Gonna head home for a bit, get some clothes, maybe a shower, possibly some lube. I’m starting to get sore.”
On a typical day, I like to treat my employees well while also making sure they fear for their jobs at least once a week. Not all my employees, just the ones I bring into my inner circle. I treat them well, but I don’t ever want to appear too human in front of any of them. It hurts my credibility to be seen to have things like empathy or a sense of humor.
Still, when I get to the end of Ellie’s text, I know they can hear me laughing outside my office. Even if the door were shut, the walls don’t go all the way to the ceiling.
I cut the laughter short as quickly as possible, but I know someone noticed. It may sound like an exaggeration, but I’d bet anyone what I have in my pockets against what they have in their pockets that laugh bites me in the ass before the end of the day.
You can’t have any sympathy for these people, or they’ll walk all over you. That’s the joy of being the boss. You get to walk over everyone else.
For now, at least, it looks like everyone’s holding back, so I just try to keep my mind on work. It’s not long before I start seeing the fallout from my three-second laugh, though.
Marly comes to my door, saying, “Hey, I gave a call to Claude, and he says he’s going to need something more than you’re heading back to New York. Are there any scraps we can give him, boss?”
You have to want to see it, but it’s right there at the end: My notification that everything’s going to be twice as hard today.
“Marly, have a seat,” I tell her. “You know what? Could you close the door first?”
“Of course,” she says, her face going white.
She closes the door and takes a seat on the other side of my desk.
“How bad is it?” I ask as quietly as possible.
“What were you thinking?” she returns in a whisper. “You know the only clear motivation these people have is the impression you’re the kind of guy who only smiles for pictures.”
“How bad?” I repeat.
“Well, Tripp and about six others decided to get pizza and soda for everyone, but they made it pretty clear they were going to take their time with it,” she starts.
“That’s not so bad,” I say.
“You don’t get it,” she says. “With one laugh, you went from being the high-powered CEO of one of the most successful startups in the last decade to Nick, the cool boss who lets people go out for pizza. The act itself isn’t the problem. The problem is that we’re on thin ice here, and we need everyone working like their jobs are on the line if we’re going to make a go of this very unpopular move before the board decides to put a penny loafer up your ass on your way out of the company. Are you sure you know what you’re doing here?”
See, along with being a lawyer, Marly’s also my mole. More than that, when Jacque and I were just getting the company put together, Marly was also my mentor. It’s a role she hasn’t yet shed, and if I have anything to say about it, she never will.
“It can’t be—” I start.
“It wasn’t the laugh,” she says. “The laugh was just permission. I’ve been hearing a lot of people talking about how this whole trip is insane. Nobody knows why you’d want to move the headquarters from Manhattan to wherever we are. I’m pretty sure if they did know, you’d be on your way to the ground with your golden parachute before the en
d of business. New York can’t wait until next week,” she says. “You have to get back there now and start plugging holes or this whole ship’s going down.”
“Not today,” I tell her.
She raises an eyebrow.
“I have some things to work out here before I can go,” I tell her. “Book me something for tomorrow, and—”
“What about your jet?” she asks. “Malcolm said you were belt-tightening.”
“No,” I tell her. “It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to burn all that jet fuel when it’s only taking a couple of people and me. Creating a cleaner environment is all our responsibility.”
“Yeah, that would have been a lot more believable before you told me to give you the number of my ‘plane guy’ so you’d have something ‘to get from A to B,’ don’t you think?” she asks.
The problem with Marly is that she never forgets anything. She insists she has a “normal” memory, but I don’t think I’ve gotten away with anything since I met her.
I tell her, “Yeah, but if I jump right on the corporate jet the day we’re down twelve points—”
“Nineteen,” she says. “We’ve dropped seven in the last hour.”
I grit my teeth. “You remember a few years ago when I took that month-long vacation in Denmark?” I ask. “If I recall right, our stock was way up by the time I got back. What’s the problem this time?”
“Going to Denmark didn’t make you a liability,” she says. “This time, people care if you’re heading the company because you’ve learned how not to kill a business.”
“Calm down,” I tell her. “I may pay you for your honesty, but that doesn’t mean you have to grab a shovel.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what that means,” she says. “I’ll get you on a plane in the morning, but you’re going to have to start listening to me, or we’re in some serious trouble, all right?”
“All right,” I tell her. “Oh, by the way …”
Marly rolls her eyes. “What?” she asks.
“Well aren’t you a bowl of grapefruit this morning?” I ask.
“Yeah, I don’t know what that means, either,” she says. “Is there anything else? I’ve got to go put out some fires you started.”