“So, you don’t even try?”
“Well, I didn’t say that.” Analise gives me a wink.
“Do I get a picture? A story? Something to go off of?”
“His name is Diego, and he works at the Starbucks across from Icor Tower.”
“Wait? You’re dating a Starbucks employee?”
“I would say it’s more like we are enjoying each other’s company.”
“Do you…” my voice trails off, but I lift my brows for emphasis.
Analise, purses her lips, snorting. “Remi, are you asking if I’m fucking a Starbucks employee?”
“Ummm, I guess.”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“I hope you get a free cappuccino out of it.”
“Better. He brings me cake pops.”
A knock sounds on the door, and I’m immediately anxious. I haven’t been doing anything relevant all day, and the last thing I want to do is make a terrible impression with my new peers. Analise does not share in my worry, however, and she jumps up to open the door.
A parade of flower bouquets walk into my office by over a dozen delivery men. I’m confused and assume they have the wrong office.
“Guys, I don’t think those belong here.”
A man walks up to me with a purple vase, a stuffed monkey hugging it, and red roses arranged beautifully inside, too many to count.
“Are you Remi Stone?” the man asks.
“Yes. But I didn’t order these.”
He chuckles. “That’s usually how it works.” He turns towards his crew. “Set ‘em down, boys.”
I’m handed a card, and the men begin to file from the room.
“Wow,” Analise says. “This cost a pretty penny.”
“I don’t know why I’m receiving these,” I say.
“Damn, you’re so adorably cute. May I remind you of your date last night?”
Tom sent me flowers?
I tear open the envelope, and sure enough, a card is inside:
Remi,
I can’t wait to see you again. I got you this, so you have something more appropriate to wear next time—for most of the night, at least.
XOXO Tom
A Victoria’s Secret gift card is stuck to the bottom of the card, and I feel so completely humiliated, I drop it.
Analise, swift as a cat, snatches it up, and one look at it has her reeling with laughter. I’m talking bent over, gut grabbing, red-faced, chuckles that have me worried she’ll catch the attention of the whole floor.
“Will you keep it down,” I hiss.
That only ticks her up a notch, and she’s now booming with laughter.
“Seriously, keep it down!”
The giggles finally come to a stop, and now she’s fanning herself with the card.
“So, now Tom’s buying you underwear and making plans to fuck you. Do you know how many women would take decades off their life to be in your position? I was wrong about you. You’re a true master of seduction.”
I open my mouth to reply, but my phone buzzes, drawing my attention away.
Tom: You must have an admirer.
I don’t know what to say.
“I can’t wait to see how you’re going to mess this up,” Analise says, and I cast her a glare.
“Oh, don’t act like you won’t land on your feet!” Analise points at my phone. “And put that thing away. You don’t want to seem overeager.”
I take her advice and put down my phone. After all, she has a lot more experience than myself in these matters. Then I settle back into my desk and throw the stack of catalogs at Analise.
“I have to do some work, and it appears I have slides to prepare for next week. If I have any questions, I’ll give you a ring.”
“See ya later! I’m gonna go get me some Starbucks,” Analise says as she exits the office.
I smile inwardly, more than a little excited. It’s not just that handsome Tom Wellington, the solid 9, sent me flowers, an underwear gift card, and is texting me.
It’s that I now have an inside secret with a friend.
CHAPTER 15
Remi knows it’s better to just settle for the 9…
The workday flies by, and it’s after six when I realize I have been looking at the USB Gabriel gave me for seven hours straight.
Pretty much, it’s all discouraging and points towards gross mismanagement. Why anyone would fight these common-sense changes is beyond me, and I loathe the thought of bringing these things before the board. I know what they’re going to say, what they’re going to think. That I think I’m better than them—smarter than them. I am smarter. I can say this with little doubt as I read and reread the numbers.
Any idiot can see Icor Tech is bleeding money.
Then I think about the political motivations Gabriel was telling me about. It’s very possible they know they’re losing money, but they can’t sever the political relations between themselves and the vendors. How would I fight that? How would I even be able to accuse them of it? This shouldn’t be my job, it should be Gabriel’s, but obviously, he’s struggling with it.
My phone buzzes, and I look to see a text from Gabe.
Gabriel: How was your day?
Remi: I want to believe the USB you gave me is a joke. That no one can be this stupid.
Gabriel: I take it you’re coming to the same conclusions I have, then.
Remi: Just tell me how. HOW did this happen?
Gabriel: We can discuss it after you present your findings in a little over a week. You’re going in alone, without me. You’ll be bombarded—stand your ground.
Remi: You have me a little scared, boss.
Gabriel: You’ll do fine. Oh, and I don’t want to make this awkward, but we have a company policy that states employees are not allowed to run businesses inside their office.
Remi: Of course, why would this be an issue?
Gabriel: Well, it seems as though you’re trying your hand at becoming a florist.
I look around at the sea of red flowers and blush. Then I remember I completely forgot to text Tom back.
But you don’t want to text Tom. Not really.
How could it be remotely possible that I don’t want to text Tom the 9 because I can’t get Gabe the 10 out of my head? It’s ludicrous and completely bonkers, and yet here I am.
I stare into my chat window with Gabriel, trying to think of something witty to say.
Remi: They’re preemptive.
Gabriel: ???
Remi: They’re for my funeral. I ordered them in advance knowing I’m going into a slaughter when I present your findings…or should I say, my findings?
Gabriel: I have a feeling we’re going to work well together.
I frown, thinking of all the things I’d rather do well with Gabriel that don’t at all involve presenting before a board.
Will I ever be immune to his charms? Will I ever not want to rip his clothes off when I see him?
Probably not, and I’m suddenly jealous of Analise, who has somehow gained immunity to him.
I bring up Tom’s text box, and say:
Remi: Thank you for the flowers and the gift card.
I gather my things so I can go home to Kibbles and pack.
❦
Remi the YouTube star…
I walk home, anxious about next week’s meeting, but determined to present thorough research with common sense solutions to the problems Icor Tech faces. Tom will be on my side, and maybe a few of the other directors.
Too exhausted to walk up the five flights of stairs, I wait for Boxy Bessie, which will take up far too much of my evening, but at least it’s time not spent packing.
Mr. Sokolov is cursing again, and I look down to see a roach scuttle towards my shoe, the number 8 written on it with what appears to be white out.
I take a step back, disgusted, and look over to see his friend, Number 3, scuttling nearby.
“Ah, hah!” Mr. Sokolov enthuses from the stairwell. “I see you, Number 3!”
&n
bsp; Unable to contain my curiosity, I ask, “Why are you numbering them?”
Mr. Sokolov casts me a rather smug look, chuckling to himself like some diabolical genius.
“You see, pretty girl, in order to eradicate these fiends, we must first know more about them.”
“Oh…well, what does this tell us?”
“I’ve numbered them up to 100, all of them in the common bathroom on the first floor. I’m tracking where they show up,” he pulls out a notebook, “and recording their sightings in this.”
“What will that do exactly?”
A dark look crosses his face as if he’s just now realized he’s been gracing an inferior with his presence. He exits the main foyer, the stairwell door slamming behind him.
Finally, Bessie opens, and a stale, musty smell assaults my senses. I step inside and take the ten-minute ride to the sixth floor and exit.
As I’m rooting for my keys, Porn Star Meg’s door opens, and she jumps out, bounding towards me with entirely too much energy.
“How did it go?” she practically screams.
“How’d what go?”
“The date, silly!”
“About as well as you’d expect a date of mine to go.”
“What was the food like? The atmosphere? Did you see any celebrities? How much was the meal?”
I put a hand up and blink. Meghan is going off a mile a minute and must be stopped before my head explodes.
“Who was your date? Do I know him? Is he on TV?”
“Whoa, let’s slow down now. I am exhausted, and I have to pack.”
“OH MY GOD YOU’RE MOVING IN WITH HIM ALREADY!” she shouts. “I mean, I would too if he could take me to Deco.”
“No! No—this is for a promotion.”
“Oh, where do you work?”
“Icor Towers.”
I swear Meghan looks like she is about to faint, and if it weren’t for that fake tan of hers, she’d be white as a sheet of paper.
“Were you on a date with…Gabriel…Icor?”
“Gabriel Icor? No! He’s my boss.”
“Oh my God, I had no idea you have these connections. You need to tell me everything.”
I look her up and down, the opportunist in me trying to leverage the situation to my advantage. She is a lot stronger than me, with significantly more energy.
“I tell ya what, you help me pack, I give you the details. Sound good?”
“Deal!” she screeches and starts hopping in place.
Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?
I open my door, and we enter my dark hallway. I hear the familiar growl of the demon named Kibbles.
“Stand back,” I say to my excitable friend as I make a dash for the treat cupboard, but I’m not quick enough, and I feel her clawed paw batting at my leg.
“Give me just a freaking minute!” I yell, frantically searching for the small can of Pounce.
Meghan turns on the lights, a look of disdain crosses her face. “That’s a fat cat,” she says with a sneer.
“Meghan, meet Kibbles. Kibbles, this is Meghan.”
I finally locate the Pounce and throw a bunch of treats on the floor. For just a moment, I think I can sit back and relax, but Meg has decided to do a full inspection, walking around my living room and nosing through my things.
“You don’t really have much, do you?” she says.
It’s true. I don’t care much for decorating. I put more thought into the wallpaper on my computer than the pictures in my home. Whereas her apartment is all glitz and glam, mine is one step away from being abandoned.
“It should make for easy packing,” I say as I dig for some pop tarts.
“So, where are you moving to?”
“Icor Towers.”
Her head snaps towards me. “You’re moving into the Tower? Where you work?”
“Yeah, executives and directors get room and board.”
“Holy fucking shit. This whole time I thought you were the most uninteresting person in the world, and here you are moving into Icor Fucking Towers.”
“To be honest, being uninteresting is how I got the job.”
“Can ya get me a job there? Can ya?” Her eyes light with ambition.
“Well, what is it you do for a living?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
Her brows furrow. “You don’t know what I do?”
I’m a little nervous, unsure of what to say.
She’s an adult. She’s flamboyant about what she does. She’ll be more offended if you act like what she does is shameful.
“I mean, yeah. I do. And I’m totally cool with it! I think it’s great that you’re comfortable with yourself and you’re so confident and I hope your costars treat you with respect. Because I’ve heard women are sometimes—”
“I’m an influencer!” she says, a stunned look on her face. “Might Be Meghan. I have a YouTube channel, a website. I have over 100k insta followers. What the hell did you think I did for a living?”
“Oh. Well, that’s cool,” I say, trying to recover.
“Did you think I shot porn or something?”
“Well, I noticed the ring lights in your apartment, the nice furniture.”
She walks towards me, almost seductively, a curious look on her face. “You thought I did porn?” she says.
“It was just a joke. A bad one.”
“No, it wasn’t. You thought I did porn. It’s okay, though. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
I don’t know if I should feel relieved or mortified.
“So, what exactly are we packing. Some books?” Meghan asks. “I’ve never seen a place so bare. It’s like you just moved in last week. You don’t even own a couch.”
“Well, there’s a team coming to box and take my things next week, but I want to put it all into piles, so it’s not done haphazardly. I also need your help with some heavy boxes I have stored in my closet.”
“So, how’d your date go?” she asks. It’s clear she just couldn’t wait any longer.
“Oh, great—and by great, I mean mortifying.”
“That bad?”
“Well, at one point, I felt a slight breeze, freaked out, and shouted that I wasn’t wearing underwear. So, yeah.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, barely stifling her giggles. “Actually, you date like a pro.”
My phone vibrates, it’s a message from Tom:
Tom: I have business to attend to over the next couple days, but I was really hoping to see you. Would you like to do dinner on Sunday?
I should be ecstatic, but I’m not. I know how stupid I’m being, and I don’t want to ruin my chances with a good guy. But I just can’t be excited.
Remi: How about coffee instead? I feel like I can get to know you better that way. There’s a cute little cafe called ImPressed near my apartment.
Tom: Coffee sounds great! I’ll text you after I get back into the city.
I smile, but it’s forced. I wish I could be more enthusiastic, but for some reason, I’m just depressed.
It takes almost an hour to lay my things out and create some semblance of order. Then, I duck into the bathroom to pack my toiletries when I hear Meghan say, “Might Be Meghan here, and I’m in the middle of CHAOS as I’m helping a friend move! You’ll see over there…”
I stare on from the doorway in horror as Meghan holds her camera at arm’s length recording herself in a pile of books.
What is she doing?
I shut myself into the bathroom, my mind racing a mile a minute.
No one will know it’s me, and if they do, who cares. This isn’t a big deal.
I pull up Might Be Meghan on my phone. There she is, smiling all bright and beautiful for the camera in her fitness clothes. I watch clips, noting that the number of views is nearing one million.
I’ve been a hermit my entire life. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to take a step out of this shell of mine. I mean, I have the career of my dreams, but there has to be more to life than just going to work and figuring
tolerances and calculating efficiencies. Maybe I should find me a Starbucks Fuck Boy too!
No amount of coaching can get me through that door, though, and when I hear a knock, I swear, if my apartment were at ground level, I would have climbed out the window.
“Remi?” Meghan calls.
“Yes,” I call back.
“Care to come out?”
Sweat is pouring down my forehead, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what has me so anxious. There’s no reason to hole myself in the fucking bathroom of all places, so I take a breath, exhale, and open the door.
“So…I was just wondering if you’d film a segment with me.”
“Film a segment?” I say, feigning ignorance.
“Yeah, my little minions like to see what I do in my daily life, and I think many would be interested in seeing me help you move.”
“So you want to film a segment…with me?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m a little nervous.”
“Wanna crack open a bottle of wine?”
I rarely drink, but I figure there would be little harm. It’s not like I’m hanging out with a guy, and I’m certainly not driving anywhere.
“Sure.”
Meghan disappears from my apartment and comes back a minute later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. I drink the pink-colored liquid without hesitation, and Meghan moves in a few of her ring lights.
“Go put something cute on.” Meghan points towards my bedroom.
“Something cute?”
“Oh, dear Lord, please tell me you own something other than your work attire.”
The Billionaire's Board Page 10