“I’ll do that. Great idea. You have a nice evening, baby.”
What? I pinched the bridge of my nose, laughing hysterically with the phone on mute. John was going to kill me!
We ended the call, and I texted my brother immediately, still cracking up: I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me.
He’d never see this one coming.
Monday morning at C.C. wasn’t what I imagined. People, in conservative business casual wear, ran around like members of a NASCAR pit crew, dashing to early calls with customers overseas, preparing materials for Mr. Cole’s monthly staff meeting, and frantically sharing torn-out pages from newspapers and magazines of the fashion show—I assumed to be up to speed on all of the latest buzz and reactions from the public. The frantic and energetic vibe was completely different compared to my first mellow week when I was practically the only person on my floor.
I couldn’t wait for introductions and to get to work.
I made my way down the aisle that led past several cubes and offices toward my door. A few folks, who were congregating in the middle of the floor, turned to glance in my direction. I smiled and waved but was greeted with frowns and cold stares.
What the…? I dropped my hand and entered my office, feeling an icy wave of nausea hit. Okay. Don’t panic. They don’t know you yet. That’s all.
I got out my laptop and turned it on, deciding to go for a cup of coffee in the break room while it did its warm-up exercises. No one even noticed me leave my office, which is why I heard their words: “Can you believe?” “Newby fired Craig.” “Not even a director.”
I listened carefully, filling my cup. This is horrifying. I’d already gained a toxic reputation and hadn’t even met a single person besides Keri, really.
“Miss Snow?” said that deep familiar voice behind me. I turned to find Mr. Cole in a well-fitting blue dress shirt, shiny silver cuff links, black satin tie with red Xs, and black slacks. As usual, he looked as handsome and cocky as hell.
I pasted on a polite smile, trying desperately to push away any thoughts of his mouth on my breasts or his body inside mine. “Good morning, sir. How are you?”
“Great. I just came down to tell you that—”
A loud male voice just outside the break-room doorway broke his train of thought. “At least we know she’s not banging the boss. Did you get a look at that fucking face?”
The hot coffee in my hand almost slid away as my blood pressure dropped. Then I had to prevent myself from crushing the cup.
Mr. Cole’s expression went from neutral to Arctic glacier. “As I was saying, I came down to tell you that you’ll be working with Mike Masters on a new project. He’s a director who’s been with us for three years, and he’ll be showing you the ropes.”
I swallowed and forced myself to focus on Mr. Cole’s words while my anger and humiliation worked on getting the best of me.
“Thank you for the heads-up, Mr. Cole.”
He nodded, turned, and walked off.
Me? I stood there feeling a mishmash of pissed and hurt. How could grown professionals be so blatantly cruel? And I don’t know what I’d expected Mr. Cole to do about it, but the way he’d ignored the comment got under my skin more than the comment had. He had to know it stung. Did he give a shit?
Nope.
I walked to my office, shut the door, and started poring through emails, my hand shaking with indignation. I couldn’t afford to unravel on my first real day. This was my dream. My future. And no one had the right to take it from me.
There was a light knock on the door.
Great. Someone coming to tell me how unwelcome I am?
“Come in.”
The door opened and a tall, nice-looking man with an athletic build, black hair, and bright blue eyes popped in. “Lily, I’m Mike Masters. Just wanted to introduce myself before the meeting.” He held out his hand, and I stood, leaning over my desk to shake it.
“Nice to meet you.” I tried to sound positive but wasn’t sure it worked.
“I think the pleasure is all mine. You’ve been here less than a week and you’ve already got everyone shaking in their Pradas.”
“Sorry?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You know, the show,” he said quietly.
I shook my head no.
“Mr. Cole just hired you and took you with him to Milan.”
Yes, but what was I missing? “So?”
“So, he only takes one person, and it’s usually his favorite.”
What? Were we in grade school? “I’m sure Mr. Cole has no favorites. Just people he dislikes less than others.”
Mike laughed. “You catch on quickly.”
“Yes. But not quickly enough, apparently, because I had no clue I’d end up with my name attached to a scandal for having a little innocent fun at the party.” All true. Because my dirty fun happened after the party.
“Don’t worry. You’re officially the envy of everyone here,” he said with a warm friendly smile.
“Envy. Is that what it’s called? I could’ve sworn the mob smelled of hostility. Or were those welcome torches?”
“They only have the best of destructive intentions, I promise.” He shrugged playfully.
I instantly liked this guy. His humor reminded me a little of Danny.
He glanced down at his watch. “Time for the meeting. Get ready.”
“For what?” I asked.
“We like to think of these monthly gatherings as a monster truck show—lots of things getting crushed.”
“I thought we were going to talk business strategies,” I said.
“We will. But Mr. Cole likes to keep us on our toes with plenty of action.”
I cringed. “Sounds fun.” Almost as fun as sitting in a room with Mr. Cole and trying to keep a poker face while I also pretended some dickhead stranger outside the break room hadn’t just degraded me. I’m living the dream.
~~~
The meeting with forty-two of Mr. Cole’s direct staff members, including Keri, was held in the executive conference suite—a sterile but chic-looking room with bright white walls and the infamous red C.C. lips and logo painted behind the head of a long dark-gray table that stretched from one end of the room to the other.
Mike and I hustled in, only beating Mr. Cole by a minute, and found a place to sit in the corner along the edge of the room. The table had already been filled up.
I had to admit, I was curious to get a look at everyone, knowing what I did about our boss.
Would they all be supermodels? I’d wondered.
But no. Most looked like your average, well-dressed professionals with a fairly equal mix of women, men, younger and older.
When Mr. Cole walked in, the entire vibe of the room shifted from antsy to terrified. Lots of sitting still, no chitchat, very focused eyes. The lion had entered the jungle and the tiny creatures quaked in their fur.
Then I noticed why: Mr. Cole’s handsome face had a “don’t fuck with me” look on it. It was a scowl I’d seen quite a few times already, but even I felt uneasy.
He shut the door behind him, threw down a tabloid on the table and then looked around the room, his hazel eyes boring into everyone there.
He skipped me.
“I’d like to ask everyone here a question,” he said. “Who in this room thinks I should fire Steve?”
A bunch of people looked at a middle-aged blond guy at the opposite end of the table—younger than the rest. That had to be Steve because he looked like he wanted to die. Or wet himself. I wasn’t sure.
“And who here thinks I should beat the crap out of him?” Mr. Cole popped off his cufflinks and began to roll up his right sleeve.