by Amanda Aksel
“But I am Richard Allen! I’m the one who took charge yesterday. I saved that meeting. That’s my fucking pitch. And I’ll be damned if I don’t see this through.”
“Chica,” Frankie starts, “I love your enthusiasm and everything, but Regina’s right. They’re expecting a man. How are you going to explain any of this?”
I bite my upper lip, thinking back to the moment before I walked into Becker’s office. My lie hardly made sense to me at the time but I had one thing going for me. Valuable information. Facts that their precious prospect confirmed when he called in. I’m the only person on the planet besides Owen who knows this pitch backwards and forwards. It’s the only card I have to play. And I’m doubling down.
“I’ll figure it out as I go, just like yesterday,” I declare. “What good was this whole experience if I don’t at least try? I’m done waiting for permission. Waiting for some man to give me a chance. Today is my day to finally woman up.”
Regina takes my protest in for a moment as she draws in a long breath. “You’re right, Delia.”
“Yeah.” Frankie claps his hands, then points a vehement finger my way. “You go show ’em.”
“Okay, we’re with you,” Regina says. “How can we help?”
I beam at them both, grateful that I found such supportive friends in a city of nearly nine million strangers. “Pick out something for me to wear. Something that says, I don’t take shit from nobody.”
“On it!” She snaps her fingers and immediately begins digging in my closet.
“I need to freshen up.” I point a hitchhiker’s thumb toward the door.
Frankie raises his brow. “Freshen up? You need a serious scrub-down.”
“There’s no time!”
“You better make time ’cause you rank.” Frankie pinches the tip of his nose.
I raise my arm and take a whiff. “Ugh.” It’s like Old Spice and old onions had an all-out battle. Old onions won.
“Told you.”
“Fine. Quick shower and I’m out the door.” I lunge over my bed for my phone and send Owen a quick text.
DELIA: Something came up. Be there soon.
I tear my clothes off on the way to the bathroom. As the water runs down my back, I notice how much lighter my body feels. I may not look as muscular or as physically powerful as Richard, but I feel just as strong. The scrub-down hardly lasts the length of my favorite song. I quickly towel off my soft, familiar skin and smear my hand over the steamed mirror before popping in my contacts. Looking into my own eyes, I’m reminded that I’m more than a man.
I’m a woman.
W-O-M-A-N!
I’m Delia-fucking-Reese, smart as the rest of those guys at Monty Fuhrmann, and capable of anything. All I have to do is say yes.
“Yes!” I say to my reflection. “Yes! Yes! YES!”
BANG! BANG!
“What are you doing in there?” Regina calls from the other side of the door.
Beaming and bouncing around, I yank it open. “Nothing. I’m finished.” I push past her, panting from the excitement, and hurry toward my room.
“Wait. I have something for you,” she says.
I stop in my tracks.
She hands me a bold pink blouse from her wardrobe. “Wear this.”
I take it, feeling the fine fabric on my fingers. The hue is so bright it almost lights up the dim hallway. “It’s beautiful, but . . . I don’t know if it says I don’t take any shit.”
“Sure it does.” The corner of her mouth turns up into a smirk. “Show ’em that pink deserves respect.”
I look into her brown eyes, smiling back. The Pink Ranger is just as powerful as the other Rangers.
“Pink deserves respect,” I say.
Regina has laid out one of my gray suits on my bed. It’s the closest thing I have to Frankie’s Michael Kors. She’s threaded the pink paisley tie through the loops of the waistline. I shake my head, letting out a little chuckle, then dress swiftly, making sure my collar is straight and the silk belt is secured. My reflection reveals something different but also recognizable—a revitalized confidence. Looks like the tie isn’t the only token remaining from my day with dick. I slick my hair back in a ponytail, throw my makeup bag in my Gucci, and straighten my spine. “Okay, Delia. Let’s do this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
At 9:06, I push through the revolving doors of Monty Fuhrmann Tower and rush along the marble floors with my Gucci along for the ride. No curious looks from the guards when I use Richard’s keycard to get through security. I squeeze my way into the packed elevator. My stomach tightens with every level we climb. The constant stops don’t help—third floor, eleventh, twenty-fifth, and finally the thirty-second floor. Owen’s assistant is just walking back to her desk when I approach.
“Good morning, Ashley,” I say, bypassing her for the boss’s open door.
Her voice trails directly behind me. “Excuse me? You are . . . ? Is Mr. Campbell expecting you?”
Oops! I almost forgot. “Oh! Sorry.” I extend my hand. “I’m Rich—” Try again. “Delia Reese. Richard Allen sent me to speak with Owen. It’s about the ten o’clock meeting with Todd Fairbanks.”
She raises a freshly waxed eyebrow. “Your name is Rich Delia?”
No, but I like the sound of that. “Just Delia.”
Owen’s head peeks out from the doorframe, his eyes shifting left and right. “Did you say Richard Allen?” His brows squish so tightly together they look like one long squirming caterpillar.
“Yes, Mr. Campbell,” I say.
“Come in.” He waves me forward and slips back into his office.
The morning sun beams a bright orange glare on the wall behind him. I squint, hovering my hand like a visor for a moment, letting my eyes adjust. Owen perches on the corner of his dark wooden desk, arms crossed, tapping his thumb against his biceps.
Squaring my shoulders, I look him dead in the eye, invoking the spirit of Serena Walters. “Richard’s been detained. He sent me in his place.”
Owen jumps to his feet, balling his fists at his sides. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Where the hell is he?”
“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t have that information.” I press my fingernails into my dry palm.
He scoffs. “I suppose you’re from the Zurich office too.” Before I can answer, he walks off to the window, rubbing his hand over his forehead.
I smirk. That Zurich story was pretty clever. Only a ballsy son of a bitch could spin that one. “Actually, I live here in the city.”
Aside from a few heavy sighs, Owen’s silent for at least twenty-four seconds, staring out at the skyline. “I can’t believe I trusted him. Twice! Now what am I supposed to do? Fairbanks will be here in less than an hour.”
I step up to him. “Mr. Campbell, I know we just met, but Richard sent me here to replace him because he knows I’m the best person for the job.”
Owen whips around, his face so red I’m afraid he might have a heart attack too. “Replace him?”
“Yes,” I say, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. This would be a much easier sell if I could just tell him that I am Richard Allen. But he’d never buy that.
“I don’t think so.” Owen stomps to his door. “Ashley! Get Darren in here now!” he barks.
“Darren quit this morning, Mr. Campbell. He’s not here. I sent you an email,” she responds without hesitation. Damn, Darren. That was fast.
Owen smacks his palm into his forehead. “You have all got to be fucking kidding me. Is this a joke?”
I straighten up, widening my stance like a superhero. “Mr. Campbell, I’m fully prepared to execute this meeting with you.”
“I doubt that’s possible,” he says, dismissing me with a slight scowl. Whether he’s saying that because I’m a stranger or because I’m a woman, he’ll eat his word
s soon enough.
I rest my hand on my hip and swivel my neck a little. “Well, it is. Plus, I know you want to show Fairbanks the new young blood on the team. Who’s newer and younger than I am?”
He checks his watch and shakes his head like he’s about two seconds away from a total hissy fit. “Exactly. That’s the problem! What could you possibly know about this deal?”
“I know that Monty Fuhrmann helped Ezeus acquire SmarkTech, taking it from an unknown tech company to over fifty million users in the U.S. and more than a quarter of a billion worldwide.”
“So what? You read the Wall Street Journal?”
I walk toward him, head up, not taking shit from nobody. “I do. But what the Wall Street Journal doesn’t know yet is how Monty Fuhrmann was purposefully left out of the Ezeus IPO due to some . . . ethical differences.”
He stands tall, almost casting a shadow over me. “Is that all you know?”
“No.” I hand Owen the neatly folded list that he gave me, I mean Richard, last night. By the look on his face, it’s clear when the sell starts to settle in. I rattle off each of the items in order, then start back at the beginning, expounding on each one as if I were giving a dissertation on the entire pitch. I’m not even halfway through the third point when he raises his hand.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ve heard enough. How do you know all of this and how the hell have you managed to memorize it in less than twelve hours?” Strangely, the more anxious he gets, the more settled I feel. Someone has to keep it together for Fairbanks.
I shrug. “I told you, Richard reviewed everything with me. He knew I could handle it because . . .” I smirk. “I’m just that good. Now, the way I see it, you can kick me out of the building and pitch to Fairbanks alone, which I know you want to avoid, or you can take a chance on me, which really isn’t a risk at all. Given the circumstances, I’m your ace in the hole.”
“You? I don’t even know who you are!”
I can feel my cheeks blush the same shade as my shirt. Shit. How could I have forgotten to introduce myself to him? “I’m Delia Reese,” I say, offering a firm hand. He doesn’t take it. Instead, he gives me the third degree about my history: where I went to college, how I obtained experience, other companies I’ve worked with in the past. I tell him everything. The truth.
“Sounds a lot like Richard’s experience. You two are practically twins, huh?” He walks over behind his desk. “Is that why you both have a tendency to bust into offices wearing pink shirts?”
I follow him, taking a seat in front. “No, that’s just a coincidence. Besides, he wears salmon, I wear pink.”
He breathes out a bull-like sigh. “Listen, Ms. Reese—”
“Delia.”
He gives me a pinched look. “Delia. As much as you might be the solution to my problem, I don’t know you well enough to let you into any meeting that’s this important. There’s too much at stake. I’m sorry, but unless you know someone whom I trust that can vouch for you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I bite my upper lip. There is someone, but I’m not quite ready to tell him I’ve returned. Oh, well. Desperate times . . . “Eric Walker. He can vouch for me.”
Owen’s lips flatten and he looks at me sideways while picking up his phone. “Ashley, I need you to get Eric Walker in here ASAP. If he’s here, that is.” He slams the receiver down and rubs his face.
Okay, now my pulse is racing. The man I’m crazy about is gonna walk through that door any minute.
My leg starts to fidget. “By the way, how’s Curtis? Any word on his condition?”
He shoots me a squinty stare. “Are you sure you weren’t here yesterday?”
I hint at a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’d remember something like that. Don’t you?”
He breathes another deep sigh. “I don’t know anymore. It’s been a really weird couple of days. Becker’s going to pull through, but his doctor’s recommending early retirement.”
“Let’s hope he takes that prescription,” I mutter beneath my breath, a little louder than intended.
Owen’s mouth starts to curl up in a smile, but he quickly adjusts.
“You wanted to see me?” The familiar voice seems to sing to my ears. Eric’s standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, slightly out of breath. My heart pounds wildly at the sight of him in the dark gray suit that I love. Then again, I love him in every suit. “Delia!” A smile springs from ear to ear. “What are you doing here?” His ol’ blue eyes lock onto mine as he walks toward me. For a moment, it’s as if we’re the only people in the room, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“Oh, good. You do know her,” Owen chimes in, breaking the spell between Eric and me.
“Yes. Well, actually. What’s this about?” Eric shifts his eyes between Owen and me, his cheeks growing flushed while he bites back a grin.
“Apparently, Richard Allen has been . . . detained, and he sent Ms. Reese to fill in for him.”
Eric tilts his head. “You know Richard?”
That’s one way to look at it. “Yep.”
“Somehow she knows everything he knows, including the pitch, but I need you to tell me honestly if she’s competent enough to do this.” Owen looks as serious as POTUS addressing the public before sending troops into a war zone.
Eric wrinkles his brow and points to himself. “Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re the only person who actually knows anything about her. So, I’ll ask you again. Do you think she’s competent enough?” Owen’s irritated tone is totally justified, but I don’t like him talking to Eric like that. He’s blameless in this dilemma.
Eric gets past his confusion. “Yes. Yes, definitely, she can do it. She’s as smart and as skilled as anyone on the team, if not more so. She’s the best person for the job.” Eric looks to me like I’m the greatest girl he knows, and my heart skips a beat. “You’d be lucky to have her in that meeting with you, sir.”
Would I ruin my chance at this pitch if I kiss him right here? Right now?
Owen lets out a sigh. “Thanks, Eric. You can go.”
He nods to the boss and sends me a bemused wave. There must be a million questions he’s dying to ask. I just hope I have enough clever energy left to answer them when this is all over. As Eric turns and heads out the door, I can’t help but stare.
Oh, yeah. That’s why it’s my favorite suit.
I shake off my Eric-buzz and focus on Owen’s wall clock behind his desk. Only twenty more minutes before Fairbanks arrives.
Owen clears his throat, getting back my full attention, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, Delia Reese. You’re in. We need to finish preparing, and we need to do it quickly.”
I did it?
My stomach does a double flip. No, that was a triple.
I did it!
Talking my way into this pitch for the third freaking time has got to be some kind of record. Holy shit, this feels good! In twenty minutes, I’ll be sitting across from Todd Fairbanks, closing the deal of a lifetime.
Owen and I use every remaining second to go over all the key points and how we’ll field potential questions. Every so often he gives me a surprised gawk when I note some special fact from yesterday’s meetings.
He gives his Rolex a quick glance. “Are you ready?”
I tilt my chin up. “Do you really have to ask?”
“I guess not.” He walks toward his door without a word, and I follow close behind. I’m almost too close, because he quickly turns back, almost bumping into me. “Is my tie straight?”
I step back and give it the slightest adjustment to the right. “Yes.”
He looks me over, giving my waist a double take. “Are you wearing a tie as a belt?”
I look down, smiling at my special souvenir. “I am.”
He narrows his eyes.
“Isn’t that the same tie Richard was wearing yesterday?”
“Like you said, practically twins.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As we approach the conference room, I peer through the open blinds that line the glass wall. Bright morning light pours in from the wide windows, reflecting off the dark lacquered table. A carafe of ice water and glasses, notepads, and pens sit on top. All but three chairs have been removed. They’re strategically arranged around the table for negotiation, but otherwise the setting appears conversational. Todd Fairbanks stands just inside the door, his gaze fixed on his cell phone. He’s already dressed for the Hamptons in a casual white polo, light-colored jeans rolled at the cuff, and Sperry boat shoes with no socks. Ashley sets a tall bottle of Voss on a coaster. He smiles, looking as if he’s thanking her, and she nods before exiting swiftly.
Now that I think of it, I washed those jeans the other day.
After all that’s happened, nothing should surprise me, but I still can’t believe I’m here. As Delia. I flash a toothy smile, wishing I could jump for joy. I’ll save it for later.
“You’re not nervous, are you?” Owen asks, and I have a feeling his confidence is still a little shaken. Good thing I’ve got enough for the both of us.
“Not at all. I’m excited.”
He stops a few feet from the doorway and buttons his suit jacket. “Well, don’t get too excited, Delia. We haven’t convinced Fairbanks yet.”
The moment the words leave his mouth, I regain my this is business composure. My heart begins to race, quicker and faster with each step we take into the conference room. But I’m also hit with a keen sense of knowing, a foresight. No matter what happens here today, this won’t be the last big deal I ever get to pitch. I can feel it.
“Todd!” Owen greets with a great big smile, showing off his bleached dental work. “How are you?”
