by Mia Sosa
Shit. That’s all Mimi needed. He referred to her boss, Ian Humphreys, also known as Sir Jerk-a-Lot or Sir-Jerk-Off-a-Lot depending on Mimi’s mood. On a good day, Ian made her wish she were British so she could call him a wanker with a straight face. On a bad day, she seriously questioned whether she should look for another job.
Screw that. No way would she leave this job—not of her own volition, certainly. She’d worked too hard to move up the ranks, starting as an intern, moving on to associate, and now serving as a senior associate, which left her with just one rung left to climb. As a partner, she’d have her own team, and she’d no longer be Ian’s subordinate. That day couldn’t come soon enough.
Mimi riffled through the coffee selections and dropped a K-cup in the Keurig. She leaned against the counter and waited for the machine to brew her coffee. “What’s up his ass this morning? Though it’s so tight I can’t imagine anything could get in there.”
Nina’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I wish you’d give him a taste of your sass. I hate the way you act around him.”
Nina saw the side of Mimi—the real Mimi—that she’d never let any other member of the firm see, most of all Ian. Accustomed to her friend’s continuing complaint, Mimi simply laughed it off. “Yes, I’m sure that would go over really well with Ian.”
“One day I’d love to see you rip that man to shreds. I’d be standing behind you with a dust pan.”
“All in due time, my dear. You know how this works. Play the role of the agreeable and dutiful employee until I make partner.”
Nina brushed her shoulder-length hair off her shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that before.”
Mimi scanned Nina’s features. Her friend’s flawless brown skin couldn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes. “Rough weekend?”
Nina stirred her cup of coffee and sighed. “Kevin’s giving me a hard time again.”
Nina’s parents had been killed in a car accident when she was twenty-two, leaving her the sole guardian of her younger brother. That her parents had actually planned for the possibility of their deaths, and had asked Nina to shoulder the responsibility of raising Kevin if necessary, weighed on her heavily. “I tell myself I’ve just got to get him to eighteen, but I don’t know if I’m going to be able to contain him. He doesn’t want to follow my house rules, and I’m getting tired of it.”
“Do you think he needs a male figure in his life? Someone he can talk to about the things he doesn’t want to share with you?”
Nina cradled her coffee cup and took a sip. “Maybe. I don’t know. I never imagined I’d have to raise someone else’s child, not at my age. My parents always told me they’d want us to stay together if anything ever happened to them, but I never thought it was a scenario I had to worry about.”
“Well, you’re doing an incredible job. And the hard time Kevin’s giving you just might be evidence of that.”
Nina blew out a frustrated breath. “Thanks.”
Mimi took in Nina’s outfit: a fitted black jersey dress, a cropped red blazer, and a pair of black pumps. Sexy but professional. And yet still more leg than Mimi would dare to show in the office. “Quite a fetching outfit today, I must say.”
Nina twirled and craned her neck to inspect her own backside. “Makes my ass look great, doesn’t it?”
“You’re a mess.” Mimi grabbed her cup of coffee and hooked her arm through Nina’s. “C’mon. I have to make a quick call before the Monday morning meeting, and we can’t be late, of course. Wouldn’t want to keep Lord Humphreys waiting.”
With their arms linked, she and Nina walked down the hall.
“He might spank you,” Nina whispered.
She separated herself from Nina with a playful push. “Thanks for putting that cringe-worthy visual in my head. See you in ten.”
Back in her office, Mimi dropped onto her chair and jiggled her mouse to bring her computer to life. Her first objective was to get Daniel to relinquish his claim on her consulting package. She pulled up the e-mail that had popped into her in-box only a half hour ago. The message from the event organizers had thanked her for her contribution to the evening’s success. It had also passed along Daniel’s contact information so she could arrange to “deliver” his prize. Indeed.
She punched in Daniel’s office number, imagining each jab as a poke in his eye.
A soft-spoken voice answered the line. “Good morning. This is the Cambridge Group. How may I help you?”
“This is Mimi Pennington of Baxter PR. I’m trying to reach Daniel Vargas.”
“Yes, Ms. Pennington. Will he know what this is regarding?”
“He will.”
A rustle and a few dings later, the man of the hour answered the line. “Mimi. So good to hear from you.”
She hadn’t expected him to sound so sexy over the phone. Maybe without a visual to associate with Daniel’s voice, her brain simply responded to the pleasant sound. Gah. Shut the fuck down, brain. Slice him into pieces, mouth. “Cut the crap, Daniel. This isn’t a social call.”
He chuckled. “I’d never expect that from you. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call then?”
“I’m following up on the consulting package. I’m assuming it was a joke and you have no intention of asking me to honor it. I’m happy to transfer it to someone else—”
“You’re wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
“I intend for you to honor it, Mimi. In case you haven’t noticed, I do own a business, and my company could use that consulting. We’d like to hire a new architect soon, so it would be a good time to work out a publicity plan.”
Mimi’s mouth moved, but no words emerged from it.
“Have I startled you into submission?” He coughed. “Silence. I meant silence.”
The word submission had triggered her to imagine herself on her knees at his feet. Not her thing, she didn’t think, but the picture in her head seemed strangely titillating. And wait. Why am I not angry about this? Okay, this is a problem. She shook her head. “Daniel, be serious for a minute. You and I both know that this is a bad idea.”
“Is it? I don’t know that at all. We’re talking ten hours, Mimi. Hardly a lifetime. And I paid good money for the privilege of your expertise. You’re not suggesting you can’t stomach me for ten hours, most of which I’m guessing you won’t even have to be in my presence?”
All true. At most she’d have to spend a couple of hours talking to him; the other hours would be spent doing research on the company and its industry. Fine. If he wanted her expertise, he’d get it. Ten hours wasted for a good cause. And then she could focus on her firm’s real clients. “Okay, fine. I’ll do some research on your company and prepare an initial analysis.”
“Do you need anything from me?”
“Not right now. The point of this is to assess your current public image and presence. I can do that all by myself. Then we can meet and discuss my thoughts and suggestions. I assume your firm’s on the interwebs?”
“It is.”
Muttering to herself, Mimi pulled up a Google search on the firm and clicked on its website. “Fine. Is there someone who handles your scheduling? I’ll contact them about a meeting next week.”
“Her info’s on the site.”
“Great.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Mimi.”
“I’m not, Daniel.”
His laughter rang through her earpiece before she slammed the phone into its cradle. Jerk. Mimi blew a breath that ruffled her bangs. Ten hours. I can handle that.
Minutes later, when she joined her colleagues, everyone on their six-member team except Ian was sitting around the large glass conference table that dominated the sparsely decorated space. No under-the-table shenanigans possible in this room. “Morning, everyone,” she said in a cheerful voice.
Her colleagues grumbled their replies. As usual, nervous energy radiated off the walls. Ian had that effect on his team.
As though summoned by her thoughts, her boss
entered the room and took the seat next to her. She straightened her shoulders, instinctively sitting up now that he was near. As a young girl, she’d done the same when her father joined them for dinner, a rare event that required her to use her best manners. Not for the first time she marveled at the similarities between the two men. Not only did they share many of the same physical attributes, but they’d both mastered the role of domineering asshole. It was truly unfortunate that the job she loved came with a prick of a boss.
Ian stared at his legal pad. “Okay, folks. Talk to me, and be succinct. What’s on your plate for the week?”
Each Monday, Ian called a team meeting to keep everyone updated on the various moving parts in the firm’s work. Or so he claimed.
Geoffrey, a junior associate, piped in first. “I’m working on the executive news briefing for Derringer PC.”
Ian nodded. “Right. The last one was too long and too detailed. Find a way to give them the essential information without glossing over it.”
Geoffrey nodded. “Got it.”
The silence that followed made the fine hairs on Mimi’s arms rise. She lifted her head, her gaze moving from the legal pad in front of her to what she thought would be Ian’s profile. Instead, her gaze landed on his face—and he was staring right at her.
“What about you, Mimi?”
She cleared her throat. “I have two press releases to draft and three press releases to edit. And I’m researching press coverage on Harmon industries.”
“Whatever happened with the auction? That was this weekend, right?”
Mimi had hoped to bury the results of the auction, but Ian the micromanager was bound to ask about it. Plus, she’d mentioned it to him as further proof that she was a self-starter. Since the winning bid had been claimed by Daniel Vargas, all she’d managed to do was fuck herself. So now she was a self-fucker, too. Nice.
She went with a noncommittal response. “So someone bid on my consulting package.”
Ian’s nostrils flared. “Who’s the prospective client then?”
“Someone I know.”
Ian’s beady eyes narrowed. “Does that someone own a business?”
“Yes, an architectural firm. The Cambridge Group.”
“We’ve worked with architects before. Sounds promising.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Ian rubbed his chin as he considered that. “Oh?”
“It’s just”—she licked her lips, suddenly feeling parched—“I seriously question whether they’re looking to hire someone, that’s all.”
Ian narrowed his eyes. “But he bid on your consulting package, right? So hiring you isn’t out of the question.”
“No, no. It’s just—”
Ian gave her a dismissive wave. “We’ll discuss this more later.” He leaned forward in his chair and gazed at the faces of the rest of the team’s members. “Anyone else planning to work this week?”
While another member of the team discussed his to-do list, Mimi scrambled to think of a reason why the firm shouldn’t court Daniel as a client, one that wouldn’t reveal that she was letting her personal feelings take precedence over the firm’s business. Ian would have questions, and if she wanted to avoid his wrath, she’d better have answers. But what could she say, really?
The truth?
The guy’s an asshat, and I can’t stand the idea of working with him. Ian himself was an asshat, so he’d neither understand nor care.
Or, The guy’s ridiculously hot, and if I were forced to work with him, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep things professional between us and we’d probably end up having hate sex? Eh. Probably not something she should admit to her boss—especially since she’d spent the last five years portraying herself as his asexual colleague.
Ian had managed to call on everyone around the table, and still Mimi had nothing. He rose from his seat. “All right, people. That’s all for now. Make sure you’re billing your time precisely. We can’t get paid if you don’t record your time. And remember, whether you’re sitting at your desk or on the toilet, if you’re thinking about the client, it’s billable.”
Mimi scrunched her face while she gathered her pad, pen, and iPhone. Did he really have to be so foul?
She was poised to bolt out of the room, but Ian stopped her with a hand. “Let’s chat,” he said as he shut the conference room door. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about this, and I guess now is as good a time as any.” He pinched his slacks before sitting at the edge of the conference room table.
Mimi sat back down and twisted her upper body to face him. “What is it?”
“The partners met last week to discuss your progress at the firm.”
Mimi’s ears buzzed, and her hands went clammy. “And?”
“Your evaluations have been good, and your contributions were noted. Still, it was pointed out that you have no real experience either bringing in a client or handling one on your own.”
Dammit. Her ears were on fire. They were probably red, too. “It was pointed out by whom?”
Ian gave her a smug smile. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, if you want the partners to admit you to their ranks, you’re going to have to show us that you can attract business to the firm. Seems to me landing the Cambridge Group account would be the perfect opportunity to demonstrate your readiness for partnership.”
“Seems a little unfair to hinge my advancement on getting work from someone who I suspect isn’t looking to hire. Plus, he and I don’t get along very well.”
“Mimi, we’re a business, not a sorority. Who gives a shit if we like our clients? If they can pay the bills, nothing else matters. Besides, life isn’t about fairness. You know who gets rewarded, whether it’s deserved or not?”
She waited for him to continue, knowing it was a rhetorical question. When Ian had a point to make, it benefitted no one to disrupt him.
“People who get the job done, that’s who,” he continued. “So get the job done, and then we’ll talk about partnership.”
“By any means necessary, huh?”
“By whatever means you choose, Mimi.”
Wait. This couldn’t be happening. She’d almost had sex with Daniel—before he’d rejected her, that is. And when she remembered her tirade at the charitable auction, she mentally aimed a gun at her head. Now he was the key to her promotion? Someday she’d have a great laugh about it. But today?
Shoot. Me. Now.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mimi banged her head on the restaurant table—repeatedly. Maybe having lunch with Gracie wasn’t such a great idea in her current state.
“Mimi, people are starting to stare,” Gracie said. “Chin up, chica. It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not,” Mimi said from under the veil of her hair. “This is my job we’re talking about, Gracie. If I fuck this up, I can kiss partnership good-bye. Ian all but told me as much.”
“Well, don’t fuck it up then.”
Gracie’s stern voice got her attention. Plus, unlike Mimi, Gracie almost never cursed. Mimi raised her head and flicked her bangs. “If I can’t whine with you, who can I whine with?”
Gracie grinned. “Stop pouting. You can always whine with me. My point is, don’t let your feelings about Daniel stand in the way of your promotion. This might even be a good thing.”
“How so? Please. Enlighten me.”
“Well, for one thing, you know the man. You’re not starting from scratch.”
“But that’s just it. I’m not his biggest fan, and the thought of having to kiss his ass to get his business makes me want to retch.”
“Since when have you ever kissed a man’s butt to get his business?”
“Never.”
“Exactly. Why would Daniel be different?”
“Because I’ve called the man an egotistical asshat to his face?”
Gracie’s mouth twitched. “Well, yeah, there’s that.”
“Oh, and how could I forget? I sent the man a leopard print t
hong—to his office, no less.”
Gracie leaned forward and waggled her eyebrows. “I’ll admit that’s a unique client gift.”
Mimi threw up her hands. “See what I mean? I’m doomed.”
“You’re not doomed. It’s a challenge. You thrive on challenges.”
In the workplace, yes. In her personal life, no. The situation with Daniel was a mix of both, and it was freaking her out. She forced her thoughts about it aside. “Okay, enough about me. How’s the house coming along?”
Gracie’s eyes brightened. “Wonderfully. You haven’t been around since our interior decorator worked her magic, so I can’t wait for you to see it on Saturday. The yard isn’t finished, though. We’ll get to it eventually.”
She couldn’t help envying Gracie’s excitement about her new home. Mimi herself desperately wanted to own her own place, and for two years now, she’d set her mind to purchasing a new condo in Capitol Hill or Penn Quarter. Her own place. Hers alone. But her savings wouldn’t be enough. She’d need the significant bonus and pay raise that came with partnership to pay her mortgage each month. And now partnership itself depended on her ability to get Daniel and his colleagues to hire her. What a shit fest.
She pictured a familiar scene from her adolescence: her mother sitting at the dining room table, pretending to be happy, while her dad pretended to be working late at the office. Her mother, who’d once been content in her role as arm candy, had never worked a day in her life after she’d married. But soon after, Mimi’s mother learned that her husband had a very sweet tooth—and she alone would never satisfy his cravings. At least that’s what Mimi had gathered from the screaming matches she’d overheard when she was supposed to be asleep.
Gayle Pennington rarely let the façade slip, but when Mimi came home for a visit during college, Gayle had been uncharacteristically frank with her. She’d held Mimi’s hand in her own, her face as serious as her words were urgent. “Never let a man control your entire well-being. Independence will be your freedom.” Her mother had said so little and yet spoke volumes, and Mimi knew that the advice was as much a criticism of her mother’s own choices as it was of her father’s philandering.
