by Keeland, Vi
He nodded. “I’m looking forward to it, Ireland.”
I left the coffee shop and headed for the office in a much better mood than I’d started with. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all…
***
“Seriously? You couldn’t even have her wait until I’d cleaned out my desk?”
Our office space was a large, open square with cubicles in the middle and private, fishbowl-type glass offices lining the perimeter. Security had escorted me to Bickman’s office like I was a prisoner, and now I could see Siren on the other side of the large space, moving boxes from her cubicle into my office.
Bickman yanked on his belt buckle and pulled his pants from beneath his belly to up and over it. “Don’t cause a scene, or I’ll pack up your crap for you.”
I scowled and began to tap my foot as I spoke. “I hope you at least gave her pay parity with a male of the same education and experience. Oh wait…that might be hard since a man with her qualifications works in the mail room still.”
He pushed a few buttons on his phone and looked across at my office as he spoke on speakerphone. “Ireland is here to clean out her office. You might want to give her some space and finish setting up your new office when she’s done.”
“Yes, Mr. Bickman.”
I rolled my eyes. Yes, Mr. Bickman.
The asshole waved his hand, dismissing me to go do what I needed to do. “Don’t take too long.”
Disgusted, I turned to walk out of his office and then stopped and backed up. I hadn’t decided if I was going to go to HR about him firing me for retaliation. I really didn’t have any proof—I couldn’t show that Bickman was the one who’d surfaced the video that was my reason for being fired. And I knew threatening wouldn’t bother him at all. Still, I needed to make him feel like shit, so I could at least feel better.
I stepped back into his office and quietly closed the door behind me, turning to say one last thing.
“You’ve been looking for a reason to fire me for years. But it’s hard to justify when I’ve been a model employee, and our ratings have gone up consistently since I joined the show. Finally you found a reason. I don’t know how you did it, but I know you were behind Human Resources getting ahold of that video. Tell me, did you keep a copy for yourself? I hope you did, because that’ll be the only piece of ass you’ll ever see from this office. You certainly won’t be seeing any skin from the unqualified, barely-out-of-high-school girl you gave my job to. You think that will make her like you, but she’s busy banging that new intern from advertising. Oh, and remember Marge Wilson—the divorced, middle-aged temp you got drunk at the office Christmas party a few years back? The one you think no one knows you went home with?” I smiled and held up my pinky, waving it in the air. “Well, we all know. Her nickname for you was Inchworm.”
I opened the door, took a deep breath, and headed over to clean out nine years of my life.
Literally three minutes later, Security was at my office door, and Bickman stood right behind them.
I put the last of my things from the top drawer into a box and glowered at him. “I’m not done yet.”
“You’ve had long enough. We have work to do around here.”
I mumbled under my breath and opened the second drawer to continue packing. “God, you’re such an asshole, Inchworm.”
Apparently, I wasn’t very good at mumbling. Bickman’s face turned red, and he pointed toward the exit. “Out! Get out.”
I yanked the second drawer off the track and unceremoniously dumped the contents into my box. Then I did the same thing for two others and tossed the empty drawers onto the guest chairs on the other side of my desk. I grabbed the framed pictures that sat on my desk and my degree off the wall and jammed it all into the box.
The two uniformed security guards he’d summoned looked completely uncomfortable.
I smiled at one sadly. “I’ll leave so you don’t have to deal with this jerk.”
The guards followed me to the elevator bank and got into the car with me. Bickman at least had enough common sense to take a different elevator. Though when we stepped out on the lobby level, he exited the car next to us.
I shook my head and kept walking. “I think the two security guards are enough. You don’t need to escort me, Bickman.”
He kept his distance but followed behind, nonetheless. When I got to the main lobby area, there were a lot of people standing around. So I decided to go out with a bang. I stopped and turned around to face Bickman. Setting my heavy box on the floor in front of me, I pointed my finger at him and began to shout at the top of my lungs. “This man uses his position to try to take advantage of women. He just fired me and gave my job to some young girl because he thinks she might spread her legs to say thank you. I guess he isn’t familiar with the #MeToo movement.”
Bickman rushed forward and grabbed my elbow. I yanked it out of his hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
He took a few steps back when he realized people were watching and turned to scurry back to the elevator bank.
I needed to get the hell out of here before Security called the actual cops. So I took a deep, cleansing breath, lifted my box back up, and held my chin high as I marched toward the glass doors. Only…a man was walking directly in my path, heading right toward me with rapid, long strides. My steps faltered as I took in his face. His very pissed-off face.
“Keep your damn hands to yourself,” he barked over my shoulder at Bickman.
Mr. CEO.
Great. Just great. The first guy I’d met in months that I was actually a little interested in, and he had to walk into my building just as I was making a scene and acting like a crazy person. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Then again, it went with the rest of my shitty day.
The stress of the last few days must have gotten to me, and I cracked. I started laughing like a nutjob. At first it was a burst of laughter, but it turned into a snort, followed by a belly laugh that made me sound like I’d lost my mind. I tried to cover my mouth and stop, but my words came out between hysterics. “Of course I had to run into you here. I swear, I’m not really like this. It’s just been a really bad few days.”
CEO continued to stare over my shoulder. The look on his face was positively lethal—jaw tight, muscles flexing in his cheek, and his nostrils flaring like a bull’s. I turned to follow his line of sight and saw Bickman walking back toward us instead of away.
I sighed, knowing the scene wasn’t over yet, and shut my eyes. “I’ll understand why you don’t call me for lunch.”
The man’s eyes flickered to me, then Bickman, and then back to me once again. “Actually, I’d still love to take you to lunch. But I’m guessing you’re about to change your mind.”
Chapter 4
* * *
Grant
“Mr. Lexington, it’s so good to see you.”
Ireland’s head swung back and forth. If I’d had any doubt about whether she’d known who I was in the coffee shop earlier, the confusion on her face now confirmed she’d had no clue.
“Did he just call you…”
Bickman appeared at Ireland’s side, and I glared at him. “Give us a moment. I need to speak to Ms. Saint James.”
Ireland’s eyes lit up. “You son of a bitch. You knew who I was the entire time?”
Bickman was still standing behind her like I hadn’t just told him to beat it. “Did you not understand what I said?” I growled at him.
“Sorry, Mr. Lexington. Of course. I’ll go back up to my office. I’m on the eleventh floor if you need me.”
Yeah. You’ve done enough already. I told the security guards to go back to their posts and went to take the box from Ireland’s hands. “Let me hold that.”
She pulled it away from my reach. “You’re Grant Lexington?”
“I am.”
“And you knew who I was at the coffee shop?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“God, I gave my number to a liar. That’s worse than a s
erial killer.”
“I never lied to you.”
“Yes, but you neglected to mention the fact that you’re my boss’s boss’s boss.” The box she held started to slip, and she almost fumbled it. “Oh God. Our emails! We’ve exchanged emails, and you didn’t think it was relevant to mention who you were when you knew who I was?”
“I honestly didn’t know who you were when I first walked over to take the empty seat. But I would’ve mentioned it at lunch…”
She shook her head. “Lunch? Screw you. Better yet. Screw your whole damn company.”
Ireland walked around me and stalked toward the door.
“Ireland!” I called after her.
She kept walking. I probably needed my head examined, but watching her out Bickman and tell me off made my dick twitch. It was even better than the current view of her sexy ass as she tore out of my building.
I smiled and shook my head. Maybe we were both a little nuts. “So I’ll call you about our lunch date later then?” I yelled after her.
She raised a hand without looking back and gave me the finger.
I chuckled.
My gut told me it wouldn’t be the last time I saw Ireland, but for the moment, I had other pressing things to attend to.
***
“Mr. Lexington, it’s nice to see you. I’m sorry you had to witness the unfortunate events in the lobby. We had a disgruntled terminated employee who wanted to make a scene.”
A young woman popped her head into Bickman’s office. She didn’t immediately notice me since I was standing to the side of the doorway. “Can I go back into my office…” She spotted me and trailed off. “Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.”
“It’s fine,” I said with a nod.
Bickman made the introductions. “Siren, this is Grant Lexington. He’s the President and CEO of the company that owns our little station.”
“Oh. Wow,” she said.
I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Bickman puffed out his chest. “Siren’s just been promoted to on-air reporter.”
So this is the unqualified woman Ireland was going off about?
Bickman told the woman she could continue moving into her new office, and I watched his eyes drop to her ass when she turned around. Once she was out of earshot, I confirmed my suspicion.
“Is she Ms. Saint James’s replacement?”
The asshole looked proud. “Yes. She’s a graduate of Yale and…”
I cut him off. “How did you get ahold of Ms. Saint James’s vacation video?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do I need to speak more slowly? How. Did. You. Get. Ms. Saint James’s. Vacation. Video?”
“I…uhh…saw it on social media.”
I arched a brow. “On her public social media?”
“No, her private Instagram account.”
“So you’re friends on social media then? Since you can see things posted to her private accounts?”
“Yes. Well, not technically me. But I have access to an account she’s friends with.”
“Elaborate.” I was starting to lose my patience.
“I have some social media set up in an old employee’s name. A basic profile.”
“So you’re telling me you’re using someone else’s name to stalk all your employees’ private social media?”
Bickman tugged at the knot of his tie. “No. Just the troublesome ones.”
“The troublesome ones?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t need to tell me any more. Ireland hadn’t been exaggerating. This guy was really a piece of work. I walked to his desk, picked up the receiver to his phone, and pushed a few buttons. When Security answered, I said, “This is Grant Lexington. Can you please come up to the eleventh floor? I have a terminated employee you need to escort off the premises.”
When I hung up, Bickman still didn’t seem to get it.
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re fired. You have until Security gets up here to clean out your desk, which I’m pretty sure is more than the amount of time you afforded Ms. Saint James.”
The dumbass blinked a few times. “What?”
I leaned in and spoke slowly. “What part of you’re fired didn’t you understand?”
Bickman said something—though I don’t know what the hell it was, because I walked out of his office and went to the woman I assumed was his assistant based on where she sat.
“Are you Bickman’s assistant?”
The older woman looked nervous. “Yes.”
I looked down at the nameplate on her desk and extended my hand. I guess I really should’ve stopped by this building more often. Half the people didn’t even know who I was. “Hi, Carol. I’m Grant Lexington, the CEO of Lexington Industries, which owns this station. I work in our other offices across the street. Mr. Bickman is no longer with the company. Don’t worry about your job, though. It’s safe.”
“Okay…”
“Who covers for Bickman when he’s on vacation?”
“Umm… Well, Ireland used to.”
Great. “Well, who is the most senior person besides Ireland?”
“I guess that would be Mike Charles.”
“And where does he sit?”
Carol pointed to an office.
“Thank you.”
I spoke with Mike Charles and put him in charge, and then I watched as Security escorted a flustered Bickman out of the building. When I was done, I went back across the street.
Millie stood as I entered and followed me into my office, reading me a list of calls I’d missed and some other shit that went in one ear and out the other. I took off my jacket and rolled up my shirtsleeves.
“Can you please send an email to my sister to let her know I fired Harold Bickman in Broadcast Media? Mike Charles is going to hold the reins while things get sorted out over there.”
“Umm…sure. Though the last time you hired someone for Kate’s division, she wasn’t happy. She’ll probably be in your office within ten minutes once I call.”
I sat down and blew out a deep breath. “Good point. I’ll tell her myself. Ask Kate if she can come across to my office to talk.”
Millie eyed me over her notepad. “She’d probably like it if you went to her for a change…”
Millie was right. My sister definitely begrudged that she always had to come to me. “Good point. Tell her I’ll be coming over to talk to her in ten minutes.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Can you also send a messenger with an apology letter to Ireland Saint James? Tell her I’ve reviewed the circumstances surrounding her termination and to be back at work by Monday.”
Millie scribbled in her notebook. “Okay. I’ll get right on that.”
“Thank you.”
As she got to the door, I thought of something else. “Can you please add a dozen roses to go with the letter to Ms. Saint James?”
Millie’s brows drew together, but she rarely questioned my judgment, and she’d already commented on how my sister was going to react. So she scribbled more in her notebook and simply said, “Will do.”
***
The next afternoon, Millie walked into my office carrying a box of flowers. She looked nervous. My name was scribbled across the top of the box in red marker. “These came for you via messenger just now.”
I opened the long, white box and unwrapped the tissue paper. Inside were a dozen roses, but all the heads had been cut off the stems. A folded piece of stationery lay at the top. I picked it up and opened it.
Keep the flowers. I’ll need a fat raise if you want me back.
—Ireland
I laughed out loud. Millie looked at me like I was nuts.
“Can you please call Ms. Saint James? Tell her I don’t negotiate via messenger. Set up a lunch meeting for today at La Piazza at one o’clock.”
***
I looked at my watch. If it were anyone else, I’d have walked out the door by no
w. Yet fifteen minutes after my scheduled lunch, I was still sitting at the table alone, drinking a glass of water, when Ireland Saint James walked in. She looked around the restaurant, and the hostess pointed to where I was seated.
As she made her way toward me, she smiled. It caught me off guard when my heart started to pump faster. Unlike yesterday and in the clips I’d watched, today her hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail. It showcased her high cheekbones and full lips, focusing attention on just her face. Some women needed window dressing in the form of hair and makeup, but Ireland was even more beautiful without that shit. She had on a royal blue silk shirt and a pair of black slacks. The outfit was pretty conservative, yet she still managed to snag the eye of every man and woman as she made her way through the dining room.
I stood and tried not to let her see how much her appearance affected me. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry. I was early, but when I walked out to my car, my tire was flat. I had to grab an Uber.”
I extended my hand. “Please sit.”
Ireland took her seat, and the waiter came right over. “May I get you something to drink?”
I looked to Ireland. She smirked and unfolded her napkin. “I don’t usually drink during the day, but since I’m unemployed, not driving, and he’s paying, I’ll have a glass of merlot, please.”
I tried to contain my smile. “I’ll just have a sparkling water.” I glanced at Ireland. “Since I am gainfully employed.”
The waiter disappeared, and Ireland folded her hands in front of her on the table. Ordinarily, people deferred to me to lead the conversation, but this woman wasn’t ordinary.
“So,” she said. “I spoke to my attorney, and he says I have a case against your company for harassment, breach of contract, and emotional distress.”
I sat back into my chair. “Your attorney? And who might that be?”
“His name is Scott Marcum.”
I knew the name from her background investigation a few years back. He’d been her boyfriend at the time. I wondered if they were still together.
