“Sounds good, Charlie,” the man said, and I raised my coffee in acknowledgement before returning to the elevator. I was only a little disappointed that there wasn’t any development work for me to do–the whiteboards and diagrams and discussions were the fun part of the job, the part I loved. Figuring out where the problem was, then coming up with a plan to fix it, then implementing the fix… It was satisfying. There was a sense of accomplishment, and when it was shared by the team, that was even better.
Yeah, yeah, it’s lonely at the top, I thought with a wry twist of my lips as I stepped off the elevator again at the top floor. Despite the disappointing lack of distractions, I did, in fact, have my own work to do–and the silence of a Sunday afternoon was much more conducive to thinking than the constant interruptions I faced every Monday morning. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. As it turned out, being founder-slash-CEO of a tech unicorn meant a lot of meetings. Doubly so when one’s company was in the middle of preparing for an IPO.
It’s the obvious next step, I reminded myself as my computer screen lit up with the familiar blue glow that was probably ruining my eyes and my circadian rhythm alike.A publicly traded company…
Everyone knew the publishing house my brother had inherited from our grandfather when he passed away, and everyone knew the story, too: the old man had built an empire from a single bookshop, dedicated it all to his wife Vera, the love of his life…
And then given it to James.
Fewer people knew that Verity Publishing had struggled to stay afloat under James’s apathetic, indifferent leadership, that it had taken the encouragement of a second woman–his now-wife, Edie–for him to truly step into the role of CEO and owner of the multi-billion-dollar company he had found himself soburdenedwith. Then Verity had published Edie’s scandalously semi-autobiographical romance novel, and there was a second love story indelibly, publicly attached to the Verity Publishing name.
I sat forward in my desk chair, clicking into my emails. The onlyromancinggoing on at my company was between me and our potential investors. Well, and maybe the new intern and his anime body pillow. I shook my head. Someone would have to talk to him about that. It sure as hell wouldn’t be me.
And that’s why people don’t take you seriously, Charlie, I thought, as I scrolled through the latest financial reports from Ryan, his explanation of the numbers, what they meant to the company’s bottom line, what they meant to the investors. I knew how my brother, our friends, the rest of our acquaintances saw me: the younger Martin brother, who liked computers. Who happened to make a success of himself, doing what he would have been doing anyway.Good for him.
Yes, good for me.
They’d see justhowgood when all their accountants and wealth managers were buying stock in my company.
I smiled, staring at Ryan’s email. The numbers it contained were undeniable.
He’d be getting a fat bonus this year.
Almost as fat as mine.
Sure, I missed the hands-on work of a half-dozen years ago. The chaos of being in the trenches at a startup.
Then again… thereweresome good things about being CEO.
CHAPTER8
Samantha
My place or yours?
The email landed in my inbox Friday afternoon:We need to meet to discuss the launch. I’m available ~6pm M-Th.
My place or yours?
Alone in my office, I rolled my eyes and sighed. I’d half thought I wouldn’t hear from him, that he and Elena would go ahead and plan the thing without me. It would save me the trouble, honestly. When the email popped up, subject line LIT LAUNCH, I’d double checked it was from him, and not one of the school contacts. It was, and really him, too, not his secretary. I frowned. Men like my father had secretaries. Startup billionaires didn’t, I was pretty sure. They hadPAs to send their emails and pick up their dry cleaning.Did PAs fulfillallthe duties of a secretary?I wondered, my dark mood growing darker.
If they did, Charlie wouldn’t be asking me to adinnermeeting at hishome, I decided.My place or yours.Did he really expect me to fall for that? Not likely.
But I had. First at nineteen, and then again at thirty-four. I glowered.Neveragain.
“Lunch, Ms. Scott?”
I looked up from the annoying email to the doorway, currently framing the friendly face of Ava, our office manager.
I checked my watch. It was far past lunch time.
“I can’t,” I said. “I have to get through…” I dropped my hand heavily on the tall stack of brown paper envelopes on my desk, assessing. “At least ten submissions before I take a break.” And I’d spent a quarter of an hour already staring at Charlie’s irritating email.
“More romances?”
I nodded, and she cringed. “Sorry.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “Ilikeromance.” My voice was a little firmer than I intended.
