Thank you for supplying your notes from the investor meeting. Your attention to detail and insightful commentary were illuminating. Please stop by my office when you have a moment.
Nick Hart
CEO, CFO Triada Tech
Illuminating? What the hell does that mean?
My heart drops like a stone, and my pulse, which is already elevated, skyrockets.
Never write anything down that you don’t want the whole world to know.
Shit. Did I send him the wrong file?
I wipe my palms on my thighs and slam the door on that line of thinking. It’s paranoia. It has to be. If I’d sent him the original, unedited version, the reaction would’ve been nuclear. Or perhaps nuclear winter, since this is Nick Hart we’re talking about.
Might as well get it over with.
I pull myself up to my full height—the way Gram does when she’s fixin’ to give someone a piece of her mind—and then I march right up to Nick’s door and knock.
His reply is instantaneous. “Come in.”
He’s seated behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer monitor when I enter. His brow is wrinkled and his lips are pressed flat, like he’s trying to work through a complicated problem.
“You—” I pause and clear my throat. “You wanted to see me?” He gestures to the pair of empty chairs opposite his desk. “Have a seat.”
My stomach clenches, a hard knot forming deep in my gut. I lower myself into the chair closest to the door—better for making a quick escape—and for a long moment, we just stare at each other.
His piercing gaze locks on mine and I press my lips together, determined to avoid a repeat of yesterday’s outburst.
Finally, Nick speaks. “I’ve got a project for you.”
“For me?” I ask, pointing to my chest. Miles has never given me a project before. He’s given me reports and notes, and even occasionally analysis, but never a project.
The prospect of taking on more responsibility and showing what I’m capable of?
Yes, please.
“My brothers and I reviewed the recommendations in the virtual suggestion box, and we found one we’d like to implement.” My pulse quickens, anticipation thrumming through my veins. “Triada is going to host a company-wide Valentine’s Day social. I’d like you to chair the planning committee.”
Me? Chair the planning committee?
My heart skips a beat and Isqueeat the top of my lungs—internally, of course.
They chose one of my suggestionsandthey want me to chair the committee?
Best. Day.Ever.
I’ve been anonymously stuffing the virtual suggestion box for weeks—because apparently the suggestions of an executive assistant don’t carry much weight—but as far as I know, they’ve never implemented a single idea. Until now.
So what changed?
Who cares? This is exactly what I need. It’ll tie in perfectly with my capstone project.
Nick leans forward, resting his muscular forearms on the desk. “Think you’re up to the challenge?”
“Yes, of course.” A broad smile stretches across my face. I’m probably beaming like the sun, but why shouldn’t I? This is a great opportunity. Things are finally going my way. “I’ll just need to clear it with Miles.”
“Already done.” He pauses. “There’s one other thing I should mention.”
