Then he smiles.
The jackass actually smiles. Like the grumpy act from three seconds ago was part of some screwball Willy Wonka scheme to see if I’d fess up to my evil deeds.
“I— I’m sorry,” I stammer, scrambling for an explanation. One that doesn’t include the phraseentitled prick. “I can explain.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
I shake my head, trying to clear away the haze of panic, because surely I heard him wrong.
“Help me ensure the Valentine’s social is a smashing success and I’ll forget all about your little notes.”
My muscles lock up. “Are you blackmailing me?”
That’s got to be a new low, even for him.
He snorts. “I’d hardly call it blackmail. More like a bargaining chip in a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Mutually beneficial my ass. I cross my arms and glare at him across the desk.
“I get help planning the ridiculous Valentine’s social some smartass put in the suggestion box from hell, and you get to add project leadership to your résumé. It’s a win-win.”
I chew my bottom lip, considering. If Nick doesn’t like Valentine’s Day, and he’s not a fan of the suggestion box, he certainly won’t be thrilled to hear this was my idea. Or that it’s directly related to my capstone project.
So don’t tell him.
Could I do that? Conduct my research and complete my analysis without approval?
It’s not like Professor Donnelly expects a signed permission slip.
And what’s the worst that can happen? I’m not working up some nefarious plan. It’s just a school project. One I’ll happily share, if, at the end of four weeks, I have something worth sharing. Besides, I can’t exactly refuse the committee assignment if Miles approved it.
Really, it’s just a melding of priorities.
Working efficiently.
What’s the cliché? Work smarter, not harder? No doubt I’ll be facing an uphill battle if Nick finds out I’m the one responsible for his new pet project.
Hard pass.
That settles it. For the next four weeks I’ll paste a smile on my face and help Nick plan the best damn Valentine’s social in Austin, and when I’m done, I’ll have real results to share, supporting my recommendation to add an Organizational Behavior Specialist to the Triada org chart.
After all, what Nick Hart doesn’t know won’t hurt him—or me.
Chapter Eight
Nick
Scarlett stares at me from the other side of the table, unblinking. It’s Monday afternoon and we’re having our first meeting to discuss the Valentine’s Day social. Judging by the intense look of discomfort on her face, it’s going to be a long one.
I don’t know why she’s looking at me like that—well, yes, I do—but this wasn’t my brilliant idea. Hell, I don’t want to be here any more than she does. The sooner I can prove her wrong, the sooner we can both move on with our lives.
Narcissist indeed.
“Thanks for scheduling the meeting.” I clear my throat, which has gone bone dry in the face of her scrutiny. “And for volunteering to chair the committee.”
A sardonic smile curves her lips, and I brace myself for impact. “Technically, I was voluntold.” She looks around the conference room, one brow arched in what could either be contempt or concern. “Speaking of committees, shouldn’t there be more than two of us?”
“We’re just planning a party.” I shrug. “How hard can it be?”
