“Yes, really. You should see some of the crap that was submitted. It was a total waste of time.” And brainpower. Though I like to think some submissions were jokes. Surely no one actually expected us to put a skate ramp in the lobby.
Our insurance would go through the roof.
“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” she asks, adjusting her glasses.
“Maybe.” I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and bring up the survey app. After all, the whole point of this exercise is to prove that I’m not a complete jackass. “But why don’t you be the judge?”
Chapter Seventeen
Scarlett
Yes, please.Excitement sparks low in my belly at the prospect of proving Nick wrong. He’s being dramatic—as usual. I know for a fact that not all the submissions in the suggestion box are terrible because I proposed a half dozen ideas myself.
But if he wants to hash them out here and now, I’m all in. This will be great for my capstone project and maybe, with a little luck, I can convince him that some ideas he’s written off have actual merit.
I wiggle my fingers in anout with itgesture. “Hit me.”
He grins, the right side of his mouth curving upward in a devilish smile that should be illegal. I mean, how is it fair he gets to be rich as sinanda walking thirst trap? It really should be one or the other, if only to give the rest of us poor slobs a chance.
“Let’s see,” he says, scrolling through the responses. “So far, it’s been suggested that we replace the balance ball chairs with plastic dinosaur chairs, build a skate ramp in the lobby, install tanning beds in the break room—” He pauses and looks up at me, probably so I can see how hard he’s rolling his eyes. “Which doesn’t even make sense because if we were going to invest in tanning beds, we’d just put them in the fitness center, right?”
“One would think,” I agree, cringing internally. He wasn’t kidding. These ideas really are terrible. Despite the chill night air, my palms begin to sweat. I can’t defend a single one of these suggestions, not without sounding like a twit. But I know there are better ones. There have to be unless he deleted all of my suggestions. “What else have you got?”
“Oh, this one’s my personal favorite.” He snickers. “Add a pool to the fitness center and hold bikini Fridays during the summer.”
“Shut up.” I reach for the phone. “It does not say that.”
I refuse to believe Triada would hire someone who thinks bikini Fridays should be a thing. We’re in tech, for crying out loud. We’re supposed to be working with the best and brightest.
Book smarts and common sense are not the same thing.
And the suggestion box proves it.
“Oh, I assure you it does.” He flips the phone around, and sure enough, it’s right there between buying virtual reality helmets for team meetings and covering jail time with FMLA.
“Okay, fine. That’s obviously not going to happen, but there have to be some good ones, too,” I say, hating the wheedling tone of my voice. “Surely that can’t be all of them?”
Desperate much?
Yes, yes I am. And I’m not ashamed to admit it—to myself, anyway.
He goes back to scrolling, and I can’t decide if he’s looking for good suggestions or if he’s searching for more evidence that there are at least a handful of Triada employees seriously lacking common sense. And good taste.
“You know,” I say, hopping to my feet and moving around the table to sit next to him on the bench. “Those comment spaces are tiny. It’s like you don’t even want people to give feedback.”
Technically, that’s probably true, but he’ll never admit it.
“If you made the comment spaces larger, people could provide rationale for their suggestions.”
Nick turns to me, probably to cite all the reasons he disagrees, but his thigh brushes up against mine and he just…freezes.
Shit. What was I thinking sitting so close to him? I should have kept my ass on the other side of the table like a normal person. This isn’t a date. It’s a business dinner.
At a taco truck?
Abso-freaking-lutely. Even if my stupid body missed the memo.
My pulse quickens and I lick my lips, trying to think of something witty to say, but when our eyes meet, I’ve got nothing.
