I curse myself for not having a taxi number programmed into my phone. To be fair, though, I hadn’t been worried about showing up late to work in the basement archives.
Another bus pulls up before I can call a taxi. I step on and cross my fingers that the driver can still get me to work on time.
Nope.
He stops at every bus stop, and he chats with people getting on and off.
I want to strangle him, but he’s so nice.
Finally, I get to my stop a block from work.
I run as fast as I can in my new high heels. They’re hot pink, and they make my legs look amazing, but they’re not for running.
Breathless, I get through security and into the elevator.
It’s a slow ride up to the ninth floor to report to Stephanie. It’s ten minutes past nine. The meeting’s probably already started.
The short woman with gray hair comes out of an office. She blinks up at me through her thick glasses.
“You’re late,” she says.
I open my mouth to apologize, but stop. Damn it! Am I supposed to apologize, or what? I’m so confused by all the rules here.
The woman shoos me back into the elevator. “Never mind. Go up to ten, and hang a left. Go into the board room. Undo that top button on your blouse and nobody will mind that you’re late.”
I undo the top button of my blouse, my hand shaking.
The elevator takes me up.
Ignoring the brown-haired receptionist to the right, I go left and enter the glass-walled board room.
There are about a dozen people sitting around a big, glass table. The room is very bright. The people are a mix of men and women, young and older.
Where am I supposed to sit?
I scan the faces of the women. Maggie Clark is here, looking at the open laptop in front of her. Her platinum blonde hair is round and puffy like a lion’s mane. She doesn’t even look up at me, but everyone else turns to stare.
My heart sinks. Stephanie isn’t here. I’m on my own.
“Jessica Lynn Rivera,” says a man. He pushes his chair back and stands.
I blink at him, my heart pounding and trying to leap out of my chest.
I thought I was here to flirt with some guy named Brandon.
So, why am I looking into the dangerously dark brown eyes of Dylan Wolf?
Chapter 14
“Nice to see you again, Jessica,” Dylan says.
“I like your earring.” He’s wearing a silver stud in one ear. I guess that’s my new thing—complimenting jewelry.
“How’s the internship going?”
“Great!” I give him the thumbs up sign.
Everybody around the table looks at me funny. Yes, I’ve made quite the entrance. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me.
Dylan clears his throat and sits back down in his chair.
I tear my eyes away from him and look again for a seat.
The vice president of Morris Music, Maggie Clark, flicks her attention up at me. Her eye twitches. She slides her chair to the side and points to a lone chair sitting in the corner. She snaps her fingers.
I jolt into action. I grab the corner chair and squeeze myself in next to her. She’s wearing another leopard print suit, and her icy blue stare is freaking me out.
It’s not just Maggie who’s staring. The other women around the glass board room table are looking at me like tigers might look at an injured gazelle. Crossing my arms, I try not to imagine these women ripping me to shreds.
I glance down at my chest. Great. The tops of my breasts are visible. My pink blouse is probably setting off their Slut Detectors.
Looking up again, I try to apologize with my eyes. Honestly, I wanted to get a job on the marketing floor. Or even do administration work. I didn’t want to be promoted to Meeting Slut, I swear!
The guy on the other side of Maggie Clark starts talking.
He says to Dylan, “We’ve got a thirty-nine point marketing strategy. The domestic market is key, but we won’t overlook international. Morris has serious contacts overseas. Preliminary testing shows a strong interest in you from Asia. We’d do different packaging, of course.”
The guy keeps talking, spewing out numbers. I try to focus on what he’s saying, but I’m being distracted.
Dylan Wolf is a powerful presence at the head of the long table. The way he keeps staring at me is more than distracting. With that gleam in his eyes, he’s practically kidnapping me.
Oh, and what a pleasant escape that would be. If only Dylan would push back from the table, stand up, and actually kidnap me. Then I wouldn’t have to sit here in this low-cut pink blouse. I don’t even like pink.
Looking around the table, I see that several people are typing on laptops. The ones who aren’t typing are taking notes on paper. I clasp my hands together on my lap.
Why didn’t I think to bring something? They’d all laugh if they saw my laptop, held together with duct tape, but I could have brought a pen and paper.