The Dirty Series 1(47)

I just need a few months to do it.

Before I can start on those plans, however, I have to reschedule several thousand meetings for today.

I stretch my hands and bring up my calendar and email client, my mind buzzing with newfound motivation. This is the home stretch.

I can make it.





Chapter Thirty-Three





Jax



It’s a goddamn hellish day for business, so the last thing I need at 5:00 is a surprise.

Of course, that’s what I get.

The knock comes at my door right on time.

“Come in,” I call, the corners of my mouth already turning up into a smile I can’t suppress.

It drops off my mouth the instant the door swings open, because it’s not Cate who comes in with a wickedly sexy expression on her face.

It’s Sandra Sarzó.

Her expression is decidedly unsexy.

Sarzó’s dark hair is swept up meticulously behind her head, and she wears an outfit I’ve come to recognize over my time here: black, fitted, sharp. The pieces change from designer to designer, but the look never does. It must be why she likes Cate to do the same, although I’m almost sure that if Cate had the choice, she wouldn’t wear all black every day, no matter how fucking gorgeous she looks in that color.

“Mr. Hunter,” Sarzó says, crossing the office and coming to a stop in front of my desk.

“Ms. Sarzó,” I say, standing up.

What the hell is going on?

Maybe Sandra has found out about the arrangement between Cate and me. No, that’s unlikely. How would she find out unless Cate told her? An impossible scenario. Aside from that, I’ve been keeping our meetings short, playful…I don’t fuck her over the desk nearly as often.

I save that for the penthouse, where Cate’s been spending her nights.

She doesn’t keep me in suspense for very long.

“Would you like to sit down?” I ask her, but she plants her feet and straightens her back, shaking her head.

“I won’t be staying long. I’ve come to inform you that your daily meetings with Catherine will no longer be part of her schedule.”

More than anything, this confuses me. Why today? Why this Monday, with the second issue due to be released in less than three weeks? I don’t let a single flicker of emotion show on my face.

“And why is that, Ms. Sarzó?”

“I will require all of Catherine’s time for the foreseeable future.”

“Have you made changes to her duties?”

Sarzó pinches her lips together. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, Mr. Hunter.”

This time, I let her see a hint of irritation. “I don’t see how it isn’t. Basiqué is ultimately my publication, Ms. Sarzó—mine.”

She seems to get the idea that I’m not fucking around. Either that, or she reacted to my dominating tone the way many women—and men—do: by changing tactics.

“Perhaps I should have approached this from another angle,” Sarzó says thoughtfully, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “I’ve decided to make the next issue of Basiqué a double issue. It’s unprecedented in the magazine’s history and will make quite a splash. I have no doubt you’ll be pleased with the outcome.”

Aha. This is all stemming from the last direct conversation I had with Sandra Sarzó. I’d put the summary of the magazine’s numbers on the desk in front of her and questioned her mercilessly. When she saw them, she didn’t flinch. Those numbers had come as no surprise to her, but as I’m beginning to see, that doesn’t mean she’s given up on course-correcting.

“And,” she continues, “I’ve put several campaigns into place to drive readership and traffic to our website.”

“This kind of change to the editorial schedule is significant.”

It’s not a question, but she confirms it anyway. “Yes. Which is why I won’t be able to spare Catherine. I’ll need her to be available virtually around the clock if these efforts are going to be successful. I have no doubt she’ll rise to the challenge. Her work will be very demanding from here on out. I can’t see returning to our previous publication schedule if this issue succeeds…and I know it will.”

I nod, taking in every word.

My stomach churns with emotions I can’t sort out while Sarzó is standing in front of me. Disgust, for one: she seems not to care at all that Cate is putting her health on the line to excel at this job, and Sarzó is only going to ask her to do more. Cate won’t refuse. I’m anxious, and I fucking hate that flash of nervousness. It tells me I’m not in control, and as much as I think I’m willing to give that up—somewhat—in my love life, I won’t tolerate it in business.