you want me to go back for more abuse?”
Her ego was still smarting from the earlier encounter. All the polished words she’d practiced in the car on her way to the Sojourner building had been reduced to her gaping outside an elevator when she came face-to-face with the man. But, considering the face in question, who could blame her?
Not a fan of conflict, Brad fidgeted, his pale blue eyes nervous. Now that she thought about it, even though his looks were classically handsome, his coloring, from his eyes to his platinum-blond hair, was all pale, not at all warm and vibrant like—
She snapped the thought in half like a dry twig.
“Uh…Sheryl, sweetie, did you just growl?”
She winced, but blasting Brad for the unprofessional endearment probably wasn’t the best way to reassure him she wasn’t rabid. “Course not. Cleared my throat.” She did so now for emphasis. Ahem, ahem, hack, hack, hack. See? Sick, not psychotic. “I may be coming down with a cold or something.”
“I could have Iris order you some chicken soup from the deli for lunch,” he volunteered, concern in his gaze.
With a shake of her head, Sheryl reflected that he really was a nice guy. “That’s all right.” Sensing an opportunity to escape before he ordered her into a second round with Nathan Hall, she stood. “I have some cough drops in my desk and—”
“I’ve got some right here.” He pulled open the slanted top drawer of his hybrid architecture/science-fair project and passed her a handful of honey-eucalyptus drops. “You just help yourself, and we can finish discussing this.”
It had been worth a try.
She sat with a thud. “Brad, you hired me because you said you needed me, needed the advice that I and others have to give you. You’re a brilliant man, but everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, and you pay us to balance yours out. So, please consider my advice when I tell you—”
“I considered your advice yesterday, Sheryl, when we had this same conversation. But we need this man to be our friend.”
“It doesn’t work that way! He doesn’t want to befriend us, and we don’t ‘need’ him, he’s just one guy. Let’s focus on—”
“Just one guy! I can’t believe my public relations person just blew off a journalist with a direct pipeline to the public’s opinion. You’re a helluva lot smarter than that, so why are you being so stubborn about this, Sheryl?”
Because about two minutes before he introduced himself and subsequently kicked me out of the office, I was thinking I wouldn’t kick him out of bed?
Hardly a professional answer, and she had other objections, too, dammit, she just couldn’t remember them all right now. The entire time she and Brad were dating, she’d wished he’d develop a bit more of a backbone. She was proud of him for doing so, but did he have to pick now to do it?
“Well. You are the boss,” she finally conceded.
“I’m so glad somebody remembered,” he said. “I think you all see me as a little boy playing executive, but this is my company, you know?”
“I know.” She glanced down guiltily, remembering the virtual shack in which he’d started his business four years ago and how far he’d already come—how far he’d taken all of them—with his ideas. There had been a time when the tiny company was so informal, it had been more like a club, and while that briefly had been fun, an enjoyable work atmosphere, she was proud of all they’d done to make Hammond Gaming Software the “real” business it was now.
Though she wasn’t yet being paid a third of the salary Brad had said he envisioned for her future, no one else would have hired a woman with her limited experience for a position at this level. With a few notable exceptions, most of Brad’s employees were young, well-trained, eager executives who wouldn’t be able to find their current levels of autonomy elsewhere. The trade-off was that Brad had only recently begun to afford anything close to equitable salaries—luckily, the majority of his young execs didn’t have families to support.
But he’d offered them a piece of his vision, combining their collective business acumen with his software smarts and wide-eyed optimism. He wanted to give them all a shot at the big time, and until a fantasy writer from Colorado with an obscure Web site had filed a lawsuit, Brad’s master plan had seemed to be running smoothly.
She sighed. “What do you want me to do? Just say the word.”
“Make sure Nathan comes to our office Christmas party a week from tomorrow,” he insisted, sitting back in his ergonomic chair. “I want him to get to know us, see we’re good people.”
If only life were that simple. “I can ask him, but I can’t guarantee he’ll attend.”
“Unless he already has plans he can’t or won’t get out of, why wouldn’t he? He writes for a paper, and I’m essentially offering him an opportunity to spend time with HGS personnel and investigate. Why turn that down?”
And if one of their personnel inadvertently said something that got taken out of context on the front page? “Will you at least run the idea by Mark for his legal opinion and…” She trailed off since Brad was already shaking his head.
“I respect your opinion, Sheryl, you know that, and Mark’s, too, but I’ve made up my mind on this.”
“All right.” If she wasn’t going to win this, she might as well lose gracefully. “I’ll go see Nathan again.”
“Make an appointment this time,” Brad advised, blue eyes twinkling. “You’ll probably get further.”
Her cheeks flooded with stinging warmth, and she felt compelled to defend herself. “I had a strategy—”
“We don’t want to look like calculating people with a strategy. We want to look like exactly what we are—open and honest with nothing to hide. Once he realizes that, Nathan Hall is bound to see things from our point of view.”
She recalled Nathan’s vehemence when he’d informed her he wouldn’t retract a word and would continue to write about Hammond for the foreseeable future. See things from their point of view? Well, Christmas was the season of miracles, so she supposed she’d just have to make one.
SHERYL PAUSED in her conversation to Meka just long enough to sip the criminally overpriced movie-concession cola she’d bought. She would’ve ordered popcorn, too, but that would probably require a cosigned loan. Above, the theater lights were still lit, and various pre-movie advertisements flashed across the screen. Tyler was meeting them here, and he still had a few minutes before showtime.
Replacing her cup in its plastic holder, she leaned back in her padded chair, concluding her rundown of today’s meeting with Brad and his newest plan of action for handling Nathan Hall. “I know I’ve said dozens of times that if Brad is going to run his own company, he needs to be more assertive—”
“But you didn’t really mean more assertive with you.” Meka’s smile was knowing.
“Exactly. So am I a big hypocrite?”
“Not so much hypocritical as frustrated by the whole situation,” her friend said, absolving her. “But I have just the thing to
