What Maxi Needs (Leave Your Shoes On 3)

What the hell was happening down there?

“So I was wondering,” Einstein cut into her mental mania. “Would it be all right if I just dove in? I can show you and the team the in-depth analysis I’ve pulled together at Ms. Kay’s request for review and discussion this morning. Coupled with the strategic initiatives—low-hanging fruit, if you will—that I’ve identified to temporarily pick up our assembly pace while terms are negotiated to eliminate the necessity for a strike and improve our overall performance with the current staff we have in place. And then, of course, how we’ll strengthen functional operations for the long haul.”

Maxi stared at him. Blinked a few times. “Analysis. Initiatives. Fruit…?”

“Sure.” He gave a half-grin this time that only lifted one corner of his very tempting mouth and competed with his voice for the ultimate definition of sexy. “Might as well get a jump start on the problem, eh?”

She fought a lusty sigh. Slowly said, “Agreed.”

“Great!” Avril chimed in and made another move for the Mission Statement folders.

Maxi’s pulse spiked—for an entirely different reason than sexual tension—and she gave a sharp shake of her head. Avril caught on quickly and, with her foot, discreetly shoved the box under the table and out of sight.

Phew. Good save.

Maxi had almost pulled a career-slaughtering Jerry Maguire move.

Her recap provided no in-depth analysis, strategic initiatives, blah, blah, blah. She hadn’t gotten that far yet.

But Einstein had?

He was already reaching into his oversized laptop bag and dragging out his own presentation binders. Thick packets that he started passing out as he told the group, “You’ll see from the comparison I’ve done of five shoe companies on par with the size of Staci Kay, as well as three with a slightly smaller employee base and market outreach, and three with a bit larger number of employees and wider outreach, that our production is significantly inferior to the comps I’ve used for the purpose of this assessment.”

“That’s because we’re understaffed at the moment,” Maxi pointed out, maintaining her position of authority at the front of the room. Forcing herself out of her dreamy state. She allowed other emotions to chase away the sizzle down her spine brought on by Tall, Dark, and Brainy.

She felt a touch territorial of her division and not exactly thrilled that Einstein was taking over with his two inches of documentation and colorful charts, which she could see from where she stood as the others shared the copies he’d brought and hastily flipped through the pages.

“Actually, we’re not,” Dr. Donovan countered. At her perplexed look, he added, “I’ll explain. You see—” He turned to Avril, still standing by Maxi’s chair. “You must be the division’s assistant.”

“She’s my executive assistant,” Maxi corrected.

“My apologies,” he said to Avril. He joined her and offered his hand. They shook.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Donovan.”

“Please, call me Ryan.” He flashed his engaging grin, which made Avril smile prettily in return. Maxi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. His accent and contradictory rugged-and-refined looks were getting the best of Avril as well.

Einstein said, “I see there’s a projection system in this room. Would it be possible to plug in my thumb drive so I can bring up some visual aids?”

He even had a PowerPoint presentation?

Maxi fought the gape.

Who is this guy?

Obviously finding Einstein charming—as Maxi had suspected—Avril eagerly said, “Certainly, Ryan. That’s no problem at all.”

Traitor!

Maxi scowled.

While she attempted to get her wits about her, Mr. PhD whipped out his tiny external storage drive from his bag and gave it over to Avril for her to load. He set his bag alongside Maxi’s chair and then crossed the room in wide, confident strides. With a flourish, he pushed open the floor-to-ceiling doors that housed the projection screen, as though he were unveiling the newest USS Enterprise. His slide deck came up and Avril offered him the wireless mouse with a laser pointer. Which he used!

The little red dot homed in on several components of a multilayered peaking and plummeting chart as he told everyone, “I calculated Staci Kay assembly and shipping, laid it against our closest competitors’ numbers, and discovered that we’re only operating at a production rate of forty-two-point-three-nine-five percent.”

“Once again,” Maxi stated with measured patience, “that’s because we currently have a reduction in staff, with so many walking out when demand for our product substantially increased.”

“Actually, Ms. Shayne,” he said in a conspiratorial tone that brought the sizzle back full-force, “I ran these figures based on production six months ago, long before our staff began its mass exodus.”