Before we leave for the office, Wren sends me into the bathroom to shave. I come out with only the hint of a stash. I think it’s pretty damn funny, but apparently she doesn’t. She forces me back in, makes me sit on the closed lid of the toilet, and finishes the job for me.
It’s hot and maybe a little scary to have an irritated woman wielding a razor close to my mouth. But she manages to do it without nicking me.
And as much I don’t want to admit it, I kind of appreciate that she’s pushy and doesn’t bow to me. So far, all anyone’s done at the office is kiss my ass, but not Wren. She happily dishes out the snark. I may not like my new job, or this city, or my family, but at least my handler is keeping me entertained.CHAPTER 8ADF EMERGENCYLINCOLNTwo weeks post-funeral, I’m beginning to settle into my new role. I’m not necessarily getting used to it or comfortable, but I’m starting to figure things out. I’ve done two very brief, very public news conferences. It wasn’t what I would consider fun, but I made it through without messing up. Wren seemed pleased with my ability to speak in public without saying something inappropriate, which is definitely a plus since it means she’s less up my ass about every single damn thing.
The learning curve is steep, though, and the volume of files I have to review is astronomical. Moorehead is a massive company that covers every conceivable type of media. The numbers I’ve been over so far tell me we’ve been paying out a lot of money for things that don’t appear to be remotely business-related. It’s not a surprise, but it means I have to figure out where all the money went and explain what appears to be hundreds of thousands in non-business related expenses to the board.
I’m reviewing files for one of our magazines prior to a meeting this afternoon to discuss moving from print to digital only—print sales are down by 50 percent, incidentally; the decrease in sales seems to correspond with the timeframe in which my brother screwed over his ex-wife at their wedding. Since the competition smartly scooped her up, the content has suffered and the sales have disintegrated while the competitors have quadrupled their online readership and doubled their print sales. Doesn’t seem like much of a coincidence. Obviously his ex’s replacement isn’t nearly as good at the job as she was. That and all the great content has shifted to our competition, where she now works.
I blow out a frustrated breath, resentful of the sunshine streaming through my office window. What I wouldn’t give for a little fresh air right about now. I loathe that I’m stuck twenty-seven floors in the air and that I can see the park from my window, taunting me. I’m also frustrated at the sheer amount of money that’s been spent protecting my brother’s disturbingly entitled, misogynistic ass.
I throw down my pen at the knock on my office door. I swear to God, if my assistant asks me one more time if I need another coffee, I’m going ban her from speaking to me directly. Or I can have Wren do it.
“What?” I snap.
Wren pops her head in my office. Speak of the devil. Or the angel. I’m on the fence. “Really?”
I lean back in my extremely comfortable chair, which cost five thousand dollars—I know because I looked it up in the expense budget—and fight a smile, ready for the tongue-lashing I’m about to get. Somewhere along the way, it’s turned into my favorite part of the day. “Really what?”
She closes the door and props her fist on her hip. “We’ve talked about this, Lincoln. You had no idea it was me behind that door. What if it had been a client?”
“All my client meetings are scheduled in my calendar, and they all have four million alerts set by you. I knew it wasn’t a client.”
She purses her red lips. That lipstick drives me up the wall. It’s always on. Always perfect. Always a distraction. And today, her dress is covered in huge flowers. A rainbow of colors. She’s like the sunshine cutting a bright line across my desk, melting the chocolate bar sitting on the corner. I should move that.
“Lincoln?”
Dammit. She was talking and I missed it. Probably chewing me out about something. “Huh?”
Her nostrils flare, and those impeccably shaped brows draw together. “Did you hear a thing I said, or did you tune me out like you do everyone else?”
“I don’t tune everyone out.” That’s not entirely true. I tune a lot of people out. I’m not used to having to pretend I care about someone’s five-million-dollar campaign for lace underwear that costs more for a single pair than my monthly grocery budget, and how we can help them advertise. There are more important things in this world than panties. I think even Wren would agree with me on that.