Bang (Club Deep #3)

“Vivian!”

I jump as he shouts my name, gripping the folder tighter to my chest. Mr. Lamant is in the conference room across the hall, and I hate making him wait almost as much as I hate thinking about what he’s going to say when he sees this presentation.

“Hurry up, Vivian. Bring everything.” His tone allows no further delays. I have to go to him. Normally, I revel in his presence. Although I don’t think he’s ever really paid me any attention, I always dare to dream that he will.

My hands tremble and my legs are nearly as shaky as I enter the meeting. The people surrounding the table are the most important at the company and from the client. They’re intimidating on a good day. Today is not even close to being one of my good days. It’s more like the second worst of my adult life, and that’s only because the first and worst day was a public breakup when I was expecting a proposal.

Mr. Lamant stands when he sees me enter, and he’s already glaring as he storms my way. His first name, Kodiche, earned him the nickname “the Kodiak” for his size and demeanor. Rough, bordering on uncouth when he’s not trying to charm someone, I’m the only one of his father’s administrative staff he didn’t fire when he took over three years ago, and I have no idea why. I stare up at him, trying to steady myself to keep me from cringing away. He’s easily a foot taller than I am, intimidating as hell.

“Vivian,” he whispers. “What the hell is wrong with you? You were late again . . . And you flaked out on yesterday’s staff meeting. You were supposed to have this presentation at the table before anyone arrived.”

I start to answer him, trying to find the words, when he grabs the papers from my hands. The soaked paper tears in my grasp, leaving me with a handful of his presentation. Everyone freezes, staring at us, and Mr. Lamant gapes. The disbelief in his eyes cuts me to the bone. “It was an accident, Mr. Lamant. I didn’t—”

His expression silences me. “Leave right now, Vivian.” His voice is calm, icy. It would be better if he yelled.

His hand is hot on my shoulder as he directs me back out into the hall, and I’m still looking up at him when he shuts the door in my face. His disappointment in me is palpable. Yeah, definitely worse than just being fired outright. I could have taken his anger; the disappointment settles into my chest and lodges there like a festering wound.

I go back to my office and try to think of what I can do to make this better. If I hurry, I can find all the files and reprint them . . . I am halfway through printing the presentation when the door opens. Panicking, I try to hurry the little printer on my desk, tugging at the current page as it emerges. With a groan of the gears, the page jerks free, the last lines smeared. Fuck!

All fifteen of the attendees cut past me, faces stony. There are no easy smiles and jokes. I try to give the client a wavering, nervous smile, but the raised eyebrow and shake of his head are enough to dismiss me.

Mr. Lamant is vibrating with barely restrained rage. His eyes, so dark brown they’re almost black, flash with anger when they meet mine. “My office, now.”

I leave the papers on my desk and run after him.

The way he’s leaning back against his desk makes him take up even more room. His legs are spread, showing the muscles stretching the fabric on his thighs, and someone not so desperate for this job would be interested in him as more than a boss. “You just lost me an extremely important client.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lamant. I've already started printing new copies. I can contact the client—”

“No,” he interrupts. “They didn’t want to wait for the presentation, and why the hell should they?” His tongue is like a razor, slicing me with every word. “They’re busy multi-millionaires who came to me because they know that I’m the best. They don’t have time for fuck ups. And you know what? Neither do I.”

My heart punches my ribs until I go numb.

He says, “I needed you to do one little thing . . . and you couldn't. You didn't.” He closes his eyes and sighs before going around the desk. He dwarfs the monstrosity when he sits down behind it.

I know he’s getting ready to fire me. I can’t let that happen. “Don’t fire me. Please don’t. I need this job.” Blinking back sudden tears, I waver closer to his desk. There’s so much riding on me keeping this position. I need the money, and little else in this city would pay anywhere near what I make here.