Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

Sliding the booklet across my desk, her fingertips splay against the white paper.

Breakfast is too damn right.

My eyes flick to blue nail polish, bright and reflective. She does adore the bright end of her colors, doesn’t she?

Those nimble fingers move quickly, too, flipping to the first page, then the second.

“I spent last night reviewing Just Vibing’s financials and traffic reports. I agree we might need to narrow our focus to follow the money in younger markets right now. The numbers don’t lie. But I think we can do that and still see a nice increase without resorting to a cross-linking scheme between both publications.” She catches her tongue between her teeth, making a soft sigh of distress. “Sorry. I’m just worried about linking to The Chicago Tea. It could actually negatively impact Just Vibing’s online presence. Search algorithms factor in reputations, and...well, linking to a site that’s flagged with a poor one could bury us. It’d be one step forward, two steps back.”

I frown, despite the fact that I’m listening.

She’s clear and firm and intelligent, yesterday’s stutter gone, her conviction ringing true in every word.

She’s also convinced that any association with my kingdom will slaughter this poor baby she’s just adopted, and she’s mighty determined to do anything she can to save it from yours truly.

If only she knew I don’t give two shits about ad revenue.

I’m not even in this for the celebrity gossip.

I have a bigger plan, and nothing will knock me off my path.

I take my sweet time, scanning each page, taking in the detailed projections and notes. A silence settles over us as I read and she sips her coffee nervously.

Miss Landry has a keen insight; there’s no denying it.

I see a few ideas that might—regardless of the outcome of this talk—be worth implementing.

I’m not dismissing her outright.

Still, that doesn’t mean I’ll change my mind.

“The problem,” I say as I reach the last page, “is that you misunderstand the concept of ‘reputation’ in this context. Site reputation has nothing to do with how you personally feel about the content we produce here at The Tea, Miss Landry. All Mr. Google cares about is people wanting what we deliver and that the site doesn’t threaten user data. We may be terrible, but we’re a verified internet presence with a broad audience. We drive a great deal of revenue on the legitimate platforms and pull in dollars for private advertisers.”

I pause, drinking in the desperate twitch of her jaw.

Goddamn, those lips of hers stab me between the eyes. I hate that I’m wondering what they’d feel like when they twitch with a desire to cut in.

I know what’s coming.

She wants to tell me it’s not like that.

I’m being unreasonable, and if I’d just listen, maybe she could keep my delicious tea out of Just Vibing’s innocent artsy cup.

Maybe I could give her baby a shred of self-respect.

Maybe I don’t have to be a tyrant.

She doesn’t understand.

I do. I am. And while I’m always open to new ideas, I don’t take orders from anyone—no matter how glaringly beautiful and whip-smart they might be.

“That, in our world, is as reputable as it comes, Miss Landry,” I continue, heading her off. “We drive massive amounts of clean traffic. The word you’re looking for, I think, is respectable.” I flick the last page of the leaflet and thump my fingers against the paper before I say, “Newsflash: profit margins don’t give a hot damn about respectability.”

She stares through me, silent as a ghost.

I smile thinly. “I appreciate your enthusiasm. Already the eager Girl Scout on your very first day. Merit badge for effort.”

Her eyes narrow into hateful slits.

“You’re such an asshole,” she spits.

“Another badge for honesty,” I bite off.

It’s hard not to laugh. I’m so used to being called ’asshole’ in a thousand variations it’s almost a comfortable nickname.

I honestly appreciate that she’s open enough to say it to my face, rather than mumbling it behind my back like most others.

I lean back in my chair, taking a pull off my coffee. It’s sweet, but nothing close to those pursed, sugarplum lips of hers.

“You’ve got the right attitude. You’re a headstrong young woman, which is why I think you’ll be suitable for this assignment,” I say slowly.

She almost stumbles when I call her headstrong, but visibly catches herself, watching me with wary suspicion.

“Assignment? What assignment?”

“Covering a charity music event. It’s a large affair being staged for the opening of the grand ballroom at the new Winthrope Hotel downtown.” I tap my fingers against the side of the mug, watching her thoughtfully. “I’d like you to attend personally on our behalf. Rub elbows with the industry moguls and famous singers who will blow your mind. You’re fresh-faced and honest, and not what they’ll expect. They’ll be more receptive to you than to someone else in my pool.”