Chapter 5

The conference room on the twenty-fourth floor seems huge, but maybe it’s just the people involved. I mean, there are only six people here, and the table’s no bigger than the team meetings I would have on Bill’s team.

But the power in this room means a lot, and the view out the windows... I know I’m being silly, but I swear that at any moment, a cloud’s going to come drifting by and a bird’s going to roost on the little antenna sticking out below the window. I think that’s a cellphone point, but my tech knowledge is in using the system, not designing it.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” the man at the front, a handsome, broad-shouldered guy with slightly wavy black hair and a chin that would make a cowboy proud, says.

He’s got startling blue eyes and teeth so white I wonder who makes his bleaching product. Still, the thousand-dollar suit he’s wearing, and the fact that he’s put his tablet at the head of the table, tells me he’s somebody.

“Let’s go ahead and get started, shall we? For those of you who don’t know me, my name’s Randall Towlee, Vice President of Mamp;A here at Goldstone. Since some of you might be new to this sort of format, let’s go around and do introductions. Just your name, your department, and your specialty.”

The other five are all from different departments in Goldstone. One’s an accountant, another is in real estate, while there’s a lawyer and finally, a contracts specialist. They all seem okay. Nobody’s breathing fire, at least.

Last of all, it’s my turn, and I do my best to not fidget as I fight the urge to scratch my neck and shift my thighs in the unfamiliar ‘professional’ pencil skirt I’ve got on.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Mia Karakova. Uhm, I’ve spent the past few years working with Bill Radcliffe’s team down on the third floor, though I house in the basement.”

Shit. Why did I say that? They probably know about the weirdo girl in the dungeon. Shake it off.

“I’m a data analyst. Most of the time, I do metadata trendspotting, but Bill likes to call me Sherlock.” I smile like it’s a funny joke, but no one laughs.

Short, but not too short. Nothing too embarrassing. Okay, first hurdle passed.

“Nice to have you with us,” Randall says, flashing me a smile. “Everyone, I was the one who asked Mia to join the team. I’ve had the chance to read her reports and analyses for the past few quarters, and she really is a trend detective. And we’ve been handed a corker of a problem.”

Janice, the accountant who’s been looking at Randall like she wants to eat him alive, cock first, gives me an appraising look. There’s some frost, and maybe a touch of aggression.

Okay, well... she can have him. I don’t want drama, and Randall doesn’t do anything for me.

“What is the problem, Randall?” Janice asks. “It must be some sort of Mamp;A issue if you’re leading the charge, although nobody matches wits quite like you, so it could be anything.”

Oh. My. God. She’s laying it on thick.

Randall beams at her praise. “Actually, Mr. Goldstone is looking at expanding into the healthcare field and you’ve each been selected to help us address any issues with this new direction before he proceeds.”

“If you don’t mind,” Danny, the lawyer, asks, “where is Mr. Goldstone?”

“Busy, but he told me this morning that he’ll stop in,” Randall says, his picture-perfect smile not dimming in the least. He launches into the details as he hands out a short document with the bare bones on the deal.

It’s stupid and petty, but just another thing I don’t like. He’s got a tablet, this room has a giant freakin’ display screen, and we’ve all got email. Did he really have to kill the trees to hand out a document he could have shown us digitally? It’s the twenty-first century, for fuck’s sake.

“So, bottom line,” Randall says, reaching the end of his ten-minute speech, “Mr. Goldstone wants to buy a hospital. I’m sending you each an email now.”

He clicks around on his tablet, and I hold back my smirk that he could’ve just done that in the first place. Redundancy, meet Randall.

“I’ve included the list of hospitals in the area that could be targets. We’re not looking at launching a whole project from scratch. That’s just not happening here. All the hospitals are in the PNW area, and it’s going to be your job to research them. Figure out how we could get control of each of them, what the financial outlays are, projections on growth, things like that. Feed all your results through Mia. She’s going to be meta on this, but Mia, I want you sharing your analysis back out. We double-check everything around here, got it?”

I nod. That’s something I expected. “Got it.”

“Good,” Randall says, clearly aiming his attention back at me. “Okay, everyone, let’s scatter, and you know the deal. Noses, grindstones, and all that.”

The five of us get up, heading for the door, when I hear Randall say, “Mia, if you’ll hang behind a moment?”

Janice gives me a look, but I can’t tell her out loud that I’m not trying to run clitorference on whatever game she’s got with Randall. And she doesn’t seem to get the message I’m sending with my eyes.

Randall is shuffling his papers, and I stand by the window, admiring the view for a moment and hoping that Randall isn’t about to kick me off the team already.

It isn’t until I’m turned around that I remember that this skirt’s a little tight through my hips and I’m definitely giving him a show. I turn back around, crossing my arms over my chest and looking down.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Towlee?”

“Two things. First, I know what it’s like to be on your first action team here at Goldstone,” Randall says, mostly sounding like a nice guy, but I didn’t miss the way his eyes shot upward when I turned around. “You’re going to be nervous, and I know you’re probably not used to other people checking your work.”

I shrug. “I do work alone, but I’m sure someone does check whatever I send up. Bill usually, but others too. I’m just probably not the best at verbally explaining it because most people hear ‘data analysis’ and instantly get bored.”

“Okay. You do your data magic, and I’ll handle the talking,” Randall reassures me, standing up. “I’m pretty good at speaking tech, and I promise that you’ll get your name on the report.”

I nod, not really saying anything. I expected my name to be known if I am on the team and doing the work, so it’s not like he’s offering something I wasn’t already entitled to.

“Also,” Randall says, lowering his voice and stepping a little closer, “if you’d like—”

“Towlee!”

The name booms through the air so loud I swear that whoever said it is actually in the room, but it’s not until two seconds later that the door opens and my breath catches.

It’s the first time I’ve seen Thomas Goldstone in the flesh. And the PR photos don’t do him justice.

Rich brown hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that blaze with green fire, lit from within with an intelligence and intensity that take my breath away. And that’s just from the neck up. His shirt looks custom-tailored over an upper body that I’m pretty sure is carved from granite, almost to the point of looking like a superhero in disguise, Bruce Wayne in the boardroom.

Even his suit looks absolutely perfectly tailored to fit his body, or maybe he just has the perfect body for suits. I can’t tell, and I know something about suits.

But Thomas himself... he’s just that powerful. He’s magnetic, a man with his own pull and charisma that might be able to overpower the force of gravity if he so desires. Though he’s only one man entering the room, it suddenly feels infinitely smaller with his aura pressing in against mine.

“Thomas,” Randall says, clearing his throat and stepping back like he just got his hand caught in the cookie jar. “How can I help you?”

“What is this garbage you sent me about the Yakima project? I told you to give me a detailed analysis of their advertising budget usage over the last decade.”

For the next three minutes, I stand to the side, trying to stay small while I watch in fear and fascination as Thomas Goldstone performs an absolute verbal castration on Randall Towlee. It’s an exercise in utter mastery of the English language.

He never curses.

He never gets personal.

Other than his initial name callout, his voice never even rises.

He just carves the document apart with a tongue like a scalpel, pointing out half a dozen places where the report didn’t meet his standards.

It’s totally professional... and totally emasculating. By the end, Randall, who was John Wayne in the group meeting, looks like a little kid wearing cowboy boots with his diaper as Thomas flips the report dismissively onto the table.

“Get me a proper analysis,” Thomas finishes up. His eyes for the first time glance over at me. He looks me up and down but doesn’t say a word, and then he walks out.

In the silence, I look at Randall, who’s trying to gather together the last tattered remnants of his manhood that are left after Thomas just finished slicing, dicing, and feeding them to him by the handful.

“So that’s what we call being put on blast,” Randall says with a weak, watery laugh.

“And everyone has to handle things like... like that?” I ask, wondering how I’d react if Mr. Goldstone really put me on blast. Would I wilt like a flower in the face of an August windstorm, or would I find the strength to stand my ground?

Randall somehow laughs again, already recovering from Mr. Goldstone’s onslaught. “That? That wasn’t even that bad. You’ll learn soon enough. You’ve got a lot of work to do and a short timeline to do it in. Welcome to the team.”

“Thank you,” I reply as Randall walks out, leaving me alone in the conference room.

In the suddenly empty space, I can’t help but think about what I just saw, think about Thomas Goldstone. My knees shake a bit as I catch the slightest whiff of his cologne. It smells powerful and impressive, just like the man. And I feel fear... and arousal? Yes, that uncomfortable clenching in my gut isn’t my belly, but decidedly lower.

Fear . . . and arousal.