“Will do,” Mark says, standing up. They leave, Mark and Brandon nearly fleeing my office while Shaun looks nervous as he walks out. After they leave, I look to Billy and Ricky, who sets his phone aside, and I see that he was faking it the whole time. He was paying attention.

  Of course he was.

  “That was weird, right?” Ricky says. “Seriously, they were like cats in a room full of dogs.”

  Billy nods. “Looked like they were going to piss themselves, and I was just finishing up the next level on my sudoku game.”

  I shake my head, tapping my finger on the contract. “I don’t like it. Something’s up with them. Or the contract. Or the company.”

  Ricky sits forward, instantly alert. “What do you want us to do?”

  Billy’s right there with him, his elbows on his knees. “We’re on it.”

  People underestimate Ricky and Billy, thinking them nothing more than big buffoons I hired because of nepotism. But as they showed with their knowledge of Tiffany, they’re capable and insightful and use people’s perceptions of them to their benefit.

  They don’t simply follow me around in case some would-be attacker jumps out of the bushes. Or do runs to the corner store to get my groceries. Not errand boys, not bodyguards, they’re friends, confidants, and a key to my business success.

  “Something’s been bothering me about this deal, but I don’t know what it is,” I tell them. “I’ve been over the contract and data dozens of times, and it should be a slam dunk, even with this patent percentage change, but my gut is saying no.” That perks them up because as much as I trust them, they trust my instincts too. “Do some digging into the company, especially ownership. Be discreet. And . . . find out what you can about Mark and Brandon. Just to be sure. I don’t like how squirrely they were being.”

  With new marching orders, they get up to leave. At the door, they pause and look back. “You sure you’re good for the night?” Billy asks.

  Ricky backhands his brother. “Don’t question our good luck, asshole. I’m hanging with Miranda and not running tonight. It’s like Christmas Eve already.”

  Billy glares at Ricky before turning back to me with a sigh. “We can do weights if you need a workout.”

  I smile, shaking my head. “I’m good, guys. I’ve got . . . plans . . . already. I’ll see you tomorrow unless you find out something.”

  Chapter 18

  Tiffany

  “Good morning. Thank you for calling Fox Industries. How can I direct your call?”

  “They’re on the third floor. I’ll call to have someone come down and meet you.”

  “Okay, just get me that package by two, okay?”

  It’s a typical morning at Fox Industries, and down here, we’re working hard. I’ve got Megan and Stephanie directing the occasional traffic that comes in and juggling the phones while I handle the intra-office communications.

  The surge we’re in dies down after a long stretch, and Steph and Megan look over at me. We have matching wide eyes of holy hell, what was that? I take a breath to settle my own racing heart, and Steph and Megan take deep breaths of their own. “Well, that was fun.”

  “I can’t believe Accounting ordered three dozen vegan, gluten-free cookies. Why bother? Just have a carrot and call it good,” Stephanie jokes.

  Megan grimaces. “It’s not the cookies, it’s that they didn’t give us a heads up about the delivery! And then they expect us to stop everything and escort the cookie guy upstairs.” She throws her hands wide, indicating that we’re way too busy to play chaperone.

  “They came down, didn’t they? I saw Liana coming in like a wrecking ball.”

  Steph snorts. “Yeah, she thought she was gonna give us a piece of her mind, but one glare from sweetness over there” —she points at Megan, who has a reputation as the ‘do anything for anyone’ type— “and Liana realized she’d better keep her mouth shut and go. If the nice one is about to suffocate you with your own five-dollar-apiece cookie, this petty bitch right here will make sure you only eat cookies through a straw for the rest of your days. Slurrrp.” Steph slides her hair behind her ear sassily. “I am not the one to mess with.”

  She’s venting, not actually threatening Liana, so I don’t go MegaManager on her. Liana is a bit of a Karen-in-training, anyway, so I might be inclined to take an unscheduled potty break if Steph did need to draw some boundaries with the woman.

  “Incoming,” Megan warns.

  Shit. Maybe I’m gonna have to test my loyalty to Steph, after all. I look up, expecting to see Liana heel stomping her way over. But it’s worse . . . so much worse.

  “Arnold?” My eyes instinctively flick to the clock as I wonder just how much time did pass during that busy rush. But no, I’m not wrong. “You’re early.”

  Okay, maybe Steph and I are two peas in a pod because it’s more accusation than observation.

  “Priority delivery,” Arnold says, pulling out a two-inch-thick envelope. “Sign.” No manners, no small talk, and dry as can be. He’s like oatmeal that hasn’t even had water added yet and definitely has no goodies like honey or cinnamon.

  I sign and take the envelope, which flops slightly like it’s got papers inside. He reaches for his electronic signature doohickey, but I hold it hostage.

  “Arnold, are we your favorite stop on your route?” I ask. “You know, to drop your packages off?”

  What the fuck, Tiff? Stephanie glares at me. You did not just ask Arnold about his packages! Megan is kinder, giving me a look that’s more bewilderment than Stephanie’s savage disbelief.

  Arnold must have no sense of humor—or social skills—because his eyebrows knit like a sweater and he frowns. “Favorite? Don’t have one.” The very idea sounds foreign, and I imagine his brain repeating the word . . . favorite, fav-o-rite, favor-ite?

  I pout, a gesture that would normally reduce a man to a blubbering pile of jelly. I really am just having fun, and to be honest, seeing if I can get past Arnold’s no-nonsense armor. “I’ll do my best to not be offended. Because we both know you’ll be excited to come back to see us again this afternoon for pickup.”

  Arnold shrugs. “As long as you have everything ready.”

  It’s clipped, but I can sense a tiny amount of softening. Maybe I’m finally making progress to getting on his good side? If he has one.

  Switching gears, I try a smile. “Hey, do you feed the dogs on your route? I saw that on TikTok but wasn’t sure you’re the dog-loving type. You seem like more a cat man to me.”

  “No, dogs usually try to bite me. I hate cats too.”

  Lovely. Why am I not surprised? But at least that was some personal insight and two entire sentences.

  Not giving up, I suggest, “Maybe you should try giving them treats? And then they might like you. ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you’ is a thing for a reason.”

  Arnold scoffs, unswayed by my logic. “Not using my own dime to feed mangy mutts.”

  Dude, who hates dogs that much? I bet five minutes at Ace’s daycare and he’d be singing a different tune. Or maybe he’d end up a pack appetizer if he’s right about dogs biting him. They know things, can sense people’s hearts. Or if they don’t have one in the empty cavern of their chest. Ahem, talking about you, Arnold.

  “Well, I guess that’s smart. Save that money for the rabies shots. I hear those are suuuper easy and not painful at all.”

  Megan and Stephanie hum in agreement, probably relieved to see my normal prickly side with Arnold come back to the fore.

  “Sounds like worker’s comp to me,” he says grumpily, and I can tell that he’s given the idea some actual thought. “Paid vacation.”

  He starts jogging in place, clearly ready to be out of here.

  “A vacation is always a good thing, I guess,” I say dumbly because I don’t think recovering from a dog bite and taking shots are my idea of a vacation at all. I’d prefer sand, sun, and an agenda filled with exciting things like ‘sleep in late’ and ‘nap on the beach’.

  “Yep. Any other dumb questions?”

  Guess I’m not making progress after all.

  I shake my head, barely suppressing a sigh. “No, just making conversation. Being friendly, you know?”

  He huffs and eye rolls, grabbing the signature tablet from my hands before swish-swish speed walking out, his safety toe shoes slapping on the tile at a rapid-fire pace. “I’m late for my next delivery because of you.”

  The accusation is harsh, and while not exactly surprising, it’s definitely overkill, so as soon as the door closes behind him, the three of us break into fits of laughter.

  “What the hell was that?” Stephanie asks me. “You got a thing for Arnie the Asshole now?”

  “No!” I protest, wheezing from laughing so hard. “I thought he might not be such a hardass if we were on better terms. Guess that backfired!”

  “I’m late because of you,” Stephanie mimics, stomping her feet on the floor in a mix of a tantrummy toddler and Arnold speedwalking.

  “Hmmph,” Megan adds, crossing her arms poutily, also imitating Arnold.

  I’m glad to see Megan engaging a bit too. She needs a tiny smidge of corrupting so she’s not all sweetness and light and rice cake bland. It’ll help her move up the ranks professionally to have a bit of edge so she can stand up to people who’d take advantage, AKA Liana.

  “Gotta get these packages delivered, dur-dur-dur.” My own parody of Arnold is supplemented with a derpy face and swinging arms.

  “It’s always important to see how seriously a man takes his packag . . . es,” Stephanie says, delaying her ‘es’ until Megan’s blushing furiously. “Don’t you agree, Megan?”

  “Uhm, well, speaking of packages,” Megan says before wincing at how that sounds. She grabs for the envelope, holding it up to clarify that’s what she meant. “It’s for Brandon in acquisitions. I’ll take it up.”

  “No way,” Stephanie argues, yanking the envelope for herself. “If you go up there, Liana is gonna annihilate you while you’re flying solo. I’m not sending my girl up there without backup. I’ll do it.”

  I steal the envelope from Stephanie. “And I’m not sending you up there to do the annihilating. I know your games.”

  Stephanie feigns shock, as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but when I raise an arched brow and glare, she gives in. “Fine.”

  “Good,” I tell them both, glad that’s settled. “Need to stretch my legs anyway. Sitting on my ass isn’t good for me.”

  “If that’s what ‘not good’ is, Boss,” Stephanie says, “sign me up!”

  I laugh at the compliment and try to see what they mean, but I’m not an owl. No matter how much I twist and turn, my ass is firmly staying behind me. After a few failed attempts, I decide to stop trying to dislocate my vertebra and wave the envelope around before heading upstairs. And yes, I take the stairs. They’re good for my ass and my mind after the doozy of a morning.

  It’s always an interesting challenge to get around the upper floors.

  Each department in the Fox Industries building has its own vibe, some more light-hearted and some more dry and staid. Some of them nearly have a stick up their ass, and some are damn close to ‘Friday night party’ even at ten A.M. on Tuesday morning.

  Like public relations discusses the nuances of language and how words appeal to people’s emotions on a philosophical level. Luckily, they mostly use their powers for good, doing things like drafting press releases that make Fox seem at times, on the forefront of the future of tech, and at others, a traditions-based, trustworthy company of the past. All with the turn of a phrase. For someone like me, whose brain to mouth filter gets gummed up with curse words and the unsoftened truth, I bite my tongue to stay silent when I’m around that group.

  Legal is surprisingly laid back, not the stuffy suits you’d expect, largely because of their leadership’s assured guidance and experience with all things business oriented. I think they can be a little Machiavellian sometimes, but they’re protecting Fox’s ass, which in turn covers mine, so I guess a bit of evil genius is warranted.

  Acquisitions is another beast entirely, different from any other department in the building. There’s a sense of competitiveness in the air that reeks of testosterone and smelling salts. They compete with each other to bring the best potential options for takeovers and negotiate the deals in Fox’s favor, and they compete within the industry to get those smaller business owners to choose Fox over other capital options.

  They lie, cheat, and steal to keep Fox growing. Not in a character flaw way but in a ‘business is dog-eat-dog’, cutthroat way. It’s something I don’t comprehend and don’t seek to understand. Just walking into their area feels like entering a lion’s den, the danger making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and my fight or flight instincts rankle into readiness. For flight? Probably not. As anyone who knows me would tell you, I’m more the fight first, ask questions later sort, and when push comes to shove, I’ll shove you right down the stairs and step over your prone body.

  Or I’d like to think so, at least.

  Acquisitions has a big dry erase marker board on one wall with numbers and stock symbols and several team members' names with bulleted lists underneath. I’m not sure if that’s their to-do assignments or brags on what they’ve accomplished. Both are equally likely, but the bragging option is more distasteful to me. Do you need to put your name on the board for head pats and accolades?

  But all that runs out of my mind as I walk down the hall and come up on one dark office and hear a hissed voice whispering from inside, “Baaabe, you can’t call me at work like this.”

  I recognize Mark’s voice instantly because he is one of the people who says hello every morning without fail. Never one to turn away from hot gossip, I freeze before sliding backward out of sight. If he’s calling whoever is on the other end of the line ‘babe’, he must be talking to his female friend, the same one who calls for Brandon. I have a moment of guilt at not telling them, but it’s truly not my place.

  Still, I can’t help but listen even though I’m only able to hear one side of the conversation. I mean, I’ve been playing operator on both of their booty calls, it seems. I need to know.

  Mark clears his throat. “I know. I miss you too.”

  He sounds whiny, and I’m not sure why anyone would find that attractive. I mean, I guess it takes all types, considering the number of categories there are on porn websites. But it’s definitely not for me.

  Mark goes quiet for a moment, presumably listening to the woman on the other end of the phone. I can’t hear what she says, of course, but the whiny tone is replaced with frustration as he says, “Of course I understand, but we’re gonna get busted if we talk while I’m here.”

  Now this is interesting. Does he mean busted by Brandon?

  If so, holy shit!

  Maybe Mark does know that they’re both talking to the same woman, which takes him from idiot to slimeball. Has he never heard of the bro code? Don’t date your bro’s sister, mom, or girlfriend.

  That’s like Rule Numero Uno.

  What about your friend’s dad? a voice questions in my head.

  That’s different, I tell myself haughtily.

  Sure, it is.

  Either way, whoever this girl is, she’s got Mark’s balls in her purse for sure. And not in the ‘teasing Ricky about Miranda’ way, but literally. “It’s just a little bit longer, only until this deal is done. And then we can be together openly, Layla. Can you wait just a teensy-weensy bit? It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

  I lift a brow at Mark’s confidence that he’s going to win Layla’s heart over Brandon. Neither of them is my type, but I think if I had a gun held to my head for a round of Would You Rather?, I’d go with Brandon every time. He’s less . . . Mark.

  “That’s my good girl.”

  Blech. My usually nonexistent gag reflex—it’s a developed skill that I’m hoping to put to further practice soon—activates, and I have to swallow hard to keep from puking at the praise.

  In the dark room, Mark makes a humming sound. “Okay, we’ll talk soon. You should have the contract this week, and then we’ll be set, babe. Mmm-hmm. You too.”

  He makes smoochy noises into the phone that warn me the call is about to end, and I realize that I need to move my ass or I’m going to get busted eavesdropping. Turning left, I make a quick loop through the cubicle jungle before getting down the right aisle to Brandon’s cubicle.

  “Knock, knock,” I say, rapping on the metal frame of the cubicle’s opening. “How’s it going?”

  “Can I help you? he sneers, even as his eyes drip down my body and climb back up to meet my eyes. It’s the most demeaning thing I think I’ve been subjected to all week. It’s a rare ability to make me feel both objectified and like a bothersome gnat at the same time, and I’m fighting the urge to filet him with a snappy comeback that’d leave him bloody on the floor.

  Okay, maybe I would do Brandon before Mark by the tiniest of margins. But if it were just me and them and we had to repopulate the world . . . well, we had a nice run. But the dinos died out too, so I’d call it the Circle of Life and welcome extinction by wandering off to enjoy my last days alone in peace and quiet.

  And here I was, this close to telling him what I just heard, potentially saving him a bit of embarrassing drama, but his attitude evaporates any goodwill I might’ve felt for the man.

  I imagine telling him, “The Guinness Book of World Records is downstairs. They said they wanted to put you on the cover for being the biggest dick with the littlest dick in history. Should I tell them you’re available?”

  Even imagining that scenario, complete with his gaping maw of shock at being called on his shittiness, helps me control my tongue. I plaster the most obviously saccharin smile I can manage on my face, fully intending it to be more threatening than congenial.

  “You had an envelope delivered,” I tell him, pulling out the FedEx package. “Just bringing it up.”