“You don’t have to do that.” I smile.
“Babe, what else am I going to do? Being at home for more than two days drives me crazy and tomorrow is my last day at work. We can work out a few recipes over good wine.”
I smile, grateful for my new friend, and turn my attention to Rebecca. “What are you doing for Christmas Day again Beck?”
“I’ll be refereeing fights with my dysfunctional family.” She sighs.
We smile as she continues.
“You know, you would think that when your parents get divorced the shit show stops. But no . . . they get new fuckwit partners and you get to have a double shit show with whipped cream and extra topping.”
We all chuckle.
Daniel raises his glass and we both touch it with ours. “To Christmas, the ultimate shit show.”
“To Christmas.”
It’s just gone 11 a.m. and I sit down at my desk with a cup of coffee. My email pings.
Elliot Miles.
Hello Kathryn,
I’d like a meeting with the ITM team please.
All of you in my office in thirty minutes.
Elliot.
“Shoot.” I get up and walk into the office next to mine. “Bob, did you just get the email from Elliot?”
Bob looks up from his computer. “I haven’t checked, hang on.” He opens his email and scrunches up his nose. “Yep.” His eyes come back to me. “You think it’s about the internet crash last week?”
“Of course it is.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not in the mood for this today.”
Bob exhales heavily and then Joel pops his head around the doorjamb. “Did you two get the email?”
“Yep.”
We all stare at each other for a moment. When you get a private email invitation to Elliot Miles’s office, it isn’t for a tea party and cake.
You are about to get in deep shit.
“If he starts on me today, I’m telling him to stick it,” Bob snaps.
“Stick what, exactly,” Joel teases.
“His stupid fucking job up his stupid fucking ass,” Bob replies.
“Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” Joel replies. “You know the drill, just let Kate do the talking.”
Bob nods in agreement.
Wimps.
Great . . . just what I need.
Half an hour later we arrive at the top floor. “Hello.” Courtney smiles. “Just go in, he’s expecting you.”
Bob, Joel, and I exchange glances.
“Great.” I fake a smile, we walk through, and I drop my shoulders and steel myself for his onslaught.
Elliot Miles is a lot of things; weak is not one of those.
Bob knocks on the door. “Come in,” the deep voice calls.
“Fuck this,” Joel whispers.
I smile—it’s actually hilarious how scared the boys are of him.
We walk in to find Elliot sitting behind his desk. He sits back and raises his chin to the sky and I instantly know that stance.
He’s not mad, he’s raging fucking angry.
“You wanted to see us,” I ask.
He points to the conference table with his pen. “Let’s sit over there.”
I exhale.
I hate that fucking table.
He stands and undoes his suit jacket with one hand—he’s wearing a navy suit and a fitted crisp white shirt—takes his jacket off and throws it over the back of his chair, his tight behind on display. As he stands I can see the muscles flex in his shoulder as he pulls his chair out.
Great, just what I need to see—suit porn.
His dark hair is hanging over his forehead and his eyes are a brilliant blue. It would really help my cause if he got a little uglier.
“I want to talk to you about the internet outage last week.” He slaps the printed report on the table in front of us. I’m instantly pulled out of my daydream.
Focus.
“I thought you might,” I mutter under my breath.
“Explain it to me,” he says.
I open my mouth to speak.
“Not you. Joel,” he interrupts.
Joel and Bob exchange nervous glances.
“Well, we had to upload a new system into our admin site and to do this we needed to add a new WAP code.”
Elliot picks up his pen and holds it in his hand as he listens.
“What we didn’t realize was, that when we added the new WAP code it was going to completely override the system for the entire building.”
“Why didn’t you realize that?” Elliot stares at him blankly.
Joel shrugs.
“Isn’t it what I pay you for? An IT expert to stop an impending disaster before it comes to fruition.”
Joel goes to open his mouth and then shuts it again; his eyes flick to me for reassurance and I give him a stifled smile.
“Don’t look at Kathryn, look at me. Who specifically out of you three uploaded the system?”
“I approved it,” I reply.
“That’s not what I asked,” Elliot replies sharply. “Who uploaded this system?”
Fuck’s sake.
“I did,” Bob whispers.
Elliot sits back in his chair, and glares at Bob. “Tell me . . . Bob.” He sneers. “How many Miles Media employees are in this building?”
Bob swallows the lump in his throat. “Around two thousand, sir.”