Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1) - Page 6

Right then, it didn’t matter.

Right then, Raelynn’s plan sounded damn good.

Finishing off my glass, I leaned forward.

Her lips tipped in a slow smile, knowing she’d won me over. A thrill of excitement shot down my spine, washing away any fear that this would have drastic consequences.

I didn’t care.

I’d blame it on the champagne.

“Okay. Let’s make a plan.”ThreeNico“How many interviews do we have today?” I asked, already tired despite not having even started.

My assistant, Ryan, flipped through his stack of papers until he found what he was looking for. “Five.”

My body sank into the plush leather of my chair. “Jesus,” I muttered, dragging a hand over my face. “Remind me why I’m doing these again?”

Ryan cocked a brow and gave me his signature deadpanned stare he reserved just for me. We’d worked together almost longer than anyone, making him the only employee to be able to get away with it.

“Because you’re a control freak who likes to micromanage even though you always regret how much it adds to your plate.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“Well, then, just keep the coffee coming all day.”

“Will do.” He made it to the door before stopping with one last thing. “Also, a Joseph Andrews called while you were away. I left a note with the papers, but it seemed important.”

“Thank you, Ryan.”

If possible, I sank even lower in my seat, tired down to my bones. Digging through the papers, I pulled out the sticky note that had the number I was all too familiar with scrawled across it.

Joseph was one of the attendees at the assisted living center my grandfather lived at. I hated having him there, but he was beyond living on his own. Old age had crept up on him faster than it should have because of stress—unnecessary stress. I stuck the post-it to the edge of my computer, so I remembered to call at lunch. If it had been urgent, he would have reached out to me on my cell phone.

Either way, I needed to get back to Charleston. I’d been in New York for an entire week, and already the cramped city bore down on me. It was too loud, too busy, too…people-y. However, each year, my time in New York increased. What started as a third of the year was now turning into two-thirds of the year in New York. It was bittersweet, to say the least.

But work needed to be done. The New York office was growing faster than I’d anticipated, pulling in larger projects each week, and I needed more assistance to cover the workload. It wasn’t a terrible problem to have. It was exactly what I’d been working for since I graduated over ten years ago. I’d worked tirelessly even through college to dig this company—my family’s company—out of the rubble it’d been left in.

My grandfather and father had done their best, but outside sources played dirty when my family didn’t, and it left us falling behind.

I wouldn’t let it happen to me. I played fair—for the most part—but I also played smarter, harder. I had patience and a plan, and with that, I’d outwit the competition who’d cheated to the top.

Which was why I micromanaged as Ryan accused. This company—this plan—meant more to me than anything, and I’d do whatever it took to succeed. Even if it meant tirelessly interviewing each candidate myself.

I’d needed five new employees. Three were already filled, leaving two to go. Maybe today would be the day a competent candidate would come in and blow my mind, allowing me to leave this city and go back to the warm, open air of Charleston.

My cell phone vibrated, and Xander’s name crossed the screen.

“Hey, asshole,” I greeted my friend from college.

“I saw I missed your call earlier. What’s up? Need another shell company?”

Xander worked in computer technology and could create an entire world to look real on the internet from nothing. He was a genius, and I utilized every talent to my cause—my revenge.

“Maybe I just missed your voice.”

“Oh, yeah. You like that,” he said in his deep baritone like Barry White.

“Tell Nicholas I said hi,” his wife shouted from the background.

“Maggie says, hi.”

“Shouldn’t she be worried to find you talking like that on the phone?”

“Nah, I only talk to you like that. I use a different voice with her.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

We both laughed before he sobered and asked again what I had called for earlier.

“I just wanted to check up on any new information you gathered. More stocks are coming up on the market, and I want to make sure I’m prepared for all possibilities.”

“You know I would call you if I had anything. So far, all is quiet.”

“Yeah, it’s just been a while since I could acquire new stocks. I’m antsy.”

“Have you tried calling up one of your black-book-ladies?”

Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance
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