Beautiful Bastard
Page 78
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, completely ruining the pathetic styling job he’d attempted, and my heart twisted at the familiar disarray. “I’m here to tell you that you are a f**king idiot for leaving Ryan Media.”
My jaw dropped at his tone, and a familiar surge of adrenaline heated my veins. “I was an idiot about a lot of things. Thanks for coming. Fun reunion.” I turned to leave.
“Wait,” he said, his voice low and demanding. Old instincts kicked in and I stopped, turning back to him. He’d taken a few steps closer. “We were both idiots, Chloe.”
“On that we agree. You’re right to say you worked hard to mentor me. I learned my idiocy from the biggest idiot of all. Any good stuff I learned from your father.”
That one seemed to hit home and he winced, taking a step back. I’d had a million emotions in the past few months: plenty of anger, some regret, frequent guilt, and a steady hum of self-righteous pride, but I realized what I’d just said wasn’t fair, and I immediately regretted it. He had pushed me, even if he didn’t always mean to, and for that I owed him something.
But as I stood in the cavernous room with him, the silence blooming and spreading like a plague between us, I realized what I’d been completely missing this entire time: he gave me the chance to work on the most important projects. He brought me along to every meeting. He made me write the critical reports, make the difficult calls, handle the delivery of the most sensitive accounting documents.
He’d mentored me—and it had mattered greatly to him.
I swallowed. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know. I can see it in your face.” He ran his hand across his mouth. “It’s partly true, though. I don’t deserve credit for how good you are. I suppose I want to take some of it anyway, being an egomaniac. But also because I find you truly inspiring.”
The lump that had started in my throat seemed to spread both down and out, clogging my ability to breathe, pressing down against my stomach. I reached for the chair nearest me, repeating, “Why are you here, Bennett?”
“Because if you mess this up, I will personally ensure you never work for a Fortune 500 again.”
That was not what I expected, and my anger reignited fresh and hot. “I’m not going to mess this up, you ass**le. I’m prepared.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I have your Papadakis slides here, and I have handouts here”—he held up a USB drive and a folder—“and if you don’t ace this presentation to that board, I will have your ass.”
There was no cocky grin, no intentional play on words. But behind what he said, something else began to echo.
Us. This is us.
“Whatever you have there isn’t mine.” I motioned to the drive. “I didn’t prepare the Papadakis slides. I left before I put them together.”
He nodded as if I was exceptionally slow. “The contracts were drafted for signature when you resigned. I put these slides together from all of your work. This is what you’re presenting today, not some marketing campaign for some shitty dog food.”
It was humiliating having him throw that back in my face, and I took a few steps closer. “Damn you, Bennett. I worked my ass off for you, and I worked my ass off for Julian. I will work my ass off wherever I go next—whether it’s selling pet food or brokering million-dollar campaigns—and I’ll be damned if you think you can come in here with this and tell me how to manage my career. You don’t control me.”
He walked closer. “I don’t want to control you.”
“Bullshit.”
“I want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, Chloe, you do. Take it. This is your work.” He was close enough to reach out and touch, and took one step closer. Close enough now for me to feel his body heat, smell the way his soap and skin combined into that familiar scent. “Please. You’ve earned this. It will impress the board more.”
A month ago, I’d wanted more than anything to present this account. It had been my life for months. It was mine. I could feel tears forming in my eyes and blinked them back.
“I don’t want to be beholden to you.”
“This isn’t a favor. It’s me paying you back. It’s me admitting I f**ked up. It’s me telling you that you’ve got one of the sharpest business minds I’ve ever known.” His eyes softened, his hand reaching out to push a strand of hair behind my shoulder. “You won’t be beholden to me. Unless you want to be . . . in a completely different way.”
He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, completely ruining the pathetic styling job he’d attempted, and my heart twisted at the familiar disarray. “I’m here to tell you that you are a f**king idiot for leaving Ryan Media.”
My jaw dropped at his tone, and a familiar surge of adrenaline heated my veins. “I was an idiot about a lot of things. Thanks for coming. Fun reunion.” I turned to leave.
“Wait,” he said, his voice low and demanding. Old instincts kicked in and I stopped, turning back to him. He’d taken a few steps closer. “We were both idiots, Chloe.”
“On that we agree. You’re right to say you worked hard to mentor me. I learned my idiocy from the biggest idiot of all. Any good stuff I learned from your father.”
That one seemed to hit home and he winced, taking a step back. I’d had a million emotions in the past few months: plenty of anger, some regret, frequent guilt, and a steady hum of self-righteous pride, but I realized what I’d just said wasn’t fair, and I immediately regretted it. He had pushed me, even if he didn’t always mean to, and for that I owed him something.
But as I stood in the cavernous room with him, the silence blooming and spreading like a plague between us, I realized what I’d been completely missing this entire time: he gave me the chance to work on the most important projects. He brought me along to every meeting. He made me write the critical reports, make the difficult calls, handle the delivery of the most sensitive accounting documents.
He’d mentored me—and it had mattered greatly to him.
I swallowed. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know. I can see it in your face.” He ran his hand across his mouth. “It’s partly true, though. I don’t deserve credit for how good you are. I suppose I want to take some of it anyway, being an egomaniac. But also because I find you truly inspiring.”
The lump that had started in my throat seemed to spread both down and out, clogging my ability to breathe, pressing down against my stomach. I reached for the chair nearest me, repeating, “Why are you here, Bennett?”
“Because if you mess this up, I will personally ensure you never work for a Fortune 500 again.”
That was not what I expected, and my anger reignited fresh and hot. “I’m not going to mess this up, you ass**le. I’m prepared.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I have your Papadakis slides here, and I have handouts here”—he held up a USB drive and a folder—“and if you don’t ace this presentation to that board, I will have your ass.”
There was no cocky grin, no intentional play on words. But behind what he said, something else began to echo.
Us. This is us.
“Whatever you have there isn’t mine.” I motioned to the drive. “I didn’t prepare the Papadakis slides. I left before I put them together.”
He nodded as if I was exceptionally slow. “The contracts were drafted for signature when you resigned. I put these slides together from all of your work. This is what you’re presenting today, not some marketing campaign for some shitty dog food.”
It was humiliating having him throw that back in my face, and I took a few steps closer. “Damn you, Bennett. I worked my ass off for you, and I worked my ass off for Julian. I will work my ass off wherever I go next—whether it’s selling pet food or brokering million-dollar campaigns—and I’ll be damned if you think you can come in here with this and tell me how to manage my career. You don’t control me.”
He walked closer. “I don’t want to control you.”
“Bullshit.”
“I want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, Chloe, you do. Take it. This is your work.” He was close enough to reach out and touch, and took one step closer. Close enough now for me to feel his body heat, smell the way his soap and skin combined into that familiar scent. “Please. You’ve earned this. It will impress the board more.”
A month ago, I’d wanted more than anything to present this account. It had been my life for months. It was mine. I could feel tears forming in my eyes and blinked them back.
“I don’t want to be beholden to you.”
“This isn’t a favor. It’s me paying you back. It’s me admitting I f**ked up. It’s me telling you that you’ve got one of the sharpest business minds I’ve ever known.” His eyes softened, his hand reaching out to push a strand of hair behind my shoulder. “You won’t be beholden to me. Unless you want to be . . . in a completely different way.”
