And neither will Business Nikki.
I press the emergency stop button, then take a step closer to Tanner. I’m not enjoying the proximity, but I deliberately put myself in his personal space. The sneer fades, and he actually looks a little uncomfortable.
“Do you have a problem?” I ask, ignoring the bell that’s now ringing at annoyingly regular intervals.
His lips thin, and he pales a bit under the tan. For a second I think that this is it. I’ve made my point and won the alpha dog title.
Then he opens his mouth, and I see his color return. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re my problem.”
I force myself to stay where I’m standing. At least now it’s out in the open. “Me? You mean working together?”
“Working together? Together? Is that what you call it?”
“At the moment, no,” I admit. “I don’t think this is working at all.”
“We’re not working together,” he says, making air quotes with his fingers. “You’re my fucking boss now.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I am. And I suggest you think before you talk to me like that.” Seriously, what the hell is this guy’s problem?
“This was supposed to be my job. I worked this encryption package since day one. I know it inside and out. And I’ve proven to Bruce over and over again that I can head up a team. Then what happens? Some privileged little bitch decides she wants to work for pin money, and suddenly I’m booted back downstairs.”
“Pin money?” I repeat. “What century are you living in?”
“What’s the matter? Get bored with spending your boyfriend’s money? Thought you’d come here and shake things up? Do you know how many calls Cindy’s had to field? Dozens of calls from reporters who just want to know if you really work here. It’s a fucking waste of her time.”
The tempo of my pulse kicks up and I feel beads of sweat rise in my cleavage. How the hell would the press know that I work here? And why won’t they back the hell off? Even with Damien Stark in my life, I am just not that interesting.
On the upside, Tanner’s enigmatic “flavor of the month” comment makes more sense.
“And you know what really chaps my ass?” he asks, then continues without waiting for an answer. “The fact that you’re here just because the boss wants to make his wife happy.”
Now my head really is spinning. I haven’t got a clue what Giselle has to do with this, but at this point, I’m done playing games.
I reach over and start the elevator up again, then turn back to him once it lurches into motion. “This job requires a certain amount of finesse. An ability to communicate with clients and the public. And most of all a talent for smiling at people that you’d much rather spit on.” I flash my brightest Social Nikki smile at him. “Tanner,” I say. “I don’t think this position is for you.”
We reach the lobby, and the doors open. I step out, leaving him to follow. I am the one in charge here, and he can damn well deal with it. I may not have a handle on everything he’s just said, but I know enough to know that if I don’t take control now, he’ll do whatever he can to snatch it from me.
As we head through the lobby toward the exit, I see a poised-looking Asian woman sitting at a table outside the cafeteria. She’s reading what looks to be a stock report, and in the brief instant when she flips a page, her eyes lift and catch mine. I’ve never seen her before, but something in her poised, confident manner inspires me. This is my job, and I got it on merit, not because of Damien, and certainly not because of Giselle. I’m in charge here, and I’m damn well going to prove it.
I march to the exit and burst through the doors—and half a second later, my bright, shiny bubble of self-assurance pops as six paparazzi with flashing cameras and rising voices rush toward us from where they were apparently lying in wait in the parking lot.
Before I can even think about reacting, I am verbally bombarded.
“Is it true that Stark is looking to take over Innovative Resources?”
“Nikki, what exactly is your role at IR?”
I fight to keep my composure. To keep my Business Nikki face plastered on. I hate this, but I’m not going to let them have the satisfaction of knowing it.
“Are you reporting back to Stark’s company?”
“What do you say to the allegations of corporate espionage?”
At that, I have to force myself not to clench my hands. Not because I want the pain, but because I want to smash my fist into the face of whichever one of these assholes has dared to suggest that Damien would send me in as a corporate spy.
“Is this a ploy to up your value to reality-show producers?”
“Tell us about the real Nikki—is it true your sister committed suicide?”
I stumble backward, my composure knocked out of me by the force of those words.
No. No, no, no.