I checked my notes and straightened my suit. Wishing my head weren’t pounding, I took one last look at the sunshine streaming in through the distant window before following the biggest blowhard alive into the conference room.
Chairs lined both sides of the room leading up to the front, where a screen descended from the ceiling. The first horrible slide was already pulled up, and a video camera in the middle of the aisle was ready to catch the train wreck in progress.
“Don’t fuck up,” Teddy said as he peeled off to the side.
He was such a sweetie. I didn’t know how I would ever work without him.
After a deep breath, I made my way around the camera and came to stand next to the slide, facing everyone with a beaming smile.
The smile froze over.
And then fractured.
Sitting in the front row, watching me patiently, was none other than Brad’s friend, the guy with the trendy frosted hair and equally trendy scraggly beard. He looked about Brad’s age, probably late twenties or edging on thirty.
What the holy fuck?
Yesterday he’d been under an umbrella in a pair of swim trunks. I’d thought of him as the douche with the nice body.
Today…holy hell.
Crisp blue eyes were above full lips playing peekaboo out of his facial hair. The man was a looker. The tailored Armani suit he was wearing displayed shoulders so big I wondered why he didn’t have planets orbiting him.
He was the freaking COO—chief operating officer! And I’d met him yesterday by unprofessionally hopping onto his towel and then super unprofessionally getting a piggyback from his friend.
On my way to get alcohol.
Right before my big day.
Another thought struck me.
Oh no. What if Brad had talked to him about last night? I’d launched myself at the guy. Full-on pummeled him with sloppy, drunk kisses. I’d also bad-mouthed the presentation I was about to give, and my coworkers! That sort of behavior definitely wouldn’t scream professional. He’d hold it against me. I would, at any rate.
“Hello,” I said through a suddenly dry mouth. My voice sounded like crackling leaves. “My name is Delilah.”
The friend gave a slight smile of encouragement followed by a tilt of his head, begging me to get moving already. Two friends, two embarrassing days. Things weren’t going well for me in Hawaii.
A half-hour, a sweating problem, and a lot of confused faces later, I finished answering the last question pertaining to the horrible presentation I’d made. Luckily for my reputation, I did actually know all the answers. But there was one unasked question that I could all but hear ringing through Brad’s friend’s polite dismissal: Why wouldn’t you give us all the important information in the presentation, rather than make us ask for it?
It was a great question. And the answer was simple— the idiots I worked with subscribed to the “less is more” philosophy. They didn’t want to bore people with the details. It spoke volumes of their interest level in their work. After all, why would anyone else care if they didn’t?
Were the donuts on Wednesday mornings really worth all this grief?
Horribly drained and still hungover, I slinked to the side of the room where my boss waited.
“Good work,” he whispered as the next presenter was summoned. “Do you have your schedule?”
I fished a piece of paper out of my computer bag and looked it over. “I have it. Looks like I’m packed solid.”
“Good, good. I’ll check in with you later. Booze cruise is at four.”
“Got it.” I scurried out the door and immediately slouched and palmed my head. The weekend was chockablock full of seminars that seemed both helpful and interesting, and, knowing I wouldn’t have a social life, I had loaded myself up. Most of them were optional, of course. My team’s only real function was the presentation I’d just made.
Before today I hadn’t wanted to waste the chance to soak in valuable information I could then take to my next job. Or even use to elevate myself to a higher position.
Before today I also hadn’t been struggling with the weight of attempted alcohol poisoning. The state of my head changed things a little.
I paused in the cavernous space of the meeting hall lobby. To my right was a banana on the refreshment table, followed by an hour-long seminar. To my left was an escalator that would let me escape to my bed and a needed nap.
Blowing out a breath, I went right. I would survive, scowling the whole way. No point in wasting the day in bed.
Unless that bed is occupied by the fantastic body of a man named Brad—
I stubbed my toe on the carpet and took a jarring step forward to catch myself.
Where the hell had that rogue thought come from? Jesus. Get a grip, woman!