Three Thirsty Roosters, which held a Battle of the Bands every week and probably could hold, like, thirty people if those people didn’t have issues with personal space or body odor. Not exactly a super-important gig when anyone could get onstage and take a shot.
Normally, she wouldn’t have blinked. Her coworkers had all kinds of things going on that she chalked up to being young and in Austin—bands, throwback bowling leagues, street taco cook-offs, roller derby. She usually didn’t mind picking up the slack where needed since she was a senior designer and worked late anyway. Her father had always told her the best way to maintain job security was to be indispensable. She’d taken that to heart, always filling in the gaps others wouldn’t.
But the words Pres said and the assumption that she would take on more despite her already-crazy workload dug under her skin. She’d already sent him an email saying she was ahead. Instead of him thanking her for working fourteen-hour days and telling her to take her weekend, he now assumed she’d stick around and take on even more work? What if she wanted to go try her hand at Battle of the Bands? It could happen.
Okay, probably not, but she did have something on her schedule. No, someone. She put the note back in Annabelle’s hands, aggravation pulsing through her. “Sorry. There’s no way I can squeeze this in tonight, and I’ve got plans this weekend. You’ll have to tell the client you’ll handle it on Monday.”
Annabelle’s pierced brow arched. “But they want it ASAP.”
“Then you’ll have to work late tonight, come in tomorrow, or get Preston to deal with it. I’m not available.”
“I—” Annabelle’s lips opened but then shut when she saw the look on Liv’s face. “Fine. I’ll figure it out.”
Annabelle stalked off, her knee-high boots clicking on the wood floors like a hammer, but Liv couldn’t find it in her to care. She didn’t have a band, but she had important things she needed to do. Like take photos of pancakes and irritate Finn’s parents. And naked things. Lots of naked things.
With that surge of righteous indignation, she got up from her desk and headed to Preston’s office. He’d told her he wouldn’t be available to talk until later tonight when she’d show him her preliminary designs, but she’d heard that line a few times this week and was done with it. They would talk now.
Liv knocked on Preston’s door but didn’t wait for him to call her in. She stepped inside his office and shut the door behind her. “I need a minute.”
Preston didn’t look up from the papers he was flipping through. “I was just about to call you. Great job on fixing the Anderson Wines site so quickly last week. They said they’re sending you a gift basket.”
“Cool. Pres, I—”
“Are you making sure your designs for Butter and Brittle look great on mobile, too? The design you sent me yesterday wasn’t converting well on my phone.”
Liv shifted in her heels, swallowing down her annoyance at the interruption. “I figured out the issue. It’s fixed.”
He glanced up, smiled camera-flash quick, and jotted something down on a notepad. “Great. I told them we’re running ahead. They’re thrilled. Hopefully, we can get the designs to them early. That would look fantastic and would probably get us some referrals.”
“What?” she said, forgetting to watch her tone. “You’re not supposed to tell them we’re ahead. I’m working with the original schedule, which was already fast. It’s not going to be early.”
Confusion flashed over his features. “But you’re days ahead.”
She smoothed her lipstick, steeling herself. “I’m days ahead for me. I doubled up my hours this week so that I can take the weekend.”
Preston looked at his notepad again. “No way.”
She blinked. “What?”
Jotting, jotting, jotting, like she wasn’t even there having a conversation with him. “No can do. The client is now expecting early, and we deliver what we promise. Plus, Annabelle’s out this weekend already. You know weekends are part of the deal here.”
“Then I need to take vacation days. I have a thing.”
He sniffed. “You mean your new boyfriend?”
Her ears went hot. “And in the category of things that are not your business…”
“We’re too swamped.”
“We’re always swamped.”
He glanced up, warning lingering behind his dark-frame glasses. “Which means business is going well, which is job security for you and me, which is what we’re trying to do here, right? Plus, even if I was granting vacation requests, I need them six weeks in advance. And I can’t grant you special favors. You know how that’d look.”
Her teeth clicked together. She knew that wasn’t true. Manny had taken a last-minute vacation two weeks ago when he won an entry to a Vegas poker tournament. Preston had been all back slaps and go-get-’em about that.
And the you know how that’d look comment burrowed right through her last bit of tolerance. Early on, before Preston had taken over the top spot from his brother, she and Pres had had a minor thing. A few hookups after working late together because it was convenient and light. Nothing dramatic and not the best decision on her part because he’d blabbed about it to a few coworkers. She’d ended it shortly after that. But now he inevitably brought it up anytime she asked for anything because other employees knew they had a history.
But this wasn’t a special favor. She didn’t ask for those. “I worked double hours this week. I brought work home to get ahead on the project. Everything will be delivered on the original schedule. The client can wait.”