Especially about Nash.
I let out a low breath and focus on the lights of the city. Nash Beckett made my life a living hell when he worked here two years ago and it’s nothing I’d like to repeat. Thomas’ oldest son walked around here like he already ran the place, and we would butt heads constantly. He had no finesse when it came to anything and half the time, I wanted to smack his arrogant face.
The funny thing is, we had similar viewpoints and ideas, but the way he presented them and wanted to incorporate them always rubbed me the wrong way. His ego was his undoing and when I beat him out of the VP promotion and his own father chose me over him, he lost his shit and quit on the spot.
What a baby, I think and twirl a pen between my fingers.
Although a part of me can understand that he must have felt betrayed. I’ll never forget that look in his blue eyes when Thomas announced me as the one who received the promotion– hurt, disbelief and then so much anger.
I get it but, at the same time, he should’ve handled it better. But no. He stormed off like a sore loser. He also called me a cunt which I will never forget. My eyes narrow and I grit my teeth. His exact words are burned into my mind:
“Charlie Langley is a cunt who has you wrapped around her little finger.”
And to think I had come down to his office to try to make amends.Asshole.
Standing up, I straighten my shoulders back and decide to go get another cup of coffee down in the kitchen. I should probably order a salad and have it delivered for dinner, but I’m not that hungry. I still have some numbers to go over and I want to study the marketing reports for a new app we’re planning to launch.
As I head out of my office and walk toward the kitchen, my heels clicking, I wave to Amelia, the cleaning girl as I pass. “Hi, Amelia,” I say and pause.
“Hello, Charlie. How are you?”
“Good, thanks. How’s your mom doing?” I ask.
“She started a new medication so we’re hoping to see some improvement,” Amelia says.
I nod. “That’s good.” Amelia’s mom was diagnosed with heart disease, and she’s been keeping me up to date on her progress. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thank you, Charlie.”
My full name is Charlotte, but I made the decision to go by Charlie when I realized that the men in the tech industry give their time and attention to other men first and foremost. When Charlotte Langley left messages, no one replied. When Charlie Langley leaves messages, everyone replies. By the time they realize they’re dealing with a woman, it’s too late and hopefully I’ve already dazzled them with my brilliance.
Turning the corner, I pass Thomas’ large corner office and catch a glimpse of him still working at his desk. I stop up short and pause in the doorway. “What are you still doing here?” I ask.
“I’m the boss. I’m always here,” he replies in a gruff voice.
“Thomas, you said you haven’t been feeling well lately,” I remind him gently. “You should go home and get some rest.”
“Too much work to be done.”
Concern fills me and I step inside and walk over to his desk where I see a half-drunk bottle of juice and an empty granola bar wrapper. “The remnants of your dinner?” I ask and arch a disapproving brow.
“Didn’t have time to go out and get anything,” he mumbles, eyes focused on his computer monitor.
“That’s why God created DoorDash,” I say.
Finally, he looks up at me, blue eyes tired and looking all puffy. For whatever reason, an image of Nash fills my head. Probably because this is what he’s going to look like at sixty years old. Still handsome in a dashing sort of way. Also, because they have the same shade of bright cobalt blue eyes. It’s a little disconcerting and I merely blink, at a momentary loss for words.
“Are you going to lecture me, Ms. Langley? Because I don’t have time for that.”
“I’m here to escort you out and make sure you go home and get some much-needed rest, Mr. Beckett,” I inform him and reach for his briefcase.
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” he argues. But the fight is gone from his voice.
“Too bad,” I say. “The work isn’t going anywhere, and you know you can count on me to get more done tonight.”
He stands up on creaky knees and reaches for his suit jacket on the back of the big leather chair. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” he says and gives me a knowing look.
“Touché,” I say, a smile edging up the corner of my mouth. “Don’t forget, though, I’m still a spring chicken and your old bones need their rest.”