Charlotte didn’t think anyone could manage Gabriel Bishop if he didn’t want to be managed, but physically at least, Anya fit his type: tall, beautiful, together.
“Go in,” Anya said with a roll of her eyes when Charlotte hesitated in front of the closed door to the CEO’s office. “It’ll only take him a minute to give you your marching orders.”
Then who’ll do your work?
Throat dry, Charlotte didn’t utter the snarky thought. Instead, determined not to let Anya see her flinch, she swallowed and, opening the door after a quick knock, went in. She made sure to close the door behind herself. If she was about to be fired, she could at least save herself the humiliation of having Anya listen in.
The view was spectacular, and the previous CEO’s pristine glass desk was gone. Charlotte knew about that desk because she’d seen it being brought in by the movers. It had been a stylish designer piece that Tuck had seen in the office itself. Apparently, Bernard had kept it clear of everything but his phone and a single gold-plated pen, the desk’s surface shining and clean.
Gabriel Bishop, in contrast, was seated behind a heavy and scarred mahogany desk covered with paper and binders as well as two laptops running different programs. He was currently scowling at what looked like a contract with one of their suppliers. His dark blue tie hung loosely around his neck, as if he’d tugged impatiently at it, and the sleeves of his white shirt were folded up to his elbows to reveal just a hint of the extensive ink on his body.
He seemed unaware of the breathtaking view at his back, the waters of the Hauraki Gulf glittering under the icy-white autumn sunlight.
“Ms. Baird,” he said without looking up, “for what earthly reason do we still have a contract with McElvoy Shoes when the stores have had to send back multiple shipments for shoddy workmanship?”
Palms sweaty, Charlotte gripped the strap of her laptop case even tighter.
T-Rex raised his head, those steely gray eyes laserlike in their intensity. “Sit down before you shake apart.” A snarl.
Charlotte sat.
And he went back to flipping through the contract. “Ms. Baird, an answer before I’m eighty-five would be nice.”
Realizing his question hadn’t been a rhetorical one, she closed her eyes so she couldn’t see him and blurted out, “Mr. Hill was friends with old Mr. McElvoy, and when McElvoy Senior was in charge, the workmanship was exemplary, the delivery dates never missed. But now he’s handed the reins to his son and things are slipping.”
“The many and various people in management who had to be aware of this didn’t bring it to my inept predecessor’s attention?”
Peeking out and seeing he was still looking through the contract, his scowl even heavier, Charlotte said, “I think they tried, but Mr. Hill was very loyal to his friend.” Or too lazy to handle the matter when it was so much less stressful to let it slide and go play golf instead.
Given his work habits—or lack of work habits—Charlotte had no idea how Bernard Hill had managed to rise to the position of CEO of Saxon & Archer, but then, as shown by Anya, the world didn’t always reward those it should.
Her skin grew cold at the reminder that she was about to end up just as unemployed as Mr. Hill.
“One thing’s clear,” Gabriel Bishop said now, his jaw set in a brutal line. “McElvoy Junior has been hosing us with these charges.” Grabbing the phone, he made a call to Legal. “Terminate the McElvoy contract. They’re in breach for the tenth time—and get the damn penalty payments.”
Having utilized the momentary break to retrieve her laptop from the bag, Charlotte waited to be asked to hand it in since it was company property. Why he’d made her carry it up herself, she didn’t know. Everyone else had been called up as they were. Maybe he wanted to punish her in some extra way because she’d thrown a stapler at his head.
“Tell me about the Khan negotiation,” he said, setting the McElvoy contract aside to pick up a different one on which it looked like he’d already scrawled notes in deep blue ink. “Hill’s personal file on the situation is fragmented at best. Far as I can figure, Khan is happy to sell us the land for a parking lot but has a sentimental attachment to the building currently on-site. I’m assuming you kept better records as part of your job?”
Charlotte stared.
Gabriel Bishop shoved a hand through his hair, then leaned forward, forearms braced on a desk that had so many nicks and dents that she knew instinctively it had followed him from company to company as he did what he did best. “Ms. Baird,” he said, those cold eyes watching her with a relentless focus that made her every muscle tense to breaking point, “from the memos I see on these files, all of which were apparently created at your workstation, you’re highly intelligent. I don’t want to fire you, but I will if you can’t give me the information I need.”
4
IN NEWS THAT SURPRISES NO ONE, ANYA IS A BITCH
CHARLOTTE WAS FLABBERGASTED THAT he’d made a point of checking the origin of the memos for which Anya always took credit. She was so shocked that she might have frozen into silence again; it was the critical sentence “I don’t want to fire you” that gave her the courage to speak.
“Mr. Khan,” she said, coughing to clear her throat and pinning her eyes on the knot of his tie so she wouldn’t have to hold his gaze, “is playing hardball because he knows Saxon & Archer needs that land. There’s nothing else available.”