Holy crap. It’s scary, how much I like it here.
With these arms, who needs red slippers to come home?
I arrive, exhausted and satisfied plus a million, at work at nine on the dot on Monday. Before I enter the elevator, a man with the most intimidating vibe, the harshest look on his face, and the biggest group of minions around him steps out.
I start when he looks at me.
Noel Saint. Like he crawled out from the internet and the endless harsh photos of him there ended up right here.
Right in this building.
Shock paralyzes me for a moment. Tall and dark-haired . . . he’s almost as beautiful as Malcolm. But there is nothing even remotely playful about this man.
Where Malcolm’s presence buzzes with energy, Noel Saint feels like a bomb about to explode right now when he sets his eyes— completely unlike Malcolm’s— on me.
“You,” he says. In the most contemptuous tone I’ve ever heard.
He steps over to me and, out of self-preservation, I step around as one of the young production interns boards the elevator.
“Are you coming?” she asks, holding the door open, like she’s offering me a lifeline.
I hurry inside and Noel Saint turns to stare at me, and I stare back at him unflinchingly. Inside me, a ball of pure loathing starts burning in my belly, and I shoot him a look more hateful than the one he is sending my way. More hateful than I’ve ever given anyone in my life.
And he says, with a sneer, “He won’t win,” before the doors roll shut.
A morgue-like silence settles in the elevator.
“Whoa. Who was that?” the intern asks, blue eyes wide in concern.
I look at her, wishing I could remember her name so this would be less awkward. “My . . . boyfriend’s father.”
“Oh wow.” She pats my shoulder regretfully, and I exhale shakily.
Was he here visiting the Clarks?
He didn’t look too pleased.
Did he find out I’m not on board with his asshole blackmail plan?
He seemed so beyond mad, I can’t believe anyone would get this riled up about anything, much less a measly employee leaving her job.
I’m still feeling a ton of dread sitting like a brick in my stomach as I step out cautiously on my floor and look for any signs of gloom and doom.
And I’m surprised that there’s not. In fact, everything is normal, on Red Bull. Almost too much noise. Too many laughs.
I head to my desk.
“Rachel, Helen wants to see you immediately! And then report back to me,” Valentine instructs with a very wide smile when he spots me.
I walk to Helen’s office, glad to see Valentine looking happy, wondering if maybe he found a new job. Helen waves me in and I immediately start, “I am very firm on my decision, Helen—”
“Are you really? Because the entire office is thrilled!”
When I only stand there in growing confusion, she adds, “As you know, Noel Saint has offered for Edge.” She claps her hands together, clearly delighted. “But . . . your boyfriend didn’t seem to like that.”
I inhale painfully. “I know.”
“In any case, there’s a bidding war going on.” She nods. “Noel Saint versus M4.” She eyes me. “Malcolm’s taking on his father for Edge.”
I’m pretty sure the world just stopped turning.
“Did you hear?”
HEART. FUCKING. ATTACK.
“He’s upping the ante.”
Half in anticipation, half in dread, I ask, “Who’s winning?”
“I don’t know but . . . I’m rooting for your boy.” She finishes that with a mile-wide smile. “You know that love letter you wrote to him?” she asks as I head to the door in a complete state of shock and confusion. She winks. “This might just be Saint’s reply.”
Me: a woman of words.
Him: a man of action.
Shit. I cannot, cannot, let him buy Edge. Not because he’d be my boss, that’s not even an issue anymore. But because I won’t let him throw his money away into something he’s never believed in. I won’t let him be reckless because of me.
“Edge isn’t worth what they’re offering for it,” I tell Helen. “You know that.”
“They’re not paying for Edge now. They’ve got a long-standing rivalry and they’re going to do this to the end. Your boyfriend’s father wants Edge with you in it, your boyfriend is not letting him take you on.”
“But I quit, Helen.”
“If Saint wins, you’ll come back,” she says assuredly.
When I step out of the office, nobody is working. At all. They’re all leaning in groups around their cubicles and when I come out, they hoot.
“Hey, we’re Team Malcolm!” Valentine calls.
“Team Malcolm!” Sandy says.
“TEAM MALCOLM!” the chants begin around the office.
“Guys . . .” I start, groaning.
Fuck. I laugh nervously, and go back to my seat and text him. SAINT! Edge is in an uproar?!
We’ll talk later.
What? Malcolm Kyle Preston Logan Saint!!! I reply.
Later.
Please tell me you know what you’re doing.
You shouldn’t even have to ask.
God I LOVE you! I want to text. You’re unpredictable and you drive me crazy and I love you. But the next time I say it, it will be looking into his green eyes, and that’s that.
I sigh at that and then sit at my computer, look up Noel Saint’s image, and give him the finger.
“Take that from us at Edge. Asshole.”
He promised to come over after work. I shut the door, breathe, and look at all my things. Almost everything I love is within these walls.
I’m safe, right? The water feels a little rocky but it’s not going to turn my boat.
I grab my laptop and head to my room. It’s my baby. It’s the one thing I’d take in the event of a fire. It’s who I talk to, my laptop. And it’s who talks to me.
It’s all I need to work, really. It can feed me, feed my mother, as long as I have the will.
I can leave Edge and while I still have my laptop, there’s still hope for me.
But Saint is out for blood and it’s all because of me.
I search for this bidding war online as I wait for him.
His social media is quiet. But I see a couple of articles posted yesterday and today that catch my eye.
M4 stock dropped more than 5% after hours . . .
Shareholders are deciding to sell after Saint’s decision to invest in Tahoe Roth’s oil well, not the only bad business decision he’s made in the past quarter . . .