Page 2 of Unleashed

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” he started, his voice hesitant. “But you’re perfect—maybe too perfect.”

Ah, here it came, the excuse for why I was overlooked time and time again. Working in a male dominated field sucked and with each promotion I didn’t get, my confidence dropped.

I blinked at him, confused. “Too perfect?”

“Intimidating,” he corrected, his gaze flicking to my face, then down to his hands.

“Intimidating?” I raised an eyebrow, my heart pounding in disbelief. “You find me intimidating?”

“Not me, no,” he said quickly. “But I think your looks... well, they make some men uncomfortable.”

“What?” I slammed my fist on the desk, making pens and paperclips scatter. “That’s ridiculous! You’re saying my looks are holding me back?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” he said, wincing slightly at my reaction. “I’m just saying?—”

“Men are idiots,” I muttered, biting down on my lip so hard I tasted the gloss as it smeared.

“We are,” Slade admitted with a small smile, leaning back in his chair. “Especially when it comes to women like you.”

I leaned back too, the anger simmering under my skin as I stared him down. “Women like me?”

“Beautiful women,” he said, his voice dropping a little, almost a confession.

My breath hitched. “You find me attractive?”

“Duh, of course I do,” Slade said, his grin lazy but his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But, you know, I’m a boss, and I probably shouldn’t be saying these things. Could be misconstrued as sexual harassment.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t get all bothered by a compliment.”

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck like he was weighing his next words. “Still, it’s inappropriate. Please don’t get me fired,” he added, flashing that boyish grin that could charm anyone.

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “You’re safe, Slade. Don’t worry.”

He joined in with a chuckle before glancing at his watch. “Anyway, I came in here for a reason. The announcement’s at the end of the day. You should be in the conference room at 4:30.”

My heart did a little flip, though I tried to hide it, keeping my voice even. “4:30, huh?”

Slade stood, adjusting his gray tie, which perfectly matched the sharp lines of his suit. “Yeah. Just a few more hours.” He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve got a better shot than most of the guys in there. I’m rooting for you.”

His words made my chest tighten just a little, hope mingling with the anxiety that had been gnawing at me all day. “Thanks, Slade. I hope you’re right.”

He gave me one last smile, that warm, genuine one that always made things feel a little easier, before slipping out the door. As it clicked shut, I found myself chewing on the end of my pen again, staring at the papers in front of me, but not really seeing them.

I glanced at the clock. A few more hours until I found out whether everything I’d worked for was finally going to pay off.

The airin the conference room felt suffocating, heavy with anticipation. Twenty people—nineteen men and me—sat in tense silence, waiting for Keaton Abbott to make the announcement. The faint hum of the air conditioning kicking on barely masked the sound of my heartbeat thudding in my ears. I wrinkled my nose when the breeze pushed Carl Verelli’s overpowering cologne my way. He always reeked like an old man’s aftershave, despite being the same age as me.

A sharp cough escaped me just as Keaton Abbott strode to the front of the room, his presence demanding attention. At fifty-eight, with silver hair and thick, serious eyebrows, he looked like a man who didn’t tolerate mistakes. He smiled—a polite, practiced one—and cleared his throat. Instantly, the room went silent.

“As you all know,” Keaton began, his voice calm but commanding, “Wesley Harkman is retiring after thirty years with Abbott and Associates.”

The room’s eyes shifted to Wesley, who nervously mopped sweat from his bald head. I stifled a grimace. Wesley had always been insufferable—obnoxious, loud, and with the worst breath imaginable. He gave a half-hearted wave, keeping his mouth shut for once.

“In light of that,” Keaton continued, “we need to fill his position as supervisor of the engineering department. Many of you are qualified, but only one can take the reins.” His gaze swept over the room, and my pulse quickened as it locked on mine.

This was it. After six years of busting my ass, of being overlooked, it was finally my turn. Keaton’s eyes lingered on me for a moment longer, and I inhaled, waiting for my name to be called.

“Let’s give congratulations to Thomas Marsden,” Keaton announced, his voice lifting in celebration.

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