Page 2 of Inarticulate

Spencer squinted at his computer screen. “It’s the assistant to the CEO. A Miss Penelope Augustine.”

Savannah’s stomach dropped. What was the chance of two women with the same extravagant name living in Seattle, Washington? “Fuck.”

Mr. Rydel stiffened, his gaze narrowing on her in concern. “Savannah…”

“Sorry.” Her composure was usually solid in the office, her profanity contained to the inner spheres of her mind. But this… This wasn’t good.

“Are you familiar with her?” Spencer’s expression was more impressed than distraught.

“You could say that.” They’d grown up sharing summers together. And a thinly veiled annoyance for one another.

Hope twinkled in Mr. Rydel’s eyes. A misplaced hope. One she wished he would wipe off his face, so she didn’t have to do it herself. “That’s perfect.”

No. No, it wasn’t. “We’re not close. We haven’t spoken since I was seventeen.” The same year Savannah kissed the guy Penny had been crushing on, sending her younger cousin into a rage that probably should’ve been calmed with pharmaceutical intervention.

“But familiarity will work in our favor.” He pushed from his chair, as if a conclusion to the problem had already been found.

She tracked his movements to the door and refused to bite her lip. “So you want me to place a call and gently ask her to back off?” Awkward wouldn’t come close to the way the conversation would pan out.

“No. I want you to go to Seattle and talk to her.” Mr. Rydel peered down at her, the faith in his expression weighing heavy on her shoulders. “I also want you to track down the staff who have resigned and convince them to return. And make sure all current employees are comfortable and familiar with how the changeover will occur. There’s a lot of miscommunication over there, and you’re the perfect person to clear it up.”

“Perfect person?”

“Yes. You’re bubbly and approachable.”

She raised a disbelieving brow and stared at Spencer, hoping he was noticing his father’s rapid descent into psychosis. “I’m none of those things. The sarcastic wit and humorous charm is a front. I honestly despise people. I like to consider myself as more of a dictator that staff are confident in but scared to approach.”

Mr. Rydel laughed.

Laughed.

She wasn’t joking, goddamn it.

“Mr. Rydel—”

“You’ll get the job done, Savannah. I have faith in you.”

She blinked once, twice. “But…” What? What possible excuse could she use to get out of saving the company a large chunk of settlement money? “I’m entirely smothered with work. I can’t drop everything and leave for a few days.”

“We’ll figure something out.” He stood in the doorframe, an undeniable force. “And it won’t be for a few days. I want you to remain in Seattle until this is over.”

Eleven weeks.“But, sir—”

“It’s a big ask, I know.”

She sank into her chair and met Spencer’s focus, wordlessly pleading for him to say something to his father. Anything.

He shrugged. “We’ll give you a week to pack your things.”

“That’s much better.” She rolled her eyes. One less week wouldn’t make much difference. “What about the backlog of work I currently have? I’ll never catch up.”

“The staff here are capable of taking some of your duties for the duration. The rest you can do while you’re there,” Mr. Rydel’s voice was filled with confidence. Annoying, authoritative confidence. “I’m relying on you to fix this, Savannah.”

She turned to him, hoping her puppy dog eyes would work better on the aging Rydel man, but he was already gone. Deal done. No begging or pleading possible. She slumped into the chair and tried to ignore the growing list of tasks that made her brain throb.

“I’ll handle reporting while you’re gone,” Spencer offered.

She scoffed. He’d completely mess them up. The benefit of being the boss’s son was that you could fuck up absolutely anything and get someone else to deal with the fallout. “Thanks.”

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