Page 8 of The Mistakes I've Made
“She was just given the Chicago project.”
Piper’s eyes widened. “You mean, that big one? The old historic hotel right on the water? Damn.”
And the way she’d said the last word said it all.Day-um.
“Exactly.”
“Didn’t she just start here—”
“A year ago,” I confirmed, looking over my ridiculous attempt to wrangle my dad into a promotion that should have been mine by birthright alone. “She’s about to temporarily relocate halfway across the country to head up a major remodel worth millions while we sit here, at the top of this high-rise, gathering dust.”
“Ew, I’m not dusty,” she argued, her pert little nose pointed sky-high in defiance.
“Really? What was the last project you worked on? The last viable thing you did for this company?”
That confidence she wore suddenly slipped, and a strong pout formed on her porcelain skin. “Fine, but when you present this amazing meal to your daddy, you’d better make sure you mention my name. Otherwise—”
“I know, I know. You’ll go to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter without me.”
“And?” she pressed.
“And…you’ll drink all the Butterbeer without me.”
“You bet your ass I will. And I’ll send you selfies the whole time, too.”
I shook my head. “Well, that’s just evil.”
She shrugged. “I’m a Slytherin. What do you expect?” Making a last-minute adjustment to the salad bowl, she patted my shoulder and took my hand. “Okay, you’ve got this. Remember what we talked about?”
“Stick to the talking points—my strengths as a team player and a leader and the fact that I’ve committed myself to this company for six long-ass years.”
“Might be good to leave off the wordass.”
“Right,” I agreed.
“And what are we avoiding?”
I let out a sigh. “That I’m entitled to it and that I deserve the promotion because he’s my father.”
“Good.” She smiled. “I think you’re ready.”
“Great, because”—I looked at the time on my phone—“I think he’s just about to step out of his meeting.”
Her hand squeezed mine before she pulled me into one last hug. “Good luck, and remember, talk me up!”
I laughed, before she stepped back and turned toward the door.
“You’re going to be fabulous.”
I nodded, knowing she was right.
This was my time to shine.
My father had always wanted me to earn my success, hating the titlehotel heiressand terrified that his daughter would somehow become the next Paris Hilton. He’d put strict rules on me while I was growing up. No extravagances, no access to my trust fund until a certain age, and everything had to be earned. After four years of college and six years of working in the trenches, I was finally going to show him all the hard work I’d accomplished.
Look out, Becky Knowles. I’m right behind you.
Checking my phone again, I made a mental note of the time. It was a few minutes past noon, but meetings were known to drag late around here, so I decided to open up my laptop while I waited and peruse the company database.
