Page 57 of Only the Devil
If he’d known me a few years ago when I went through an eyeliner stick every two weeks, maybe he’d have a point about hiding the natural beauty. But now…I feel like I’ve evolved into a what-you-see-is-what-you-get chick.
“You have such potential.” His eyes trace from my face down to my collarbone before returning to meet my gaze. “With the right...guidance, you could command any room.” The way he says guidance makes my stomach twist, and I tug my blazer closed, suddenly feeling exposed despite being fully dressed. “But you don’t need to impress others. Your mind is impressive. And that’s why I invited you to lunch.”
There’s something in his tone—the same cadence a car salesman uses when he’s found your weakness. I press my back against the booth, creating distance, but he interprets it as relaxation and leans forward, claiming the space I’ve abandoned.
“Spending too much time with people aiming to impress you?” That might have come out a little too snarky, but we don’t have our food yet, and I have no idea where he is going with this, and he needs to tone it down.
“Ms. Jonas, I’d like to offer you the position of Chief Technology Officer.”
That’s a sharp change in subject, but a welcome turn. I process the title—a suit role. “That sounds impressive,” I say, reaching for my wineglass. This gig’s temporary, but I can play along. “Is this a new position?”
“Created just for you.”
He can’t mean that. “Sterling Financial is evolving into a tech company, so it makes sense that you would have a CTO.”
His lips spread into a smile that reveals teeth, and a solid dose of ick climbs my spine.
“For the first year, the base salary would be twelve million, with stock options.”
I almost spit out my wine—almost.
“Yes, it’s a generous offer,” he says, looking incredibly pleased. “You can hire a team as needed.”
Once I stop choking, I evaluate his math. I’m sure he’s received estimates from firms to build the system he wants, and if I can do it for him by managing a few worker bees, promoting me may be a steal.
“The bids you got to build the system—came in high?” I’m more curious than anything. Why not show me the bids? Is he afraid I’d ask for more money? I’m already doing the work. And does he know enough to structure a project proposal?
He toys with the knife lying on the tablecloth. “Like I said, beautiful and intelligent.” His smile leans into predatory. “Your boyfriend is a lucky man. Though I have to wonder...” He pauses, swirling his wine, letting the implication hang in the air like smoke. My throat constricts. I know that pause. It’s the same one my mother’s ex-boyfriends used before suggesting I was “mature for my age.”
I force a smile.
If he weren’t so sleazy, this wouldn’t feel so revolting. Would it?
He raises his wine glass and sips, but I can see the smile behind the crystal.
Thank god Jake pretended to be my boyfriend. I’m fairly certain if he hadn’t, Phillip’s hand would be on my thigh right about now. So, so, so icky.
“I met with the board. Told them our plans. What you’re building. They believe to sufficiently sell our new tool, we need to expand our C-Suite. Are you familiar with the phrase?”
“The Chief Suite?” I answer, using one of the more diplomatic answers in my repertoire, at least compared to Stooge Suite, Masters of Coin, Top Brass, Head Honchos, or Ego Bitches.
“Of course. You come from ARGUS. Of course you’re familiar. We’ve got a bright future, and you can be an important part of that future. Cha-ching, cha-ching.” That noise right there should have me running, but I recognize it as his salesman schtick. He thinks that’s a winning noise, and hell, maybe it is. “We’re talking big time, Daisy. What do you say?”
“I’ll need to see the offer and think it over.”
“Do you have another offer you’re considering?” He shifts, his arm no longer thrown on the back of the booth, those light blue eyes studious. Any hint of flirtation gone.
“No, nothing like that,” I answer somewhat truthfully. I mean, sure, if I wanted, I could go back and ask Rhodes to match, but I don’t know what ARGUS can afford. And twelve million strikes me as obscene. Greedy.
“How is your mother doing?” The question splashes like ice water. I have never mentioned my mother to this man. “Still living in that same apartment in Van Nuys?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. The conversation has shifted—it’s now a demonstration. He knows where my mother lives. He’s done his homework. “Isn’t she approaching retirement age?”
I refrain from scoffing. If my mother gets a check for a hundred dollars, she spends one twenty. She’ll never be able to retire.
“You could give her the retirement of her dreams.”
He’s right. One month, I mean, I don’t know what that is after taxes, but it’s a lot. ARGUS covers my expenses. I could set aside every check from Sterling Financial and put it into a retirement fund for my mother. I’d need to manage it, but she could move into a condo with a pool that has water in it. She’d want to stay in LA. She dreams of making it as an actress… She’ll never give up her dream. That salary wouldn’t only change my life, it would change hers.
“Should I order us champagne?”
