Page 14 of A Ticking Time Boss

“Carter?” I ask.

FOUR

Audrey is standing in the doorway to my office, clutching a notepad to her chest like it’s armor. She looks different than that night, three weeks ago, when she’d been hyperventilating inside a dark bar.

Her dark brown curls are swept back in a low ponytail and the dress she’d worn is long gone. In her place is a woman in slacks and a blouse, professional, her attention fully focused on me.

Her eyes are wide. “Carter?”

“Audrey?” I stand. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

“Here? At the Globe?”

“Yes,” she says. Then she looks out at the hallway, as if my assistant might hear. She pushes the door closed. “I told you I was a journalist!”

“I never thought you’d work here,” I say.

“Started two weeks ago, actually.”

That makes me smile. “Which is why they’re sending you up to interview me for the company newsletter.”

She frowns at me, like I’ve just offended her. Like we haven’t given each other much worse punches over text.

“You’re the CEO,” she says, voice tense. “You work for Acture Capital?”

“I’m one of the co-owners, yes,” I say. “We acquired the Globe a few weeks ago, though negotiations have been on-going for over a year.”

She takes a seat in the chair opposite my desk and demonstratively opens her notebook. I sit back down. Despite the irritation etched on her face, her features shine more without the makeup she’d worn in the bar. A smatter of freckles dance across her nose.

An old phrase my mother likes to say flashes through my brain. The kind of woman you earn, not charm.

“So,” Audrey says, picking up her pen. “What made you want to acquire the Globe?” Then, before I can respond, she puts her pen down again. “How can you be the new boss of the company I work for? How did this never come up in text?”

“We never spoke about our jobs.”

“We should’ve,” she says. “I can’t believe this.”

I rub the back of my hand over my mouth to hide my amusement. She’s not impressed by this, then. Weirdly enough, it makes me like this sarcastic, funny, intelligent enigma of a woman even more.

A lot of women like what I do. Never for what it entails, and they never want to hear the details, but they seem turned on by the SparkNotes version.

I open my mouth, but she cuts in with an irritated sigh. “I guess this means I can’t ask you for advice anymore.”

“Of course you can,” I say. “Excited for your date on Friday?”

“I can’t talk to you about that, you’re my boss! My boss’s boss’s boss, probably. It would be wrong.”

“We’re the same people.”

“No, we really aren’t,” she says, and opens her notepad again. This time, it seems like she’s determined to keep it open, because she starts jotting down notes.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” I say.

“You’ve said plenty,” she mutters. This time I don’t try to hide my smile.

“What questions have you prepared?”

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