Page 26 of The Summer I Saved You

“Present it? You mean, topeople?”

A single brow raises. “That’s usually how presentations work, yes. It would be very good press for us.”

I picture a room full of people far smarter than I am, tearing apart the program, asking questions I can’t answer, making me feel stupid. I don’t even know what I’d say. Sure, the building feels more lively: there’s trash talking in elevators, across divisions, and this week, the call center had the most miles and their office got toilet-papered by another team. It was probably not great for productivity, but people have been laughing about it ever since. I’m not sure I can tell a roomful of executives that one team toilet-papering another isprogress, however. “Couldn’t I just give you the data?”

He tilts his head, observing me. “You’ve done public stuff before. Weren’t you, like, the Papaya Queen or something?”

“Your grasp of our state’s produce is surprisingly weak. Yes, I used to do beauty pageants, but that was different.”

“How?”

I stare at my hands. “Beauty pageants don’t involve having your ideas criticized or being asked questions you can’t answer.” I got criticized plenty at home, though—my mother laughed when I told her I was entering and said I didn’t stand a chance. Proving her wrong only made things worse.

“There’s nothing to be scared of. Anyone willing to attend a session on a walking program has already swallowed the Kool-Aid. They want their employees all holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya’, same as you.”

“Yes, you sound super accepting of what I’m trying to do with myhand-holding and singing ‘Kumbaya.’”

He grins. “It’s a lectureI’davoid like the plague. But that’sjust it…people only go to a breakout session if they’re open to the topic. And I’ll go over it with you in advance. You must realize no one there will be a bigger asshole than me.” He leans back in his chair with a grin.

Ah, there’s that dimple. I’d agree to anything he asked when that dimple appears.

“True,” I agree. “No one could possibly be a bigger asshole than you.”

He laughs. Somehow, I knew he would.

I take another look at the flyer. “You know what would really make my presentation exciting? If I could tell them about our new break room.”

His jaw falls. “Are you actually trying to blackmail me into agreeing to that?”

“I prefer the termstrong-arm, personally. That way it’s not a felony.”

The dimple makes another appearance, and it unfurls this small seed inside me—something warm and hopeful that shouldn’t be there.

“Fine. Go ahead and pull some costs together and we’ll show the executive committee, but I’m not paying any designers or architects or whatever. It’s got to be bare bones.”

“Violate building codes. Got it. You won’t regret this, Premier Stalin.”

“I already regret this,” he mutters, but I leave with a smile.

I wanted to save TSG. It’s starting to feel as if it’s saving me too.

FOUR DAYS LATER, I’m in front of the executive committee and once again, I’m struggling with the smart board.

“Sorry,” I tell them. “It’ll be just a minute. Technology and I are not friends.”

Hunter starts to stand, ready to come to my aid.

“I’ve got it,” Caleb says, shooting Hunter an unnecessary scowl as he jumps to his feet.

He nudges me to the side, towering over me though I’m in heels. His fingers move confidently over my laptop—his hands are so fuckinglarge. There’s something about the sheer size of him that makes me think of being manhandled.

I look away. I have enough issues with the smart board...I need every available brain cell.

“Go to HR when the meeting is done and tell them you need a new laptop,” he says as the slides load. “This thing is a piece of shit.”

He takes his seat, and I show them the initial idea I had for the room, as well as the anticipated costs.

When I’m done, Debbie turns to Caleb in shock. “Youapproved this?”

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