Page 22 of Twisted Truth

What is that about?

Matthew looks at him with a soft expression. “Of course. I will let the team know. The board, however, may be a problem. They specifically outlined things they wanted for that event.”

“I am already jumping through the board’s hoops like a good little boy; they can fuck off on this.”

“Tell. Board. To. Fuck. Off,” Matthew says in a monotone voice, typing the instruction in his phone.

Mr. Langford chuckles, and the tension in the car melts away. The twenty-fifth anniversary of his grandfather’s death is in five months, and his grandfather is being honored posthumously by a few organizations. There’s also a statue in his honor that will be unveiled. It’s an official event on Mr. Langford’s schedule, so we were instructed to come up with two or three suggestions of what could be done as far as PR for the event to help Mr. Langford’s image. But apparently that one is out, now.

Which is fine. I can understand wanting to keep something so personal and private away from a calculating team of employees. I’ve never met anyone on the board, but man, they seem savage. I’m glad Mr. Langford is putting his foot down on something he feels strongly about, like the memorial and picking a woman who will fit his needs better than women the board suggested.

My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of a clutch I borrowed from Zahra. Craig’s name flashes on the caller ID. I sighwithout meaning to. Matthew’s brows raise in silent question as I answer the call.

“Hey, Craig, what’s up?”

“Where are you? Everyone’s here except you. We just ordered drinks, and we’re about to hit the floor.”

“I thought we were having a meeting first.”

“Emily just wants to give us some parameters, but if you ask me, it’s a waste of time. And at this point, I don’t know if it’s going to happen, everyone is too anxious to get going.”

I raise my brows and shake my head at Matthew in disbelief.

“What is that buffoon saying now?” Matthew asks.

“Put it on speaker,” Mr. Langford says in a low voice.

I do as he says and hold the phone out so the three of us can hear.

“It doesn’t matter if everyone is anxious, they need to wait,” I say. “This isn’t a personal clubbing night. We’re here for a very specific job, and that job doesn’t start until after our meeting.”

“The meeting is bullshit. It’s not like the directive of the night is hard. Find a hot girl who is available, needs money, and would be willing to fake date our boss.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s grossly oversimplifying it. And we’re definitely not just looking for a hot girl. She needs to be a woman, not some sorority girl. I want to make sure you’re clear on that.”

“Yeah, yeah. A hot woman who wants to get paid to fake date our boss.”

“Please promise me that if you happen to speak to any women tonight you will not use the phrase, ‘fake date my boss.’ Remember the NDA you signed? We can’t go broadcasting what we’re doing to every hot girl in the damn club. What do you think the press will do if they get even a whiff of this? They will have a field day, and Mr. Langford will be butchered in the media. You need to take this more seriously. This is your job.”

“Calm down, Ella. Why are you on my case? I am going to do my job. I don’t need a whole lecture on how to do it.”

“You sure about that?” I snap. “Because today I feel like I need to draw you a damn map to follow.”

I clamp my mouth shut and peek over at Matthew and Mr. Langford. I normally wouldn’t speak to a coworker like this, but Craig has been nothing but a pain in the ass for the last two days. He’s abrasive, obnoxious, has the delicacy of a rhino, and is clueless about women. This job is going to be difficult enough without having to babysit an incompetent coworker. It’s only been two days and I’ve already had it with him. But as I look at Matthew and Mr. Langford, neither of them seems to be troubled by my outburst.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Craig says in a petulant voice.

“Excuse me?”

He hangs up before I can respond. I look at Matthew and then Mr. Langford. His eyes flash, murderous.

“Which one is Craig?” he asks, low and menacing. A shiver whispers up my spine. “The blond one or the brunette one?”

“Blond,” Matthew and I say in unison.

“How did that asshole end up on this team?”

“I’ve been asking myself that all day,” Matthew says.