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She breathes as if calming herself down, her eyes still spitting fire. “Fine. You can fire Carson.” She stalks closer to the desk until her black skirt is pressed against the gleaming wood, then she slams her hands onto it. “But one word of misconduct and I’ll make you regret it. Just one word.”
Is she aware of how much authority she wields here?
She doesn’t let me say anything else before gathering up the files and walking out. I gaze at her shapely calves, admiring them, as my blood heats.
“She hates you,” Lucas says slowly.
For reasons unknown, the words sting, and I sit heavily in my chair.
“You’ve really pissed her off,” he continues, his gaze on me almost admiring. “I’ve never seen anyone get under Lana’s skin like that. Even Crawford. Although, they did have quite a few shouting matches.”
“Why didn’t he fire her?” I ask, curiosity outweighing discomfort at the idea of being hated by Lana Hill.
“He tried,” Lucas replies, seeming faintly amused. “But Lana brought his actions to the attention of the board, and things went downhill from there.” He leans forward. “Don’t underestimate her. She’s gone her whole life being underestimated, which makes her an even deadlier opponent. She looks harmless, but Lana is not an adversary you want.”
I snort. “She’s head of HR. You’re making her sound like the mafia.”
Lucas isn’t smiling. “Yeah, but she’s extremely skilled at her job.”
I wonder if the man is being overdramatic for the sake of it… or if Lana really is someone I need to watch out for.
I’m suddenly curious about this woman. And the man before me seems to have answers.
“Do you want to order lunch?” I ask, a plan forming in my mind.
* * *
When I exit the elevator on the fourth floor, there are hushed whispers around me. People stop what they’re doing to watch me.
One pointed stare has them hastily rushing about their work.
I stride over to where Lana’s office is. When I make eye contact with her assistant, she blinks at my appearance, then stammers, “Should I—”
I wave her off, lying easily. “She’s expecting me.”
I open the door to see Lana scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, her hand smudged with ink. She looks up blankly at the sound of the door opening, then her entire expression darkens.
Beautiful.
The thought crosses my mind before I can stop myself, making me frown. Stepping forward, I hold the bakery box out as an offering.
“What’s that?” she asks finally, suspicion lacing her voice.
“A peace offering,” I reply, putting the box before her.
Eyeing me with uncertainty, she opens the offering and sees the red-velvet pastry in the center in all its glory.
She tucks her tongue in her cheek before meeting my gaze. “I see Lucas has been talking.”
I settle into the seat across from her. “Don’t be too mad. You and I are odd allies of sorts. I crossed into your territory today, and this is an apology.”
She narrows her eyes. “How did your
interview with Mr. Carson go?”
I stifle the rage at the mention of the man who had casually told me that women belong at home, especially pretty little things like Lana Hill, and that he had put her in her place.
“Enlightening,” I say, choosing the word with care.
