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Ryan’s temper simmered. His fists clenched at his sides.
Who was she to tell him what to do and how to do it? Who was she to make demands on him after what she’d done to him?
“Careful there, Elizabeth,” he said in a measured tone. “You might cause a wrinkle or burst a blood vessel. At the very least, you could end up breaking a sweat. We both know how you loathe anything hot and sweaty.”
He glared at her. Her gaze narrowed on him.
She said, “I’m offering an olive branch, Ryan.”
“Fuck your olive branch. I’m perfectly happy with where I am—with who I am—right this very minute.”
Her eyes widened. “When did you become so barbaric?”
“I’m not barbaric. I’m honest. I’m genuine. I’m secure with who I am as a person. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”
“I—wha…?—I—” she stammered. Then her own hands balled, and she cried out, “Ryan!” She slammed her fist on the desk. Right on top of the packet of mustard for his sandwich. It burst open, and the dark yellow fluid shot out and splattered against his black pants, his tie, his glasses.
She continued to glare. “No one says ‘no’ to me!”
* * *
“We’re fucked.” Cal from Facilities dropped a stack of papers on Maxi’s desk and added, “All of the extra manufacturing and assembly your people have managed to pull off in a week—also thanks to Staci’s success
ful staffing negotiations—will soon go to hell in a handbag.”
“Impossible,” she said. “We’ve all worked together to devise a foolproof plan. According to Ryan’s projections, our increased productivity has yielded—”
“Excellent results, yes,” Cal concurred. “I’m not disputing that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. Dragged in a long breath. Let it out slowly.
“Cal?” She eyed him speculatively. “Give it to me straight, buddy…”
The VP of Facilities, who was just a few years older than Maxi and had a wife and two kids to support—lots of responsibility there and no room for losing his job—pinned her with a grave look and said, “The warehouse we selected to house all of the additional stock for distribution got rented out from underneath us. Just this morning.”
“What?!” Maxi pressed her palms against the edge of her desk and pushed. Her chair shot back and she jumped to her feet.
“Legal didn’t act fast enough,” Cal said. “There was a ton of paperwork to review, negotiation of terms, whatever. It didn’t get done over the weekend, and some other company interested in the space snaked us.”
“No!” Maxi paced. Panic seized her.
“I had all of the documentation into Legal on Wednesday like you told me. As soon as we found the best location and contacted the owner of the building we were on it. But the lease agreement never made it up the chain of command, never got signed, and so here we are. Fucked.”
“Oh, my God.” A million tiny spiders crawled through her veins. “After the full-court press we put on—you’re saying we have no place to store the shoes we’re cranking out?”
“It’s not just about the storage, Maxi. It’s about the packaging. The distribution. We have no facility to operate at Ryan’s projected full capacity.”
He punctuated the last sentence in a way that made the anxiety swell in her throat.
Maxi’s eyes bulged.
A complete and utter bottleneck—literally and…literally! In her throat and at the manufacturing plant.
Holy. Shit!
She headed to the door.
