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I looked up at the ceiling tiles thinking of the report I’d worked on.
“Can I see it?” Mr. James asked. “I own the company and came personally from corporate, Jason, because the cost is up twenty-two percent and–”
“My assistant has it,” he said, cutting him off and trying to quickly placate. “She fetches reports as well as she does food. Bridget!”
Asshole.
His shout had me pushing off the wall, then taking a deep breath. I could do this. I could swallow down Jason’s patronizing and misogyny while being in a room with Mr. James, who’d held my hand and called me beautiful. I grabbed a copy of the report from my desk and carried it in.
“I need the report,” Jason said, although I had no idea why he hadn’t brought in the one I gave him earlier.
I held the stapled pages up letting him know I had them, then handed them to Mr. James.
Mr. James’ eyes met mine.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice much softer than what he’d used for Jason’s scolding. I was halfway to the door when he called out. “Take a seat, Bridget.”
I glanced his way, then at Ed and Bixby, who only shrugged. They were both easy going and helpful, and also not big fans of Jason. Since he ran the project, they did what he said, even if it had been messing with the entire project. Enough that the CEO himself was here.
I pulled out a chair and settled into it at the far end of the huge table from Mr. James.
Mr. James unwrapped his sandwich and Ed and Bixby followed after. I sat with my hands folded in my lap.
“Aren’t you eating, Bridget?” Mr. James asked when he noticed I was the only one without a lunch.
I pushed my glasses up again. “I’ll… I’ll eat later, Mr. James.”
“Maverick,” he corrected. “And your answer means you didn’t get a sandwich for yourself.” He picked up one half of his sub and stood, carrying it along with a few napkins, around the table and set it in front of me. “Eat.”
I looked from him to the others, then looked down, not wanting to draw attention to myself. The last thing I expected was to be part of this meeting.
Mr. James–Maverick–settled in his seat, waited for me to take a bite of the sandwich before he took one of his own. As he chewed, he opened the report and scanned it.
“Tell me about this,” he said to Jason.
“Bixby,” Jason said, diverting. He shoved a huge bite of ham and cheese into his mouth most likely so he wouldn’t have to answer anything else.
Bixby was in his late thirties, a few years older than my sister. He grew up here in the valley like I had, but we were far enough apart in age that we didn’t cross paths much. He’d been running his family’s construction company with his father since college, but his dad had retired a few years ago and he ran it solo now. He loved to ski and played the banjo of all things.
“There was some confusion with the size of the event space,” Bixby explained. “The square footage was off. That was the basis for the cost variation.”
The event space was for weddings and other celebrations and connected to the inn by an enclosed breezeway.
“Two thousand, five hundred sixty-six and a half square feet instead of two thousand eight hundred something,” Maverick said, making my head whip up.
Maverick wasn’t looking at the report, he was looking at Bixby as he shared the numbers.
A piece of shredded lettuce fell from my mouth, and I grabbed a napkin to conceal my chewing. And amazement. Because those were the numbers I’d told Bixby on the phone at the coffee shop. Maverick had heard my half of the conversation and remembered them.
Bixby’s eyes widened, then he grinned. “That’s right. You’ll find the costs will be more in line with the original projections with that fix. Schedule, too.”
Maverick nodded. “Good. That’s good news, Jason.”
I set my sandwich down, watched as Jason preened under Maverick’s praise. For work he didn’t do. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry. Or happy.
6
MAVERICK
