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Amelia snorts. “Do you see a ring?”
I don’t. But I like confirming she’s single.
Not that she’s the kind of woman I’d ever date, even if she weren’t working for me. I’m done with sweet, kind women who will eventually resent how much I work while I grow bored with hearing about their champagne luncheons and the various dramas of the other Upper East Side moms.
If I ever got married again, I’d want someone with ambition.
I narrow my eyes at Amelia, considering. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d take a job to save up for some luxury goods or a vacation. And if she needed money to help someone else, she’d just say it, like she did with the bachelorette party.
What makes nice girls like Amelia uncomfortable?
Their own ambition.
“It’s something related to your career,” I say, and this time it’s not a guess. “If it was education, you’d be going for scholarships, not working for someone like me. And if you wanted to rise in the company, you’d care more about being nice to me.”
She’s watching me wide-eyed, like a trapped bird.
What did she say, besides wanting funds?
Connections. She wanted connections.
“You want to start your own company,” I realize.
For a second she stares at me. And then she slams her hands on the table. “How do youknowthat?”
I finish the last of my steak. “You should never use your own savings to fund a business. You get funders.”
“Fundersdon’t like graphic designers with less than a decade of experience who have already lost three jobs.” She hastily covers her mouth with the back of her hand, like that can keep the words in. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
I notice she does that gesture a lot around me. It’s a terrible habit for the workplace, one that will cause her trouble if she stays. But I can’t bring myself to scold her.
With her brain, I’d rather know what’s going on than be caught off guard.
While I disagree with, well, every part of Amelia’s business strategy, I can appreciate her hustle.
And the pages in front of me show she’s good. Not only is her design clear and appealing, but she also played with the design on the graphs to make the company my dad wants to buy look even worse than it actually is, and my strategy even better. It’s not a lie, per say. More like using art to draw your brain to the right conclusion.
Like red lipstick on a beautiful woman.
“Fine,” I allow. “If the board goes the way I want them to, I’ll give you a bonus. An extra ten percent on your monthly paycheck for the two months you worked on this. Something for your savings pot. Deal?”
Her mouth parts. And then she closes it and nods.
Warmth pools in my stomach. I like fixing this woman’s problems.
“Now,” I order briskly. “Do I have your focus Amelia, or must I compete with your dry-cleaning bill?”
“Ass,” she mutters, but she’s smiling as she says it. She’s already opening up her laptop and flipping it to show me. “I made two different versions of the tenth slide, depending on what aspects you want to emphasize.”
“You’re going to have to make a third version,” I decide. “I want half of each.”
Her fingers fly across the keyboard as she makes notes to herself.
This time there’s not an eye roll in sight.
The lunch hourgoes faster than I want it to. I’m surprised to realize I like working with Amelia. On the outside she’s all wild hair, fluttering dresses, and an inappropriately expressive face that couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.
But when it comes to her work, she’s sharp, fast, and effective. I almost want her to stick around at Ashford Marketing, instead of launching out on her own whenever she’s saved up enough. Except I’m pretty sure that if Amelia stays at Ashford too long, she’ll lose some of her spark.
