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“You don’t like onions,” I remind her. “Order something else.”
Her eyes widen, clearly startled that I know that.
But instead of admitting I might actually be right about something, she tilts her chin up, fire in her eyes. “Maybe I’ve grown. Maybe I love onions.”
Stubborn, stubborn girl, I think.
If she were anybody else, that stubbornness would tempt me. Would she be that gloriously strong-willed with my mouth on hers? Or would she soften, and let me give her a taste of something she’d actually like?
But she isn’t anybody else. She’s Cooper’s sister. Cooper’slittlesister. Who I’ve known since she was seventeen and blushed every time my hand accidentally bumped hers at the breakfast table.
I don’t let myself wonder about her stubbornness. Instead, I remind myself what’s at stake with this autobiography.
My dad’s planning to retire in a little over six months. And right now, he’s worried that most of the board would vote against choosing me to run the company.
Contrary to what Hazel thinks, I’m not an asshole. I just don’t have patience for stupid ideas, cowardly decisions, rampant incompetence, or business strategies that prioritize short term gains over long-term sustainability. Which explains why I don’t like most of the Helius Airlines board members.
They, in turn, dislike me because I tell them what I actually think, and because I enjoy the occasional tryst with mildly famous women.
I think if our board members don’t want to know about my sex life, they should stop clicking on gossip sites, but my dad’s face turned purple when I suggested that solution. Instead, we’re going with his solution—publish an autobiography that will hit stores a month before he retires and persuade everyone I’m respectable and likable enough to be CEO.
There are other parts to the plan, of course. I’m supposed to wine and dine certain board members, go to a few galas, hold my tongue in public.
But right now, it’s the book that’s causing me problems. Specifically, finding a writer. The first one my dad found was a total ass-kisser. The second couldn’t write for shit. The third didn’t know anything about the airline industry.
My dad told me I couldn’t dismiss his fourth writer recommendation unless I met her in person. He’d had a calculating look in his eye when he said it.
Now I know why.
“What are you looking for in a writer?” Hazel asks.
She’s as fresh and pretty as always. Big brown eyes, wide mouth, pert nose. She’s traded the long hair she used to wear in a sloppy ponytail for a short, stylish cut that swings flirtatiously around her neck. The tips of her brown waves are now dyed gold.
It makes her look like she’s been dipped in sunlight.
“Someone discreet and effective, who won’t get in the way of the rest of my life,” I say.
Hazel visibly represses an eye roll. “But what’s thepointof the book?”
“My dad wants someone to remake my professional image. Make me more...respectable.” I leave it at that, because no way am I mentioning the paparazzi or the women to Hazel.
She nods. “An autobiography can be a great way to take control of your narrative and share your story. Show the world the real you.”
She sounds so agreeable, I catch myself about to nod back. I can see why Hazel gets her interview subjects to open up. There’s something so fundamentallyfriendlyabout her. You want to trust her. You want to make her smile.
You want her to see you.
That last thing is why there’s no way in hell I can hire her.
I’ll do this autobiography if I have to. But it’s not going to be a tell all. Hell, I don’t care if it’s interesting. All I care about is that it gets me the CEO job without invading my privacy.
I realize I’ve gone too long without speaking. The silence has turned awkward, and Hazel has started nervously crumbling her bread again.
A very, very,very,small part of me wishes I could hire her. I like the idea of being the white knight who gives her the big break she needs. I like it way more than I should.
But if I hired her, she’d try to get past my armor, to the “real” me. Then I’d have to fire her, and Cooper would be pissed I hurt his baby sister.
Better to end this as quickly as possible. “What would you need from me, as a subject?”
