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  A soft chime sounded through my office, letting me know my secretary was on the line.

  “Yes?” I called out.

  “Mr. Corliss just called. He says that they’re ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Caroline.”

  I sighed and straightened my tie, ready for what was to come. Sure, I knew that the meeting was going to be a pain, but at the very least it was a distraction from the situation with Isla. Even getting the riot act read to me by the boss seemed like a pleasant alternative to thinking about how I’d blown things with her.

  Not only that, but what I’d said to Isla hadn’t been a lie. I knew I’d made the right decision in closing the factory for the holidays. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. And if any member of the board had a problem with that, I’d be more than happy to discuss the matter.

  Well, nothing else to do but do it. After taking one more sip of my coffee and grabbing my laptop, I glanced in the nearby wall mirror and was off.

  It wasn’t long before I was at the boardroom doors, which were already opened in anticipation of my arrival. I stepped through, confident and ready.

  Every pair of eyes locked onto me as I entered, every face with the same grave expression.

  Most of all, Edward. He looked almost supernaturally calm. And I knew that with Edward, the calmer he was, the more upset he was.

  “Adam,” he said. “Come in. I’ve been waiting to speak to you.”

  I shut the doors behind me as I entered, bracing myself.

  There was a heavy silence for a moment, and then finally Edward spoke again.

  “I would’ve loved to have spoken to you the day this occurred,” he said. “But unfortunately, you didn’t take my call.”

  “My apologies,” I said. “Ms. Marten and I had finished up for the day and were ready to start our break, however brief it might’ve been. And I figured that discussing the matter in front of the board would be more appropriate anyway.”

  “Not your call to make,” he said. “But I agree. You’ve certainly got some explaining to do.”

  “And I’m happy to do it. I’m sure you all have plenty of questions about the decision I made in Rio.”

  “Do you have any idea how much that decision cost us?” asked Bernard Pyke, one of the senior members. “We already had an issue with productivity and you decided to close down the damn factory?”

  “And you promised them holiday bonuses?” asked Whitney Meyer, a newer member. “How exactly are you planning on paying for all of this?”

  More chatter broke out among the board members. Edward raised his hand, everyone going silent as he did.

  “As Adam said,” he said. “You’ve all got plenty of questions. I sure know that I have a few of my own.”

  He was calm, but I knew Edward well enough to hear the restrained anger in his voice. I’d only see him like this a few times before, and it was far from the most pleasant thing to be around. He’d gotten to the top with a calm, cool head, but even he had his limits.

  “Adam,” he said. “I spoke with the manager of the factory. He stated that you closed the factory that day, gave the employees a break and bonus, and made all sorts of promises about what we were going to do for them down there. And that all sounds nice, but these things cost money. As Bernard said, the issue with the plant was that it was costing us funds. How are you planning on rectifying this?”

  I took my place at the other head of the conference table, ready to say my piece. I’d been giving the issue much thought over the break, and I was ready to present.

  “It was a controversial decision,” I said. “And I’m sure many of you are questioning my judgment. I don’t blame you. It sounds counterintuitive, right? Close the plant and cost us money in order to solve the problem of losing it?”

  I opened up my laptop, connecting the display to the main screen. After a few keystrokes I pulled up some of the data I’d collected over the break.

  “What we have here are some of the latest findings in the field of industrial psychology. It’s a lot to cover, and not the most reader-friendly, but I’ll walk you through all of it. But the key takeaway is that pushing workers harder, making them work through breaks in less-than-ideal conditions, overcrowding them in the workplace—all results in a negative impact to the bottom line. Look…”

  I went into it, covering all the data and sharing the conclusions. Over the course of the next thirty minutes, I made the damn good case that if Corliss wanted to turn Rio from a profit sink to a profit maker, the first step would be improving conditions as quickly as possible. When I concluded I was worn out, having put more heart and soul into it than I had anticipated. Maybe it was seeing the working conditions in person that had made me do so, but I was invested.

  And more than that, I was confident. By the time I shut the laptop, I half expected the board to stand up and applaud. Okay—maybe that was a little much, but I was sure expecting them to be convinced.

  But there was only silence.

  “Spend money to make money,” said Bernard, shaking his head. “Totally ridiculous. What we need to do is increase hours, maybe hire some new managers who aren’t afraid to crack the whip.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I already spoke to the manager we hired. He’s at his limit with the conditions as they already are. The data is very clear that pushing the workers is only going to make things worse.”

  “Maybe pack everything up and move to a cheaper country?” asked another member.

  “That would put all of these people out of work,” I said. “Do we really want to be the sort of company that does that sort of thing? Just drop our people rather than fix a broken situation?”

  I turned my attention to Edward, who’d watched the presentation in total silence. The board members could voice their opinions, sure, but it all came down to what the big man said.

  “Edward?” I asked. “What do you think?”

  Edward may have been upset with me, and rightfully so. But he knew how to run his company, and he wasn’t the type to let his feelings get in the way of what was best for the company. At that moment, his opinion was the only one I cared about.

  He continued to regard me with those cold, analytical eyes. Silence hung in the air as we all waited for him to say what was on his mind.

  “I’m…not convinced.”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  “What?” I asked. “What do you mean? I’ve laid it all out for you here why this is the best of all possible plans we could go with.”

  “I’d have to check your data,” he said. “And then double-check it. And then do a little research on my own. Because as it stands, you’ve offered a very unorthodox solution to our problem. If we go with it and it doesn’t pan out, we’ll all be left holding the bag.”

  Then he raised his finger.

  “And, I should point out, that a high-profile misjudgment would be the last thing a new CEO like yourself would want this fresh out of the gate.”

  “But I did the research,” I said. “And what was I appointed for if not for my ability to handle these situations?”

  I was getting frustrated, but I wasn’t going to back down.

  “For now,” said Edward. “Consider the matter closed. We’ll discuss it at a later time.”

  “But with each day that passes, the more money we’re going to lose!”

  “We’ve already lost money,” he said. “With the holiday bonuses and overtime pay you approved. Unlike you, Adam, I like to take time to make decisions like that. Now, again, the matter is closed.”

  And that was that—nothing else to say.

  I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it, knowing that nothing that came out would be for the better. Instead, I stormed out of the boardroom and down the hall, anger burning inside of me.

  I’d always taken pride in my ability to stay cool in situations like these, but there I was on the verge of blowing my top. I had to get away from everyone, to be alone.

  Then a thought occur
red to me—was it just the meeting I was venting my frustration about? Or was it something more?

  Was it…Isla?

  The thought of speaking to her again filled me with a strange sense of calm. It was all that I wanted. Sure, she’d told me to piss off, but maybe she’d had time to cool down over the break. At the very least, maybe she’d be open to talking with me about what I’d done.

  I resolved to go see her right at that moment.

  After a brief elevator ride, I was down on her level, headed in the direction of her cubicle.

  My heart began to thud in my chest as I approached the corner around which she would be.

  And damn, I was even smiling.

  But then I rounded the corner, and my stomach dropped. Instead of seeing Isla, I was greeted with the sight of an empty cubicle. All of the other ones around it were occupied, but not hers. Nothing was there, not even a name placard.

  I searched around for the floor manager’s office. Once I’d found it, I gave the door a quick rap, and after speaking my name I was immediately let in. I didn’t waste any time stating why I was there.

  “Isla Marten?” the manager, a stout man in his forties, said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Forde, but she’s gone.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Gone where?”

  “She got in touch with me over the break,” he said. “Told me that she wanted a transfer.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said. “A transfer to where?”

  “Los Angeles, sir. The new offices.”

  There wasn’t anything else to be said. I thanked him and left and headed back to my office in something like a daze.

  The moment I was back in my office I shut the door, stormed over to my desk and slammed my fist into it. The desk was too solid to be damaged, but hard enough to send waves of pain through my hand. It hurt like hell.

  I stood there stunned for a time, shocked at what I’d done. It didn’t appear that I’d caused any major damage to my hand, but the fact that I’d lost control like that was alarming.

  And then there was the matter of Isla. She’d left, and almost certainly because of me. My terrible decisions had driven her away, and the guilt of that was mine to live with.

  I’d always been so sure of myself, but standing there, my hand throbbing, I questioned myself.

  What if, this time, I’d messed up in a way I couldn’t come back from?

  Chapter 20

  Isla

  February

  It was another beautiful day in Los Angeles. It’d been a few weeks since I’d moved to the city, and I was still having a hard time getting used to just how damned gorgeous the weather was. Sure, it’d been pretty nice in San Francisco, but you still had the occasional overcast day. In LA it was nothing but sunshine and perfect temperatures all the time.

  The top was down on my new car, a big smile on my face as I drove toward the office in Silver Lake. Driving was another thing I’d had to get used to since I’d moved there—in San Francisco I’d been able to take public transportation anywhere I needed to go. Not in LA, no way. To get anywhere here you had to drive, drive, and drive some more. I wasn’t a fan of the traffic, but today for whatever reason the roads were clear.

  The imposing, modern shape of the LA Corliss offices appeared in the distance. Moments later I was in the parking garage out of my car, ready to start a new day at work. I entered the big, spacious lobby, which was even more decked-out than the San Francisco offices. The LA location was Corliss’s newest addition, and the building looked the part. Everything about it was sleek and brand new.

  “Morning, Ms. Marten!” announced Jane, the department secretary, as I stepped out of the elevator and onto my floor.

  Ms. Marten. I was still getting used to hearing it. When I’d asked Mr. Walker, my previous manager, for a transfer over the break, I hadn’t been expecting much. Hell, I’d half-expected him to tell me that it wasn’t in the cards, that I’d have to stay put there until something maybe opened up at some point in the future.

  Instead, he was so happy I’d asked that I’d wondered if he was simply eager to get rid of me. But he told me that the new LA location was hurting for staff and he was certain they’d kill for someone like me to join them. Sure enough, a few calls with human resources and an interview later, I had a new position and a new location.

  And not just any position—it was a promotion. Senior Administrative Specialist, to be exact. I’d have a small team working underneath me, along with a nice little bump in my salary. The money had been enough that my days of living with roommates were officially over, and I had the cute one-bedroom to prove it.

  “Good morning, Jane,” I said with a smile.

  She smiled right back as I zipped along, heading toward my office.

  Saying “my office” was still just as much of a shock as hearing people refer to me as “Ms. Marten.” I’d been so used to working in my cubicle I’d half-forgotten that some people actually had rooms to themselves, and now, I was one of them.

  But, I remembered on the way to my office, I had work to do before I could get settled in. After all, I had a team working underneath me—another detail that I couldn’t help but smile when I remembered.

  The crew was already hard at work at their cubicle stations. There were five of them in total, all younger than me.

  “Wow,” I said, checking the shiny new watch that I’d bought over the weekend. “And I thought I was a go-getter.”

  Sam, a fresh-faced college grad, turned in my direction and regarded me with bright eyes behind stylish frames.

  “Just making sure that the Grafixtech report is ready to go out before lunch,” he said.

  “Awesome,” I said. “You guys send it to me when you’re done and I’ll give it a look-over.”

  “Sounds good, Ms. Marten,” said Shannon, another member of my crew.

  “Oh, and by the way, guys, Mr. Reynard wanted me to pass along how kick-ass the update on the Quenetix project was—his words exactly.”

  “And it was good?” asked Bethany, always eager to please.

  “Trust me,” I said. “It was good. And I know a thing or two about writing a good report.”

  As soon as I said the words, my brain zapped me right back to that first meeting with Adam, when he’d complimented me for the same thing.

  Adam. Just the thought of him was enough to make me shudder.

  I still couldn’t believe the way things had turned out between us, him screwing me then attempting to pay me off. When I’d first put in the request for the transfer, part of me thought that I’d done something stupid and rash. But the moment I’d crossed the San Francisco city limits and was on my way to LA, I’d felt confident about what I’d done.

  Still, Adam had been popping into my head more frequently than I’d like. And every time it happened, I felt the same rush of anger, frustration, and…nausea.

  “Ms. Marten, are you okay?” asked Bethany. “You look a little…”

  A wave of queasiness rushed through me, and I had to grab onto the top of the nearest cubicle divider to steady myself.

  I closed my eyes hard, my stomach lurching. For a moment, I felt like I was going to throw up right there on the office floor.

  “Ms. Marten?” asked Shannon. “You cool?”

  “Yeah,” I said, shaking my head and bringing myself back to normal. “Just…um, a little vertigo. Nothing to worry about.”

  The team regarded me with a mixture of confusion and concern.

  “Anyway,” I said. “You guys know where to find me if you need me!”

  And with that I was off, more than ready to step away from my embarrassment.

  Truthfully, that hadn’t been the first time I’d had a strange spell of nausea like that. They’d been happening more and more frequently over the last couple of weeks. I wanted to chalk it up to my body still adjusting to the new location, but I knew that was a flimsy excuse. After all, I’d moved from San Francisco to LA, not to Bangkok.

  My o
ther theory had been that I was still more frustrated with Adam than I wanted to admit. It sounded outlandish even to me, but I’d remembered hearing something once about how feelings that one didn’t properly deal with could manifest in physical symptoms. I didn’t like the idea of what Adam had done affected me in such a way, but I had to admit my dealing-with-it strategy of moving and ignoring it might not have been the best.

  “Isla!”

  I recognized the voice right away as that of Emily Stone, the boss to whom I now reported. I turned and her tall, willowy frame, impeccably dressed as always, was striding toward me with her usual calm confidence and authority.

  “Emily!” I said. “Good morning!”

  Something strange happened—I noticed her eyes flicked to my chest, hold there for a moment, and then return to my eyes.

  Had I just gotten checked out by my boss? No way. She was happily married, and to a man as far as I knew. But why was she staring at my boobs like that?

  “Um, Isla,” she said. “Can we talk a moment? In private?”

  The nausea was gone, but now there was tension. Was I in trouble? Was…was she going to make a pass at me? This was getting too weird.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Come this way.”

  Moments later we were in her impressive corner office, the view looking out over the city. Once there she took a seat on the edge of her desk, sighed, and took off her glasses.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about over the last few days, and it’s somewhat of a delicate topic.”

  “Sure,” I said, now even tenser.

  “It’s…the issue of your breasts.”

  “What?”

  The word flew out of my mouth like a bullet. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “Like I said,” she went on. “Delicate subject.”

  Without thinking, I grabbed my breasts. And as soon as I realized what I was doing, my hands shot off like I’d just put them on two very hot, surprisingly large stovetops. They were…bigger?