The Executive Read online

  Never had I been so equipped either. I was used to a laptop and a phone with Dante. Working at DCS, I had a tablet, phone, computer, and all were synced together, allowing information to transfer instantly. It was a bit of a learning curve, but it did make things a lot easier.

  The door to the office opened, but I was too engrossed in finishing my email to look up.

  “Umm, Miss Prescot?” a small voice called out, drawing my attention.

  I glanced up to find a waifish-looking blonde girl. Her large brown eyes blinked behind black wire frames, and she had a skittish aura about her.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi, I’m Stacey Collins, the intern?” There was absolutely no confidence in her voice, and I suddenly pitied the girl.

  I vaguely remembered an email about an incoming intern, but there was so much information to absorb that I’d completely forgotten about it.

  “Hello. Please, call me Ivy.” I held out my hand, and she lightly slipped hers in. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot you were coming, so I’m not sure what to do at the moment.”

  “Oh, I just came to introduce myself. There is an intern introduction today.”

  I blew out a breath and smiled at her. “That’s good. It will give me time to prepare. You will be here Monday, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I look forward to it,” I said, making sure to give her my friendliest smile.

  She gave a small wave as she headed out. I stared after her, afraid she might faint before she got out the door. How had she secured an internship with Lincoln Devereux? He was going to eat her alive.

  Immediately I started an email to maintenance so that she could have a desk to work from, then an email to tech support for a computer and setup. Supposedly it was to be taken care of by the intern program, but I needed it done now and not sometime next week. Being the CEO’s assistant had its perks sometimes, and that included getting whatever I needed ASAP.

  “I’ll be back in time for the two o’clock shareholder meeting,” Mr. Devereux said as he rushed past, not even glancing at me.

  The door that led to Mr. Devereux’s office was usually open, and he always managed to scare me when he suddenly appeared in front of my desk. Were the floors soundproof?

  “Have a good lunch,” I called after him.

  He turned and smirked. “Oh, I will.”

  I hated the sinking feeling that occupied my stomach. The calendar simply said “Lunch—Yvette,” and I knew it wasn’t a business lunch. No, those were more complicated, like tomorrow’s “Lunch—Armando’s. Sean Thomas, Intercontinental Express.”

  After finishing up my email, I gave Alex a quick phone call and arranged to meet her in the lobby.

  Alex was a petite woman in her mid-thirties with light brown hair down to her waist that she always kept back in a loose ponytail or loose half-braid. She was cheery, and the only bright spot of my day.

  We didn’t wander far for lunch, but that was because there were a dozen great options within a block or two.

  “How is it you didn’t get this position?” I asked as I scarfed down my chicken Caesar salad.

  Another of her light giggles escaped as she shook her head. “No way would I work for that man. Stephen already keeps me busy, and he’s many notches below Lincoln. My husband would like the money, but not the hours or the stress.”

  She wasn’t kidding about either of those. My first week I worked forty-eight hours and crashed every night I got home. I was already at fifty for the week and still had half of Friday left.

  “I really can’t thank you enough for all your help these last couple of weeks.”

  She waved her hand. “I’m happy to help.”

  “Did you help the ones before me?”

  She shook her head. “No. Some of them really were idiots. I questioned how HR even let them through, but maybe the application pool was low. I did try at first, but soon found I was doing a lot of their job and my job while getting none of the perks.”

  “Glad to know I’m not an idiot,” I said with a laugh.

  “Oh, you’re not. I like helping you because usually I’m just directing you to what you need, not doing it for you. Totally different.”

  We were able to take our time at lunch, which was nice for a change, before returning to the office.

  I was barely back at my desk when the phone rang and I stretched to pick it up.

  “Lincoln Devereux’s office.” My greeting was so much easier than before.

  “Well, my, my. I know that voice. Hello, Ivy,” a familiar voice said across the line.

  “Mike?” I asked in surprise.

  “The rumors were true.”

  “Very. How are you?” I asked, unable to keep the smile from my face.

  “Well. You? Are things different for you there?”

  “Very. Demanding has taken on a whole new definition.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt.”

  “What can I do for you?” I knew why he was calling, but it was polite to ask anyway.

  “I’ve officially cancelled all contract negotiations with Kilgore and I’d like to see what DCS has to offer.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Devereux will be happy to hear that. When are you available?”

  With some finagling, we were able to find an opening a few weeks out that worked for both of their schedules.

  A few minutes after hanging up with Mike, Mr. Devereux returned.

  “Welcome back,” I said as he entered.

  He said nothing, but quirked a brow at me. “Aren’t you going to ask how my lunch was?”

  “How was your lunch?” I asked with a fake smile plastered on my face. I really didn’t want to know, but for some reason, he wanted me to.

  “Succulent and juicy,” he said with a lick of his lips.

  Again, my stomach fell. “Great.”

  “Have you caught up on the data collection protocol?” he asked, back to business. Looking at him, he didn’t seem any more relaxed than when he left, which was odd for a man who just got his rocks off. Maybe she wasn’t any good.

  “Almost. I have a few questions.”

  He continued into his office, and I followed behind him. “Good. We can go over them later. The faster you know this company, the better.”

  “Why do companies want to collect so much information?”

  He stopped and turned back to me. “You worked for Dante for five years and you can’t answer that question?”

  “I understand for marketing and product targeting.”

  “Analysis, information, and storage capabilities is what we provide. Every time you scan that frequent-shopper card, it gets filtered through, compared, so the company can target you with customized ads and promotions that are more apt to get you into the store. Specialty service companies need software to process their inventory and organize their clients’ tastes and preferences. We create the software to handle all of their needs as well as information storage.”

  “It’s just that, reading the data collection information, I wonder why people give up so much privacy.”

  “Good question, but that is the evolution of the technological age. You use your smartphone to pay your bill—that was me.”

  “What do you mean that was you?”

  “It was the program I created that got me this position. The program that skyrocketed DCS. Shopper cards have been around for twenty years, but they hadn’t evolved. Now, there are grocery store apps with digital coupons. It not only cuts down on paper waste, but now businesses have all the customer and product information they need all in one system.”

  Wow. I knew that he was a revered software developer, but somehow I didn’t know the list of industry accomplishments that were directly related to his efforts.

  “Do you miss being a software developer?”

  He glanced at me and gave a small smile. “Sometimes. Then I remind myself of my goal and how I can only accomplish that as CEO.” He grabbed his tablet and his leather portfolio. “I want a c
offee waiting when I get back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He strode past me to his shareholder meeting. All the while, my mind turned his words. While yes, I did know most of the answers to what seemed like inane questions, I was curious to hear his answers. We’d spent so little time getting to know one another, and I wasn’t sure he realized that hindered my ability to properly do my job. Perhaps the dozen before me inspired so little confidence that he didn’t want to open up to me, but I was determined to change that.

  I wanted to know Lincoln Devereux. More than the handsome leader with an eye for development, but the man.

  Moreover, I wanted to know his goals. By his admission, I had a strong suspicion it had nothing to do with DCS.

  A few days later, I was stuck in traffic on my way into the office, when my sister, Iris, called. Thankfully, she phoned after I was up. She had a tendency to forget I was three hours behind her.

  “How’s the job going?” she asked.

  “As well as can be expected,” I replied with a yawn. The long hours were getting better but my body was still begging for sleep.

  “Uh-oh, what does that mean?”

  “It’s just, well, the transition period is harder than I expected,” I admitted before taking a sip of my coffee and wishing all the cars would disappear so I could get to work before I fell asleep. “There wasn’t really anyone to help me get going. Kind of a sink-or-swim situation.”

  By the way my interview went, I expected we would get along and that he would help me understand him and DCS. However, it seemed like he avoided me more than anything. That avoidance created friction and things needed to change before something happened.

  “I totally would have drowned.”

  Yes, she would have. “It’s fine,” I said with a sigh as I downed the last of my cup. “I’m just exhausted.”

  “You sound it.”

  “How’s Jeremy?” I asked, steering the conversation away from me. There was no more coffee and I was in desperate need for more. I needed to get to the lobby Starbucks, stat.

  “We broke up last week.”

  “What? Why didn’t you call me?” Iris always called or texted me about everything.

  “Because I wasn’t beaten up about it or anything.”

  “A few weeks ago, you were falling in love with him,” I reminded her.

  “Yeah, well, that was more with his dick than anything else about him.”

  Bingo. Sometimes her libido was stronger than her head. “Ah, you were infatuated with the D, not the man.”

  “Speaking of D—how’s what’s his name?”

  It took me way too long to even figure out who she was talking about, because the first person who came to mind was Mr. Devereux. While I hadn’t had any experience with his D, that didn’t mean I didn’t think about it. A lot more than I should, given his shitty attitude toward me.

  “Peter?” It hit me, and much later than it should have.

  “Yeah, him.”

  Peter gave up on me before I’d even finished my first two weeks at DCS. We’d celebrated with dinner after I got the position, but that was the last time I saw him.

  “I got a voicemail the other day. We’re done.”

  There was a gasp on the other end. “He broke up with you over voicemail?”

  I sighed as I pulled into the parking garage. “I don’t blame him. We’d only gone on a handful of dates and then I get this job and I didn’t have the time or energy to contact him.”

  “New boss is working you to the bone.”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re not sad, though.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. She was completely right. I didn’t have much to be sad over. Peter was a nice guy, but if he called it quits that easily, there wasn’t anything there.

  Iris continued, talking about how one day we were going to meet men who deserved our greatness and I agreed, keeping my responses minimal as I shared the elevator to the lobby with a half-dozen other people.

  Luckily the line for Starbucks wasn’t long.

  “How’s dingbat?” I asked after ordering for Mr. Devereux and myself. It was a bit of a gamble, getting a coffee for him and not making it myself, but I’d learned his exact order and made sure to taste that it was correct before I handed it over.

  “Eh, dingbatty as usual. He’s got a girl now.”

  “Seriously?” Our brother, Briar, was a lady’s man, so to hear him settle on one girl for more than a couple of dates was astounding.

  “Yeah. It’s been like a month. When was the last time you talked to him?”

  Too long. “Over a month ago.”

  She began to describe the girl in question as I entered the elevator, but between the interrupted connection and all the people talking, I only understood the words leggy and blonde.

  “Sounds like his type,” I replied as I stepped toward the large glass doors that led to Mr. Devereux’s office. The doors opened to a waiting area, my L-shaped hardwood desk, and the intern’s smaller desk across the space. There was a door that led to a small break-room area and kitchenette that held the over-the-top espresso machine that you needed a mechanical degree to operate. The room also held a door to a powder room, all to ensure that I was never far from my desk.

  “Totally, but she’s also different. I like her.”

  I set my purse and coffee down, freeing my hands so that I could unlock the door leading to Mr. Devereux’s office. “Good. Maybe she’s what he needs.”

  Between my desk and the intern’s desk was a large wooden door that led to Mr. Devereux’s office. Inside was another great space with a large executive desk with two large monitors. A flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall with two modern-style leather arm chairs and matching love-seat for sharing information. A rectangular, black mahogany table with a center glass stripe that sat up to six was on the opposite side, along with a set of built-in bookcases, a buffet, and a door that led to a full private bathroom. The corner office was framed by floor-to-ceiling windows.

  The space was very masculine with few personal items—no warmth at all.

  “Maybe.” I stepped in and was nearly blinded by the morning sun shining.

  With a touch of the screen next to his door the Roman shades dropped, diffusing the intense light. There was another set of shades that blocked out all light, at the touch of a screen. Much like the company, his office was state-of-the-art.

  “You should come visit me,” I said, as I sat Mr. Devereaux’s coffee down and straightened his desk.

  “You could visit me, too.”

  “Brat, I was just there for two weeks.”

  “That was months ago,” she whined.

  “Yeah, well, it’s been two years since you last came out. You haven’t even seen my new apartment.” I walked back out to my desk and woke my computer up.

  “It’s a studio. Seen one, seen them all.”

  “Not true.”

  She gave a huff before letting out a long winded, “Fiiinnneee.”

  “Stop being a brat.”

  “But it’s so wet there.” I could hear the pout in her voice.

  I took a sip of my coffee and let out a little moan as the warmth spread through me. Coffee was life. “We can do that underground tour and the Ferris wheel on the pier.”

  “We can’t just hang?”

  I rolled my eyes at my sister’s lack of adventure. “It’s fun, Iris.”

  “Okay, but I also want to see this new place and your new boss. The last one was sleazy as fuck. I had to steam clean my ass after he touched me.”

  Dante had flirted with Iris, thinking she was me, and she played along until she realized he was the man I talked about.

  In my periphery, a figure headed through the glass doors, but it wasn’t Stacey, the intern.

  “Delivery,” a portly man in a grey uniform with a red jacket said.

  I stared at the delivery man, at the dozen red roses in his hand, and glanced at the clock. A bit early for any sort of delivery,
especially since Mr. Devereux hadn’t even arrived. It was also odd for a man to receive flowers, but not unheard of.

  “Iris, I need to go. Find a date and let me know.”

  “Okie. Later,” she called.

  “Are you Ivy Prescot?” the man asked.

  I nodded, and my brow furrowed. “Yes.”

  “For you,” he said, as he set them down in front of me.

  “Thank you.” I stared down at the bouquet, not even noticing the man had left until I heard the click of the door.

  A smile crept onto my face as I leaned down to smell the flowers. In the center sat a card with my name written in elegant script.

  “Where did those come from?”

  I jumped and looked up to find Mr. Devereux standing next to my desk, his eyes on the envelope in my hand.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Hi, and no.”

  He quirked his brow and gestured to the flowers.

  “They’re from Mike Deacon.”

  “Mike Deacon from Chandelier?”

  “Yes.”

  I was lost watching the way his fingers gently ran across the soft petals, wondering how they would feel against my skin. “Interesting that he would send you flowers.”

  “When I worked at Kilgore we were trying to obtain his account.”

  “Are you fucking him?” he asked, making all fantasy of his touch stop immediately.

  Ah, there it was. That direct, almost accusing tone. It always set me on edge, like we were about to fight. “Excuse me?”

  “Answer the question.”

  Why was it that nearly everything out of his mouth sounded like an accusation? It was getting old, and it all stemmed back to us not knowing each other. “Absolutely not.”

  “Then why is he sending you roses?”

  “Not that I need to explain to you, but it’s because we became friends, and he was just as excited as I was to get away from Dante.”

  “Hmph.”

  The vein jumped on my forehead. “I’m beginning to think the grass wasn’t greener.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “What did you say?”