Page 20 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"Are surprisingly accurate," Mackenzie interrupts. "Maybe instead of hunting down the source, we should address the issues they're highlighting?"

I hide my smile behind my coffee cup. Two weeks ago, I would have been leading the witch hunt for our anonymous critic. Now, watching Mackenzie Gallo systematically dismantle our toxic practices while building something better... well, let's just say my perspective has shifted.

The meeting wraps up with Gerald looking constipated and Barbara making ominous notes in her tablet. As everyone files out, I catch Mackenzie’s eye. "My office. Five minutes."

She nods, gathering her materials with the efficiency of someone who's learned to move quickly between corporate battlegrounds.

In my office, I close the door and obscure the glass walls with a switch – a luxury her fishbowl workspace doesn't afford. "That was quite a performance."

"Truth usually is." She drops into one of my visitor chairs, finally letting exhaustion show. "Please tell me you're not still considering the TechVibe acquisition."

"You mean after you publicly eviscerated every aspect of it? I do enjoy a challenge, Ms. Gallo, but I'm not suicidal."

She snorts, an oddly endearing sound from someone who looks like she stepped off a corporate fashion runway. "Could have fooled me. Taking my advice about corporate culture? That's practically CEO suicide."

"And yet, our retention numbers are up fifteen percent since you started."

"Twenty," she corrects, then immediately looks like she regrets it.

"You've been tracking the daily changes?"

"I'm thorough."

"So I've noticed." I study her, noting the dark circles under her eyes barely concealed by makeup. "How long have you been here this morning?"

"Long enough to know that TechVibe's been systematically underpaying their female engineers for three years." She meets my gaze. "Sound familiar?"

And there it is again. The elephant that's been dancing between us since our late-night encounter in her office.

"The salary adjustments are in progress," I say carefully. "HR is?—"

"Moving at the speed of continental drift?" She stands, pacing. "While women keep getting paid less for the same work?"

"These things take time?—"

"Time is money, Mr. Drake. And right now, you're spending it on women's backs."

The passion in her voice hits me like that champagne did.

Unexpected. Powerful. And oddly intoxicating.

"You're right." The words surprise us both. "So help me fix it."

She freezes mid-pace. "What?"

"Help me fix it." I stand, moving around my desk. "You've got the data, the insight, and apparently a direct line to every employee's concerns. Work with me on this."

"Work with you?" She laughs. "I thought that's what I was doing."

"No, you've been working for me. There's a difference."

She studies me, and I find myself hoping my poker face is as good as hers. Because right now, all I can think about is howher eyes flash when she's passionate about something, how her hands move when she's making a point, how?—

"Fine." She nods. "But we do this my way. No board interference, no corporate politics, no?—"

My phone buzzes. Then hers does. Then probably every phone in the building.

@MizzByteMyAlgos has struck again:

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