Page 35 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please tell me he's not using the ping pong paddle as a revolutionary symbol again."

"Worse." Emma checks her tablet. "He's using the meditation cushions to build barricades. Something about 'seizing the means of relaxation.'"

Mac makes a sound that might be a laugh or a cry. "I should... go handle that."

"Ms. Gallo." I catch her arm before she can escape. "We're not done with our discussion."

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment the tension from earlier crackles back to life.

"Later," she says softly. Then louder, for our audience: "I'll have the feedback analysis on your desk in the morning, Mr. Drake."

She leaves, taking the scent of espresso and flowers with her. I watch her go, very aware of the speculative looks from our impromptu audience.

"So..." Brad shifts awkwardly. "Should I come back later? Or..."

"The meditation room is all yours, Brad." I straighten my tie, trying to look like a CEO who definitely wasn't just about to kiss his corporate culture consultant. "Try not to have any feelings about NFTs on the good cushions."

"Sir?" Emma falls into step beside me as I head for the conference room. "About what we just..."

"Not a word."

"Of course." She taps her tablet. "Should I cancel your dinner with the board tomorrow? Given the... situation?"

"Which situation? You mean with Ms. Gallo or the communist revolution in our break room?"

"Both seem relevant to the board's interests."

I stop walking. "Emma?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Schedule an all-hands meeting for tomorrow. And get me everything we have on coffee machine equity standards."

"Very good, sir." She makes a note. "And the... other situation?"

I think about Mac's face in the lightning flashes, about the way she felt in my arms, about how completely screwed I am.

"That situation is... ongoing."

"I'll update your risk assessment matrices accordingly."

My phone buzzes – a text from Grayson:

GRAYSON: Connor looked up a picture of that consultant and said she’s hotter than that beach we got drunk on in Bali. Please tell me you're not about to lose us the bachelor yacht

I ignore it, heading for the conference room where apparently I need to negotiate with a Marxist barista uprising.

Just another Monday at Drake Enterprises.

At least the meditation cushions are finally being used for something productive.

Even if that something is a proletarian revolution.

11

THE TROUBLE WITH ALMOST-KISSES

MACKENZIE

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