Page 46 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

The door flies open again. Because of course it does.

"Mr. Drake!" Emma rushes in, then stops short at our position. "Oh. I... the PR team needs to confirm some numbers for the press conference. And Keith is trying to organize a sit-in at the coffee station. And Brad's now journaling about the biometric scanner rejecting his fingerprints..."

I jump back from Alex like I've been electrocuted. "I should go handle Keith."

"Mac—"

"Press conference in two hours!" I practically flee his office. "Practice those talking points!"

In the hallway, I lean against the wall, heart pounding. This is getting out of hand.

The almost-moments with Alex, the blog posts that keep coincidentally aligning with company events, the way my mission to expose corporate culture problems keeps getting tangled up with actual positive changes...

My phone buzzes again. Another notification:

@TechCrunch: "Anonymous tech industry blogger raises concerns about corporate surveillance. Drake Enterprises CEO Alexander Drake to address corporate culture reform in press conference today. Coincidence? #TechNews #CorporateCulture"

Shit. Shitshitshit.

I head for my office, already composing my next blog post in my head. Something about the tech industry's obsession with coincidences and pattern recognition. Something clever and general that definitely won't make Alex's suspicions worse.

But first, I need to stop Keith's coffee revolution before someone gets hurt with a French press, help Brad with his fingerprint crisis,…and figure out why my heart does that stupid fluttery thing every time Alex says my name.

Oh, and then maybe I can somehow manage all of this without exposing myself as the anonymous blogger who's been critiquing tech culture for months.

I’d say I've handled worse crises. But then again most of those crises didn't involve me wanting to bite the earlobe of the man I'm supposed to be investigating.

My phone buzzes one more time - a text from Lucia:

"Nonna wants to know if you're bringing Alex to Sunday dinner since you're 'practically engaged' according to Brad's now viral journal. Also, Keith just tried to start a coffee-related chant in Italian. Please handle that before Nonna hears about it and adopts him."

I turn off my phone.

Some problems can wait until after the press conference, starting with a coffee revolution prevention. Because if there's one thing I've learned in twenty years of tech industry experience, it's that caffeine-deprived developers are more dangerous than any corporate scandal.

And some problems – like my growing feelings for Alexander Drake – might not have solutions at all.

14

THE PRICE OF POWER

ALEX

The Seattle skyline glitters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my private dining room at Altura, where I've just spent forty-five minutes arguing with the sommelier about a bottle of Sassicaia that about as much as my penthouse’s monthly rent. Not because he's wrong about the wine – he isn't – but because sometimes being Alexander Drake means maintaining certain expectations.

Even when those expectations feel increasingly hollow.

"Sir?" The sommelier hovers, professionally anxious. "Shall I decant the '82?"

I check my watch – Swiss, limited edition, a gift to myself after my first billion. Mac is seven minutes late. "Give her another few minutes."

He nods and retreats, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a view worth a million dollars—maybe two. The press conference had gone better than expected. Tech blogs are already calling Drake Enterprises' new initiatives "revolutionary" and "industry-leading."

All thanks to the woman who might be secretly plotting my company's downfall.

My phone buzzes – Grayson:

GRAY:Saw the press conference. Looking good for a guy who's about to lose a yacht

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