Page 58 of Forty, Flirty & Fired

"See?" Lucia gestures at the retreating developers. "Even Keith knows you're having a crisis."

"I'm not—" My phone buzzes with a text from Alex:

ALEX:We need to talk about the summit. And why you left. And possibly why Keith keeps calling me 'The Bourgeois Heartbreaker' in sprint planning meetings.

"Not a crisis, huh?" Lucia reads over my shoulder. "Is that why you're hiding in your office at 7 AM?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm... taking the smart, professional path and avoiding complicated situations."

"You mean you're avoiding the fact that you're falling for the man you're supposed to be exposing through your blog?"

Put that way, it sounds ridiculous. And impossible. And exactly what's happening.

I pull up the employee satisfaction metrics instead of answering. The numbers don't lie – all my initiatives are working. Retention is up, engagement is soaring, and the anonymous feedback program (now with 30% fewer revolutionary manifestos) is actually driving positive change.

"The Christmas Gala is in two weeks," I say instead of addressing my sister's knowing look. "We need to finalize the vendor contracts and?—"

"Ms. Gallo?" Emma appears in my doorway. "Mr. Drake would like to see you in his office. About the..." she checks her tablet, "anomalous patterns in recent social media engagement metrics."

Oh no.

"Now?" I definitely don't squeak.

"He seemed... adamant."

Lucia stands. "Well, this should be interesting. Try not to start any revolutions. Or make out with any CEOs in glass offices."

"Not helping."

"Never claimed to be." She heads for the door, then pauses. "But Mac? Maybe consider that some revolutions work better from the inside."

I watch her go, her words echoing in my head. Through the glass walls, I can see Alex in his office, jacket off, sleeves rolled up in a way that makes a heartbeat pound between my legs.

Right. Time to face the music.

And possibly get fired.

Again.

But first, I need coffee. Assuming Keith's revolution hasn't completely disrupted the supply chain.

The break room is surprisingly peaceful, though someone (definitely Keith) has added a small reproduction of Delacroix's "Liberty Leading the People" above the coffee machine. Liberty is holding a coffee cup instead of a flag.

I'm halfway through making my emergency espresso when Alex's voice behind me makes me jump.

"Avoiding me?"

I turn slowly. Dark-haired and smoldering, he’s leaning in the doorway, looking good damn delectable for someone who might be about to fire me. Again.

"Not avoiding. Just... processing."

"Processing what? The kiss? The fact that you ran away? Or the fact that our anonymous blogger hasn't posted anything critical about Drake Enterprises since that night?"

My heartbeat triples in pace.

"I don't follow?—"

"Yes, you do." He steps into the break room, closing the door. "Just like you followed our inclusion metrics before I hired you. Just like you knew about our retention issues before the takeover. Just like you've known exactly which problems to focus on because you've been documenting them for months."

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