Page 97 of Rejected By My Shifter Billionaire
“Thank goodness you’re here!” she blurted. “I have so much to tell you, and none of it is good, and I think I might need to update my resume—”
“Breathe, Ada.”
She sucked in a dramatic gulp of air. “Okay. Breathing. Got it.”
My mind went back to the time she had started working here. She hadn’t even meant to, actually, since Ada being Ada, she had accidentally responded to a job posting for a personal assistant with a detailed analysis of why my agency’s logo font choice was “emotionally manipulative but in a good way.” Somehow, that had convinced me she was exactly what I needed.
I was starting to question that decision.
“What’s the crisis?” I asked, settling behind my desk.
“Well,” Ada began, wringing her hands, “you know how you asked me to compile that list of potential trial matches for the agency beta testing?”
“Yes...”
“And you know how I’ve been really, really careful about following protocol since the whole email incident?”
My stomach dropped. “Ada.”
“I might have accidentally sent the preliminary compatibility reports to Prince Alexei instead of saving them to the internal database.”
I stared at her. “You what?”
“But!” She held up one finger like this somehow made it better. “I caught the mistake really quickly! Only took them three minutes to read everything!”
“Three minutes to—” I rubbed my temples. “Ada, those reports contain confidential client information. Alpha bloodline data. Mating compatibility algorithms that took me two years to develop.”
“I know! That’s why I called it a DEFCON 1 situation!” She paused. “That is the really bad one, right? I always get confused about whether one or five is worse.”
“One is worse, Ada. One is definitely worse.”
She wilted. “So...you’re going to fire me?”
I looked at her—twenty years old, tears already gathering in her brown eyes, wearing a sweater with a cartoon llama that said “No Prob-llama” across the front—and felt my anger deflate.
“No, Ada. I’m not going to fire you.”
She brightened immediately. “Really?”
“Really. But we need to do damage control.”
“Yes, exactly, and that’s why...I think what I’m about to say is a good thing.”
“I highly doubt that, but just...give it to me.”
“Prince Alexei’s office sent a formal request for an in-person meeting. Tomorrow.”
I dropped my head into my hands.
“How formal?” I asked, my voice muffled.
“It was in a language that Google Translate can’t even read?”
I’m-about-to-die-formal then.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
