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“How the hell did you know that?” Derrick demanded, looking both irritated and amused.
“I’m classy,” she informed him. “Now tell me about these slash tags.”
Derrick rolled his eyes at her. “Hashtags, Taylor,” he said, shaking his head. “Got your phone?”
Taylor shook her head, her mouth too full to speak.
“Is it in our room?” he asked, and Taylor went still.
Their room? No, it wasn’ttheirroom. It was his room; he had grown up there. Her sleeping in there for one night with a ring he had given her under false pretenses did not make ittheirroom.
“Taylor?” Derrick asked, interrupting all her thoughts. He was staring at her, waiting for an answer, and all she could do was resume chewing and shake her head no. “Marty’s?” he pushed, and Taylor was able to nod at that, still fixated on the “our room” thing. “Okay, I’ll get it. Eat up,” he instructed, and he was off, leaving Taylor to panic about word choice all by herself.
Chapter Twelve
“So people usea pound sign and a word after it to catchphrase everyday things they do?” Taylor asked.
Derrick shrugged. “Pretty much,” he confirmed.
“Well, that’s dumb.”
“I didn’t invent it,” Derrick assured her.
It had been two hours since she had come into the sitting room, and she now had Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter accounts, with the highest available security settings in place. When Derrick explained to her how important this whole social media thing was in today’s business world, she went in search of Preston Corp. across social media platforms and found that, while they had a Facebook page, it sucked. She added hiring a social media person to the to-do list on her phone, something else she had learned about from Derrick.
Taylor tapped on the Instagram icon, loving the little camera, and scrolled through Derrick’s posts. “Well, for someone who thinks they are dumb, you sure use them a lot, Fletcher,” Taylor told him. “‘Beautiful day #greatview #nofilter #sunset’” she rattled off, reading one of his most recent posts. “Was that necessary?” she asked, shooting him a quizzical look.
Derrick looked a little embarrassed. “They are addictive, okay?” he defended. “Everybody does it.”
“And if they all jumped off a bridge, Derrick?”
He glared at Taylor. “You just wait, I cannot wait until you will be just as guilty.”
Derrick’s phone started ringing, saving him from further analysis from Taylor. He looked at it and rolled his eyes. “I have to take this,” he apologized, and Taylor just nodded. “Hey, Ren,” he said to the caller, “I was just talking with Taro.” He disappeared down the hall.
These business calls were something Taylor was going to have to get used to soon. She held her phone in her hand and was wondering how long before it would be a heavy weight, rather than just a fun toy for her to play with on the Internet and social media. Taylor tapped on her Facebook app and scrolled through her newsfeed. The posts were limited since she was only friends with Derrick and had only liked Preston Corp. She had wanted to friend Marty, but then when Derrick explained how she could tag Taylor in things, she decided she wanted to hang on to her privacy for a little bit longer.
Thinking of Marty made her remember her photog comment when they had been at Derrick’s apartment. Clicking on her Internet compass, Taylor typed “Derrick Fletcher” into the search box and hit go. The second item on the page was a TMZ article titled “Derrick pulls a nutty on photog.”This must be the thing, Taylor mused, and she clicked on it.
The article had still shots of Derrick in a suit appearing to be coming from the Fletcher office tower. In the first shot he had a small smile, in the second he was glaring, and in the third his fist was in the face of a photographer. Taylor took in the pictures and then scrolled to the paragraph below.
Leaving his office Tuesday, Derrick Fletcher was the picture of a professional—until one particular paparazzo rubbed him the wrong way. In the video below, you can see Derrick walking and offering smiles to the photographers. When a comment is made by a yet unidentified photographer, Derrick turns into the incredible hulk.
Scrolling down quickly, Taylor found the box with the play icon waiting for her, and after a quick check over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, she played it. Just as the article described, Derrick was walking out of the office building, and immediately the crowd rushed to him. Derrick looked incredibly handsome. He just offered a small smile and a wave and kept walking toward a waiting car. He was about four feet from the car when a man yelled, “Come on, Derrick, take a couple of stills.” But Derrick didn’t stop. As he was about to get into his car, the same voice said, “You’re no fun anymore, Derrick, you’re as big a prude as that little Preston bitch.”
The movement was so quick it was hard for the cameraman to catch it all, but suddenly Derrick spun and locked a perfect punch into the photographer’s face. The man dropped to the ground like a brick. Derrick then pushed through and into the waiting open door of his car, and it sped away.
“What are you doing?” Derrick asked from behind her, and Taylor jumped in her seat, sending her phone sailing from her hand.
“Uh,” was the best answer she could come up with as she looked up at Derrick. “You scared me.”
Derrick ignored her and walked over to get her phone. “Todd and Charlie just sent me an email with all the information you asked for on all the department heads. We can—”
“Why did you hit him?”
Derrick didn’t meet her eyes but continued to pick up her phone and bring it to her. When he handed it over, Taylor grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stay. “Why, Derrick?”
“Because nobody should talk about you that way,” he said, shifting his gaze to her eyes.