Page 3 of Nothing to You (Nothing to… #7)

SO THE UNSUBSTANTIATED rumor? Totally true. When they shuffled into the presentation room, four stony faces behind a long table awaited them. They weren’t the only ones.

In the background, near a door at the rear of the room, someone stood next to the tall window that would overlook the exterior courtyard. She couldn’t see out, just knew the layout of the building.

His height. Shit, he had to be six four. The certainty of his stance, broad, proud, entitled… it added up. All of them hesitated at the sight of him. Damn. Maybe she would fuck this up.

With his hands clasped at his back, he turned, slow, yet there was something severe in the action. Even laid-back he looked mean, unimpressed, eager to throw them off their game.

But, seriously, forgetting the hardass stuff and the asshole reputation, the man was hot. Seriously hot. Way hotter in real life than on the internet.

Most billionaires weren’t necessarily celebrities, and he was no exception.

The concession that meant his picture was much more available online?

His relationships with the world’s sexiest supermodels.

Damn lucky women. Somewhere at some time, she’d read he only dated models.

Exclusively. If they hadn’t walked in Paris or graced the pages of Vogue Italia , he couldn’t even get a semi.

Okay, so she added that last detail. Maybe he could get hard for lowly, regular women, but why bother with the exertion when the alternative with sex on legs, little conversation required.

They got set up, as fast as they could, in case the time ate into their designated pitch minutes. Then, almost too quickly, she was front and center, ready to get things going.

The lights went off, then two flashed in their direction.

Spotlights. As though they were about to perform Shakespeare or something.

A small red dot between the heads of two of the panel suggested they were being recorded too.

Hmm, whatever happened would be documented for posterity.

Great. No big deal. Just don’t fuck this up.

She took a calming breath and spoke, wearing a smile.

“Huddle Hope,” Roux said to the four table people, choosing to ignore the loaded hottie in the shadows behind them.

“I bet you’ve had all kinds of flashy, fun ideas tossed at you over the last two days.

What we have for you is something different. ”

Deciphering audience reactions wasn’t easy while caught in the dazzle of the lights. Their presentation glowed from the wall between her flanking colleagues.

“What’s the challenge?” she asked, broadening her smile. “Most people start with the positives, right? That’s the thing about Huddle Hope; it’s almost all positive. We only have twenty minutes to impress you, and the positives speak for themselves.”

“Regulation. That’s our challenge,” Helena said, coming to her side. “Huddle Hope will require regulation. Negotiating what’s best for our clients will be extremely important. It lays a great responsibility at Huddle’s feet, but it’s one we can handle.”

“Too often, corporations shy from social responsibility,” Franco said as the women stepped out of the path of the screen. “Huddle Hope will embrace that responsibility.”

“Our users have proved they accept the gravity of their words and actions. We’re there for our people for debate and for the good times. But not so much for bad times.”

“On numerous occasions, Huddle has experienced users reaching out to the service, to others when they are in need,” she said.

“We have no provision for handling this officially… until now.” Their placeholder logo appeared on the screen.

“We want to create a safe place to support those in need. Initially, we would pilot a befriending service. A buddying system. Something for those who need support. Moving up to group sessions. Therapy. A secure environment to talk about more difficult issues.”

“Mental health.”

“Trauma.”

“Domestic abuse.”

“Any number of issues that we can form a network of support around.”

“It will not be a substitute for appropriate medical or other professional help. Though we would prefer our structure involve a foundation of appropriately trained professionals. And we shouldn’t branch into uncertain areas. We must take advice at every stage…”

“Let us show you our vision,” Helena said, stepping into the spotlight.

Her boss glittered. Roux could be charming… in the right light. She could be unpredictable too. Volatile. She got that she wasn’t everyone’s favorite cookie, but her great rack excused many sins.

The panel consisted of two men and two women.

Equal opportunities. Would that work? Franco did okay with the ladies.

She wasn’t sizing up the panel’s sexual preferences.

It was just a fact that people were nicer to people they liked.

They weren’t exactly getting a great opportunity to project their personalities.

If the panel liked the pitch of twenty different groups, they’d use non-pitch reasoning to narrow down the candidates to a shortlist.

Helena was good at this. Excellent. Even she was enthralled by the speech. Franco did the technical stuff with the presentation. Helena’s honeyed tones tempted; at least that was the hope.

The woman could dazzle with charisma. Thank God someone could. Maybe she was a hothead. No. Yeah. She was a hothead.

Helena was so good that she almost missed her cue.

Standing perpendicular to the presentation, only the peripheral view of the final slide prompted her to talk.

“We have a great passion for this project,” she said, covering for her almost slip. “We welcome questions and are willing to work hard. Very hard. For this worthy cause.”

“Your cost projections are conservative.”

A chill went down her spine. That didn’t come from anyone at the table.

“We took median figures,” Franco said, clearing his throat. “But vastly overestimated our contingency, aware that the budget has to be realistic.”

“It’s lazy accounting.”

Okay, what was going on? That was Mr. Loaded Dude at the back. Had to be.

“I want accurate figures.”

Was that a…?

Franco was a whisper away from pulling at his collar. “We can…” another throat clear, “I can tidy that up. Get more accurate numbers.”

“We’re nowhere near financial scrutiny,” one guy at the table said and twisted to look over the back of his chair.

So Table Guy wasn’t interested. Loaded Dude was. Good. If they were going to get anyone on board, the higher up the ladder, the better.

“I can’t assess the proposals without an accurate forecast.”

“You are not assessing anything,” Table Guy said to the boss man. “This is not your duty. Delegation. It’s what you’re good at. This is not my first rodeo. Just trust me, would you?”

The brow raise was subtle; she only just caught it as she turned to disconnect the laptop.

“Yippee-ki-yay.”

She stopped. Everything went completely on pause.

“Okay,” someone at the table said. “Thank you for your presentation. Someone will get back to you.”

She knew it was someone at that table because it wasn’t that voice. That voice…

Hotshot’s voice.

Spinning on the spot, mouth open, she fixated on him and damn, he was looking right back, right into her. Fuck.

Did he know? Of course he had to know. A guy like him had access to everything.

Like everything. Shit. What had she told him?

So much more than she’d ever tell a guy in real life.

That was what made him different, safe, they’d never have to look each other in the eye.

Except they did because… they were doing it right then.

“Thank you very much for your time,” Helena said. “All of you. It’s appreciated and a great pleasure to be before such instrumental players in the Mosaic machine. It’s an honor.”

A few beats of nothing passed.

Someone grabbed her arm to pull her toward the door.

Don’t be a hothead. Stay quiet. Stay calm. Say nothing. Walk out. Just turn and walk out the door. Don’t wreck their chances.

Fuck their chances.

She snatched her arm away from the tugging hand. “You have some nerve,” she said, narrowing her focus on Hotshot. “Some real fucking nerve.”

“Language,” he drawled. “Watch your keywords.”

“Miss Radley…” Table Guy said but was ignored.

“You don’t have any idea what decency is, do you?” she demanded, marching closer to the table, still fixated on Hotshot. “What choice is. What fairness is.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Helena was saying in the background. “Roux!”

But she couldn’t take her eyes off the smug smirk at the back of the room. “You couldn’t keep away, you just couldn’t even… do you know the damage you’ve caused?”

“Roux!” Helena chastised her as the men from her group hissed too, desperately trying to silence her. It was too late for that. Way too late. “What is the matter with you?”

“He is the matter with me. Him. There…” she said, pointing.

“And look, he doesn’t have a damn thing to say for himself.

He knows what he’s done. He knows he’s wrecked everything.

He knows it. But he stands there smirking, like he’s not the biggest asshole the company’s ever seen! The company? The country! The world!”

“I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

“He’s not sorry,” she said, glaring. “No, Mr. Bigshot doesn’t have to be sorry, he owns huge chunks of the world.”

“If I own it, shouldn’t I have the final word on how it’s run?”

“No. No, you shouldn’t. It’s called free will, and it’s not your right to take it away.”

“My right to keep mine.”

“I’m not so sure,” she said, a hand landing on her hip. “It’s clear you can’t be trusted with it.”

“Just as you cannot be trusted with discretion.”

“Oh, I’m discreet, Hotshot. I’m discreet over the whole damn place.”

“Miss Radley…”

Someone stepped into her line of sight, blocking her view. He wasn’t the only one nearby. The panel and her own people surrounded her.

“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “Okay, I’ll take a breather.” Turning around, she started out within the tight cordon formed by her vigilant colleagues. “This isn’t over!”

“You see me walking away?” he called back.

She slowed, intending to about-face, ready to pick up that gauntlet. Her damned teammates literally tore her from the room and down the corridor to the lobby. They pushed her forward and spun her as Helena began her tirade.

“The man asked a question! And he was right,” Helena said, whirling on Franco.

“I told you to get those numbers cleaned up weeks ago. Take Myles, go upstairs and get it done. I don’t want to see either of you until those numbers are blindingly shiny.

” The guys shuffled off, in a hurry to comply.

“And you…” Helena was on her again and sighed.

“Go up to your room. I don’t want to see you again.

Full stop. Stay in your room until it’s time to fly home. ”

“What? But I—”

“I can’t guarantee you still have a job after speaking to him that way. Don’t interact with anyone else. No one. Now, go. Go on. Go!”

Marching away from her boss, seeking the elevator, one thing was for goddamn sure: she would never talk to Hotshot again. Maybe she would lose her job, but at that minute, she wasn’t even sure she wanted it.