Page 11 of The CEO I Hate (The Lockhart Brothers #1)

LIAM

I f Tanya didn’t stop clicking her pen in that annoying way, I was going to snap. Pick a rhythm and stick to it, for God’s sake.

Almost as if she’d heard my thoughts hurled across the room, her eyes flicked in my direction and she dropped her pen, eyeing up the papers in front of her instead, a red flush spreading across both cheeks.

Thank God , I thought as the door swung open, only for it to be Paula with another one of those industrial-sized coffees.

“Still no Mia?” she asked.

“Nope,” Jerome said. “The girl is MIA Ha! Get it?”

Silence.

The joke flatlined. The entire room was on edge—and yes, I was well aware part of the tension was because of me, parked at the end of the table with a scowl that probably made some of the baby writers nervous.

Paula shot me a do you really need to be here look. I arched my brow, silently saying get used to it . Until I could be sure I wasn’t going to have another Lyle situation on my hands, they could get on board with having the big boss around for all their pitch sessions.

I pulled my phone out, checking the time again. Part of the tension was because of me but not all of it. The rest was all Mia’s fault, keeping everyone waiting on her very first day. Where the hell was she?

“You don’t think something happened to her, do you?” Kait asked, worrying her bottom lip.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Tanya cut in. “It’s LA. Not the apocalypse. She’s probably just stuck in the hellish traffic or something.”

Or something . Being five minutes late was one thing, maybe even fifteen, but now we were bordering on thirty. And I’d had no word from Carl that she’d called in sick or anything.

This was red-flag territory.

I stood from my chair, buttoning my suit jacket. The room went quiet, every pair of eyes tracking my movements like I’d just been handed a sword and permission to use it.

“And where are you going?” Paula asked.

“To look for our no-show,” I said, crossing the room and slipping out the door. I marched down the hall of the creative wing, all the way to security at the front desk of the studio lot.

“Hey, Boss,” JT called as I approached his office. My head of security had been working here for years. Graying at both temples, people mistook him for a jolly St. Nick type. That was only until he opened his mouth and told them off. We’d always gotten along well.

I glanced at the bank of computer screens he oversaw. “I’m looking for a new employee. Mia Collins. Has she been past security yet?”

He scanned his clipboard. “Sure has. She signed in about thirty-five minutes ago. ”

So much for the theory that she’d gotten stuck in traffic. “Any idea where she is?”

He shook his head. “I gave her a visitor’s pass since she hasn’t had a chance to get her ID from HR. Asked her if she needed directions and she told me no.”

Of course. Typical Mia. Growing up with risk-averse parents and an overprotective brother, she’d become independent to a fault. “She hasn’t turned up to work yet.”

He rolled his chair across his office, scanning the screens with the focus of a bloodhound. “There,” he said. “Camera fifty-two. She’s got herself over by post-production. Looks like she just passed the sound mixing department.”

“Thanks,” I said, giving him a nod. I turned, marching back down the hall. What the hell was she doing all the way over by post-production? At this rate, she’d stumble across one of the sound stages and right into the midst of a live production.

When I rounded the end of the next hall, I spotted that head of dark hair, her curls pulled up just the way I liked them. She’d traded her black interview pants for a pair of jeans that made her ass a very distracting problem.

But it wasn’t just Mia that caught my attention.

She was crouched on the floor, one hand scratching behind the ears of a very scruffy, very unbothered mutt. Some kind of terrier mix with one ear flopped sideways and a suspiciously dramatic overbite. The dog looked like it belonged in a buddy cop show or a ramen ad, not loose on a studio lot.

Mia, of course, was beaming at it like she’d just discovered a baby unicorn.

I shook my head, tearing my gaze away from the jeans. And the curls. And the dog .

“Mia!” I snapped.

She stopped short, turning sharply, eyes wide like a kid caught stealing cookies. The mutt immediately sat down next to her, tongue lolling out like it gave zero shits about my authority.

“You’re late.” I checked my watch. “Over thirty minutes late now. And what the hell are you doing out here?”

Her eyes narrowed as she stomped toward me, a scowl fixed on her face. Every one of her steps screamed that this was all my fault. “I was early. You can check with security. I signed in with plenty of time. It’s not my fault this place is a damn maze!”

“It’s a straightforward studio.” I pointed down the hall. “You’ve got development—which is where you’re supposed to be. Post-production—where you’re currently wandering. And production.” I pointed in the opposite direction. “How hard is that?”

“How hard is that? Really ?” She gestured around wildly. “Then why does every wing of this building look the same? Why are none of the doors labeled in a way that makes any sense? And why do none of the halls have decent signage? I’ve been in theme parks with less confusing layouts.”

I scowled at her. “Why didn’t you ask someone for directions?”

“I did!” she snapped. “Twice. And I still got turned around. I went past Stage 7, Building C, and something that looked like a prop graveyard before I realized I was going in circles.”

“Well, Gretel, maybe you should have left yourself a trail of breadcrumbs.”

“Sure, Smiles,” she huffed. “Or, and hear me out, you could do the decent thing and just put up actual signs to let people know where they are and give them some prayer of figuring out where they’re going. ”

“Let’s just go,” I said, leading her away from post-production. “You’ve already kept everyone waiting long enough. The writers, Paula, me ?—”

She stalked along beside me, her boots hitting the floor, sharp and clipped. Every step radiated irritation. “Well, excuse me for not thinking to bring a GPS device and a personal sherpa to navigate your poorly designed building.”

I scoffed. “It is not poorly designed.”

“Then it’s incredibly poorly labeled!”

Behind us, the soft pat pat pat of claws echoed against the tile.

I glanced over my shoulder. The mutt was still following us. Tongue out, tail wagging, zero shame. I stopped walking. So did he.

I looked at Mia.

“Do you want to explain…this?” I gestured at the dog like it was a crime scene.

She blinked at me, then looked at the dog. Then back at me.

“I don’t know,” she said. “He was just wandering around by the back lot. Looked a little lost…” She gave me a side-eye.

I frowned and made a firm shooing gesture. The dog stared me down, stretched like he had all the time in the world, and padded over. Slow, deliberate, tail wagging. Not a damn care in the world.

Then he sat directly on my foot.

“He likes you,” Mia said, smug.

I stepped back, carefully dislodging my new accessory, and turned toward the hallway. “Come on,” I said. “We’re already behind, and I have zero time to play animal shelter. ”

Mia threw the dog a poorly concealed see-what-I’m-dealing-with look and followed after me.

“You should?—”

“Of course I should, and of course I will,” I cut in, already regretting every life choice that brought me to this moment. Behind us, the steady pat pat pat of claws on tile continued.

“I’ll ask TJ to look into it and figure out whose dog this is.” I fired TJ a quick text as we turned a corner and a series of rooms appeared. “See, this is the hallway you want.” I pointed to a plaque on the wall that read Writer’s Alley.

I noticed her grip on her bag tighten, her knuckles going white.

Her eyes blazed like she was resisting the urge to whack me with said bag.

If I didn’t feel the need to keep my distance for safety’s sake, I might have given into the temptation to lean closer.

Damn, she was gorgeous when she was hot and bothered.

“You know,” I said, lowering my voice. “If looks could kill, I’d be a chalk outline right now.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

As we reached the door for End in Fire , she sucked in a deep breath and her shoulders dropped.

Just like that, she transformed, her anger replaced by a smile so dazzling it could have powered the entire lot.

She breezed through the door, her voice apologetic.

“Hey, everyone. So sorry I’m late!”

I moved to follow, only to feel a thump against my leg.

The dog.

Still here, apparently. I frowned, made a halfhearted shooing gesture, and closed the door. Carefully. Right on its snotty little nose.

There. Problem solved .

“Girl! Where have you been?” Jerome crowed. “Kait’s over here thinking worst-case scenarios. Do you want to know how many ways she came up with you dying?”

Mia laughed a charming little laugh as she made her way around the table to the empty seat. “This place is a maze. I totally got turned around.”

“Tell me about it,” Paula said. “My first week here, I spent every morning showing up to the wrong studio lot.”

I shot her a glare across the room. She was supposed to show solidarity with me , not with Mia. What the hell, Paula?

Mia slid into her chair and pulled out a stack of notes without a single glance back at me. It was as if I’d vanished into thin air. I walked across the room to my own chair. As I passed behind her, I whispered, “Nice job, Gretel. Looks like you found your seat.”

She didn’t look up or flinch, but I noticed the way her fingers curled into fists.

The victory was small, but I’d take it. I sat down, pulling out my phone and bringing up my emails.

It had taken so long to finally get started that I was going to have to multitask.

I scanned through them quickly, then fired off an email to Carl with a list of things to do.