If We Were Perfect - Ana Huang Page 0,40

decks. He was a talk-it-over-during-a-meal kinda guy.

Olivia, who was usually outspoken in company meetings and client calls, let Michael take the lead. He was her boss, and she didn’t want to say something off base and fuck things up.

Winstock was quiet, interrupting only to clarify a point or ask an incisive question. By the end of dinner, it was unclear whether he was sold on PHC or thought everything Michael said was bullshit.

He turned to Olivia as the server arranged their desserts—flourless chocolate tortes with orange essence—on the table. “Tell me why I should invest with PHC instead of a bigger firm. You have two minutes,” he said, like Michael hadn’t spent the past hour doing exactly that. “In your words, not anyone else’s.”

Olivia’s fork froze halfway to her torte before she regained her composure. She set the utensil down and unlocked her phone, conscious of Winstock’s unwavering blue eyes and Michael’s burning stare.

This was it. Her test. Make it or break it.

After she set the timer, she smiled coolly and said, “Michael did an excellent job of outlining our metrics and previous success, so I won’t go over those points again. I’ll be honest—we’re not the biggest fish in the sea, but bigger isn’t always better. Pine Hill is a family—both employees and clients. We manage our clients’ portfolios like they’re our own, and because of that, we’re incredibly selective about which individuals we bring into the fold.” She outlined the personalized perks that PHC offered its high-net-worth investors and tapped her phone screen after she finished. “Twenty-five seconds left. Twenty, if you deduct the time it took for me to set the timer.” Another smile. “As you can see, we’re also efficient and sensitive to the demands on our clients’ time. I assure you, Pine Hill Capital would be happy to keep our briefings to two minutes or less should you sign with us.”

The subtle dig, couched in outward respect, was bold, but Olivia sensed Ty Winstock was not a man who held a high opinion of ass-kissers or yes men/yes women. He was also, as her painstaking research indicated, big on community and company culture. His employees reported the man went to great lengths to treat them like family. Birthday celebrations for everyone from the janitors to the C-suite executives, holiday parties with extravagant gifts paid out of Winstock’s own pocket, monthly town halls—the works.

While Michael choked on his drink, Winstock pushed back from the table. Olivia’s heart resumed its thundering. Shit, had she read him wrong? Was he so offended that he was walking out before he ate dessert? No one passed on dessert unless they had to.

Mental images of her career going up in flames plagued her as she fought not to hyperventilate. She could already hear her mother’s voice in her head: Your sister would’ve never done something so foolish at a business dinner, Olivia.

“Good pitch. I’ll think about it.” A fleeting smile touched Winstock’s lips—his first of the night. “I’ll be in London for the next three weeks—I’ll let you know my decision once I return. Enjoy dessert.”

“You’re skipping dessert?” Olivia blurted.

Another smile, this one containing more amusement than the first. “I don’t have a sweet tooth.”

With that, the tech billionaire strode out of the restaurant and disappeared into the night.

“Well.” Michael brought his coughing fit under control and cleared his throat. “That didn’t end the way I expected.”

“I’m sorry.” Olivia flushed. “I shouldn’t have gone rogue like that.”

It was unlike her, but Winstock was in the big leagues, and you didn’t land someone like that as a client by being boring and conservative. You had to stand out.

Michael waved her apology away. “It’s fine. It was a good pitch, and your closer seemed to have intrigued him—which is the only reason it’s okay,” he clarified, his expression growing sterner. “Let’s keep the sass to a minimum next time.”

“Of course.” Relief fizzled through her veins. Next time. Meaning she wasn’t fired.

Her career reconstructed itself after its earlier imaginary death in her mind.

“Do you have any plans right now?” Michael asked after paying for the meal with his company card.

Olivia froze for the second time that night. She couldn’t read Michael’s expression or tone. Where was he going with this?

“I was planning on calling it a night,” she said carefully. “Lots to do at the office tomorrow. I want to make sure I’m well-rested.”

“Of course. I was going to ask if you wanted a drink after this nerve-wracking dinner—” Michael chuckled. “But that’s probably