have time for this crap. “What do I need to do to meet Harrison Gables? My kidneys aren’t for sale, and neither’s my pissing soul.” Just my pussy. Ouch.
He sighed again, full of them. He’s always bloody sighing. “Won’t you just come to the office, as I requested your mother? We can talk there. Properly.”
“I’ve no interest in talking properly,” I snapped. “Just tell me now.”
“Katie…”
“No,” I said. “Tell me now.”
He really did groan then. An exasperated groan that pissed me the hell off, but I kept my mouth shut while he said his piece.
“One month’s apprenticeship with Harrison Gables at his ranch,” he said. “One whole month, just you and Verity, his absolute attention.”
I could have cried. The idea was inconceivable.
Inconceivable and no doubt rammed full of conditions.
And impossible to achieve any other way.
He had me and he knew it. He really knew it.
“And I have to see you?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “At my office. Stroud.”
“I can’t do tomorrow,” I lied. “Thursday? Friday?”
He groaned and I heard paper flicking. “It will have to be the following Monday, then,” he said. “One p.m. Don’t be late.”
“And what will this meeting be about?” I asked. “What do you want?”
“A week on Monday,” he said again. “Be there.”
And then he was gone.
Asshole.
I’d do anything on earth for David Faverley, but his petulant, spoiled excuse of a daughter was trying my patience, and I’d been in the same room as her for a mere twenty-nine fucking minutes.
Our intern programme at Favcom Technology was renowned as the best in the industry. I’d like to say it was my baby, but I’d be lying. David had been running the scheme for a lot longer than I’d been in the business, in fact, the scheme was responsible for the fact I was even in this business at all. I believe there are pivotal moments in life where fate crosses your path, takes your measure and decides to give you a shot. Maybe it’s a chance opportunity, maybe it’s that moment you hit the peak of your curve and the cards stack in your favour, or maybe it’s that one person that sees right through you, ignores your past and your hang ups and the massive fucking chip on your shoulder and catches sight of something more.
David Faverley was that one person for me. The guy who looked beyond the shell of the arrogant little prick in his office and saw something in me worth investing in. So, here I was, almost twenty years later, at the head of his Techstorm sales subsidiary, shoulder to shoulder with him at every business meeting that meant anything, director across the board for every single one of his enterprises. Yet, I rarely broadcasted it. Scrap that, I never fucking broadcasted it.
Respect is never a given, it’s always earned, and titles mean shit. I want the people in my teams to respect me because I’ve given them reason to. Trust me because I’ve proven myself trustworthy. Work hard for me because I work hard for them. And despite my reputation as a hard-headed steely sack of shit, I’m really not so bad, or so people tell me.
I have just three rules in business, and in life. Give your all, grab hold of opportunities, and show gratitude for all you’ve been given.
Verity Faverley defied all fucking three of them.
She didn’t want to be here, that much was obvious; trussed up in her brand new designer fucking workwear, her stiletto-heeled shoe tapping aimlessly in the air as she stared at my presentation slides. Her expression was both pouty and glazed, and as she yawned for the third time in ten minutes it was just about time to pull her up on it.
“Am I keeping you awake, Miss Faverley? I’d strongly suggest an earlier bedtime if you’re going to be on form for nine a.m. sharp.”
Eighteen other faces in the room, and not one of them looked at her. She had that kind of aura, the one that says my daddy’s your boss, don’t fuck with me, but that really doesn’t mean shit to me. Every other person in this room was here out of merit. Every other soul in this room wanted to be here, wanted the shot, wanted to grab hold of the opportunity and make something of themselves. Every other person, I’d chosen. But not this snotty little bitch.
She shot me a look of pure disdain. “Whatever, Carl.”
I gritted my teeth. The problem with working so closely with David Faverley was that