Chapter Twelve
Renata
I should be upset. I should be fuming at myself. Heck, I should be wondering why it's the first time I get to find out my - Renata's - surname from the lips of Liam's girlfriend, instead, all I can focus on is the way Arlene strides in with an undeniable flair, practically struttin' like she owns the place, her confidence radiating as she nearly shoves me aside in her wake.
Seriously, does she think the room revolves around her?
If it weren't for the curious stares, I half expect her to demand a red carpet. With a dramatic flourish that's seen better days, she drags a chair across the floor, plopping down right next to Green Eyes like it's her throne.
As I silently watch their little tête-à-tête, an unfamiliar emotion stirs inside me, bubbling into a concoction of jealousy and confusion. Their heads lean in close, whispering things that feel way too personal-like this is a rom-com, and I'm just the overlooked side character.
My hand-the one not in Green Eyes' grip-curls instinctively into a fist, all too ready to confront the fake diva that is Arlene. Vivid images of interrupting their cozy exchange dance in my mind. My heart races, pounding like a tribal drum at an overzealous festival, awakening an anger that's more dragon than kitten after a long nap.
"Good of you to join us, Arlene," Green Eyes finally remarks loudly as he pulls back, their little talk over. His voice drips with sarcasm like he's the host of some snarky talk show.
He shoots me a glance, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. And despite the disdain I should be feeling, my traitorous heart decides this is the perfect moment to skip a beat, caught in a whirlwind of mixed emotions worthy of a soap opera.
Ugh, why does he have to be so infuriatingly charming?
"I was just about to use Miss Renata as an example, considering she's an advocate for the helpless," Green Eyes says.
"About that, Mr. Carlo," Arlene interjects, her smile as oily as a fast-food fry. Her gaze flicks to me like a spider sizing up its next meal before settling squarely on Green Eyes. "I think I might have use for her."
A chill runs down my spine, and that ominous sense of dread flutters in my gut, but I stifle my voice and brace for the punchline. When it hits, it's like a thunderclap-no warning, just bam!
"I'd like her to work with me." Arlene's smile widens, now as serpentine as a snake in a silk scarf, and I can practically feel my discomfort bloom. Whatever sinister plans she's concocting, I know I won't like them one bit.
At that moment, Green Eyes suddenly remembers he's still holding my hand, frowning like he just realized he's been holding a hot potato. He drops my hand like it's on fire, and while I should probably be protesting, there's an unexpected warmth lingering from his touch that spreads through me, igniting something inside of me.
It's a reminder of the euphoric moment we shared last night-the man who turned my world upside down-contrasts with the cold, calculating stranger who seems intent on firing me.
"Work. . . work with you?" I manage to croak out, my voice barely a whisper, dripping with incredulity. If Arlene thinks she can just waltz in and snag me for her little schemes, she's got another thing coming. I'm no pawn in her game.
Instead of addressing my question, Arlene glances back at Green Eyes, who shrugs ever so slightly. "It's your funeral."
Just like that, I'm dismissed, while he jumps back into his speech, his voice weaving through the enraptured crowd like a spell.
What on earth just happened?
"It's your funeral?"
Who does he think he is, playing the role of a god?
Someone gently squeezes my hand, and I look down to see Blondie offering me a reassuring smile. Little does she know, I'm already gearing up for a showdown. I didn't even realize I had walked back; the storm brewing inside me is so loud it's drowning out whatever honeyed words are dripping from Green Eyes' evil, seductive lips.
Thirty minutes later, the meeting ends, but honestly, I might as well have been a stray cat in the corner. I caught none of it. I've been simmering with rage over the offhanded way Green Eyes-er, Mr. Carlo-decided to brush me off like yesterday's trash.
I watch, dazed, as people begin spilling out, not in hushed whispers but in that excited, animated way that electrifies the air. That can only mean one thing: Something happened. Something good?
I catch snippets of conversation drifting by from a woman sporting two piercings on her nose.
". . . nice of him to offer me a job in his other firm."
Well, pray tell! I can hardly wait to hear how he charms his way into another unsuspecting soul's life.
Wait, what is she talking about?
There's an infectious wave of happiness pulsing through the crowd as they exit, chatting excitedly like they just won the lottery.
What on earth is going on here?
I thought-
Blondie rises from her chair, turning to me with a smirk that says she's about to drop a bombshell. "Aren't you coming?"
I shake my head, trying to clear the confusion swirling around like a bad hangover. "What's happening? Why does everyone look like they just scored free drinks for life?"
"Didn't you hear what he said?" Her expression is priceless, like she's in on some juicy gossip. "He fired about eighty percent of the CloudFusion staff but immediately offered them jobs at his massive distillery firm in Detroit."
"Detroit? But that means-"
"That they'll need to relocate, yes. And let's just say he's not sending them off on a shoestring budget. He's going to shower them with compensation. It looks like your speech made an impact. I'm so proud of you." She squeezes my hand warmly, her eyes practically sparkling. "But wait, there's even more."
We pause in the corridor, gravity grounding us. "He has companies scattered across the entire country, and he's offering people immediate jobs there too."
I'm trying, but failing to make sense of Green Eyes' game. Just hours ago, he seemed eager to sever ties and toss everyone out on the street, and now he's acting like Santa Claus with a fat sack of job offers. What's next? A sleigh ride around the office for morale?
Blondie continues to chat at breakneck speed, but it dawns on her that my mind is elsewhere. She stops mid-sentence, tilting her head like a concerned puppy. "It'll be fine, you know, working with that woman."
I huff, frustration bubbling over. "That woman is nothing but jealous. Seriously, the only thing she excels at is making everyone else's life miserable, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me squirm."
I lift my chin defiantly before steering the conversation to a safer topic, asking if she was among those fired and then re-hired in Green Eyes' circus of a company. She responds that she was retained here at CloudFusion.
That makes me feel slightly better. At least I won't have to endure my daily grind without an ally. Even though I don't know her well, from our brief time together, she seems nice-like a refreshing sip of lemonade in a world full of sour grapes.
As we walk together, the conversation shifts back to Green Eyes, and I discover that his name is Carlo Ricci. I figured out the first one when Arlene decided to spill the beans. He's the sole owner of an intricate web of conglomerates sprawling across America and Europe, specializing, but not limited to, company takeovers. A billionaire at just thirty three years old-yeah, that's right, thirty three-and a powerful force to be reckoned with.
We get to the doorway of my office, Blondie filling my ears with all the juicy details about Green Eyes-no, Carlo's fame-when a loud voice slices through the air. "Stop right there!"
Both of us whip our heads around to confront the brave soul who dared to intrude on our riveting conversation, only to find Arlene strutting towards us like she owns the place-oh wait, she probably thinks she does.
Her determined look doesn't scare me, but it does, Blondie, who turns pale as a ghost and bolts like she's just seen a horror movie. The lily-livered nerve of that damn traitor.
"Well, well, well. . ." An oily smile spreads across Arlene's face as she comes to a stop in front of me and folds her arms. She mimicks my pose by leaning against the door post, like it's some kind of fashion trend. "You do know that this won't be your office anymore, right? I mean, I literally saved you from being fired. The least you can do is say thank you."
Not in your wildest dreams, sweetheart.
She waits for me to say something, probably expecting me to roll over in gratitude, but when she realizes silence is my reply, her smile disappears faster than my motivation to work under her thumb, and she straightens up, clearly annoyed.
"Get your stuff immediately - you're moving now!"
Shit! Guess I'll need to put away my claws in a box along with my desk supplies.