“Oh. Wow,” she said.
I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Bickman puffed out his chest. “Siren’s just been promoted to on-air reporter.”
So this is the unqualified woman Ireland was going off about?
Bickman told the woman she could continue moving into her new office, and I watched his eyes drop to her ass when she turned around. Once she was out of earshot, I confirmed my suspicion.
“Is she Ms. Saint James’s replacement?”
The asshole looked proud. “Yes. She’s a graduate of Yale and…”
I cut him off. “How did you get ahold of Ms. Saint James’s vacation video?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do I need to speak more slowly? How. Did. You. Get. Ms. Saint James’s. Vacation. Video?”
“I…uhh…saw it on social media.”
I arched a brow. “On her public social media?”
“No, her private Instagram account.”
“So you’re friends on social media then? Since you can see things posted to her private accounts?”
“Yes. Well, not technically me. But I have access to an account she’s friends with.”
“Elaborate.” I was starting to lose my patience.
“I have some social media set up in an old employee’s name. A basic profile.”
“So you’re telling me you’re using someone else’s name to stalk all your employees’ private social media?”
Bickman tugged at the knot of his tie. “No. Just the troublesome ones.”
“The troublesome ones?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t need to tell me any more. Ireland hadn’t been exaggerating. This guy was really a piece of work. I walked to his desk, picked up the receiver to his phone, and pushed a few buttons. When Security answered, I said, “This is Grant Lexington. Can you please come up to the eleventh floor? I have a terminated employee you need to escort off the premises.”
When I hung up, Bickman still didn’t seem to get it.
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re fired. You have until Security gets up here to clean out your desk, which I’m pretty sure is more than the amount of time you afforded Ms. Saint James.”
The dumbass blinked a few times. “What?”
I leaned in and spoke slowly. “What part of you’re fired didn’t you understand?”
Bickman said something—though I don’t know what the hell it was, because I walked out of his office and went to the woman I assumed was his assistant based on where she sat.
“Are you Bickman’s assistant?”
The older woman looked nervous. “Yes.”
I looked down at the nameplate on her desk and extended my hand. I guess I really should’ve stopped by this building more often. Half the people didn’t even know who I was. “Hi, Carol. I’m Grant Lexington, the CEO of Lexington Industries, which owns this station. I work in our other offices across the street. Mr. Bickman is no longer with the company. Don’t worry about your job, though. It’s safe.”
“Okay…”
“Who covers for Bickman when he’s on vacation?”
“Umm… Well, Ireland used to.”
Great. “Well, who is the most senior person besides Ireland?”
“I guess that would be Mike Charles.”
“And where does he sit?”
Carol pointed to an office.
“Thank you.”
I spoke with Mike Charles and put him in charge, and then I watched as Security escorted a flustered Bickman out of the building. When I was done, I went back across the street.
Millie stood as I entered and followed me into my office, reading me a list of calls I’d missed and some other shit that went in one ear and out the other. I took off my jacket and rolled up my shirtsleeves.
“Can you please send an email to my sister to let her know I fired Harold Bickman in Broadcast Media? Mike Charles is going to hold the reins while things get sorted out over there.”
“Umm…sure. Though the last time you hired someone for Kate’s division, she wasn’t happy. She’ll probably be in your office within ten minutes once I call.”
I sat down and blew out a deep breath. “Good point. I’ll tell her myself. Ask Kate if she can come across to my office to talk.”
Millie eyed me over her notepad. “She’d probably like it if you went to her for a change…”
Millie was right. My sister definitely begrudged that she always had to come to me. “Good point. Tell her I’ll be coming over to talk to her in ten minutes.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Can you also send a messenger with an apology letter to Ireland Saint James? Tell her I’ve reviewed the circumstances surrounding her termination and to be back at work by Monday.”
Millie scribbled in her notebook. “Okay. I’ll get right on that.”
“Thank you.”
As she got to the door, I thought of something else. “Can you please add a dozen roses to go with the letter to Ms. Saint James?”
Millie’s brows drew together, but she rarely questioned my judgment, and she’d already commented on how my sister was going to react. So she scribbled more in her notebook and simply said, “Will do.”
***
The next afternoon, Millie walked into my office carrying a box of flowers. She looked nervous. My name was scribbled across the top of the box in red marker. “These came for you via messenger just now.”
I opened the long, white box and unwrapped the tissue paper. Inside were a dozen roses, but all the heads had been cut off the stems. A folded piece of stationery lay at the top. I picked it up and opened it.
Keep the flowers. I’ll need a fat raise if you want me back.
—Ireland
I laughed out loud. Millie looked at me like I was nuts.
“Can you please call Ms. Saint James? Tell her I don’t negotiate via messenger. Set up a lunch meeting for today at La Piazza at one o’clock.”
***
I looked at my watch. If it were anyone else, I’d have walked out the door by now. Yet fifteen minutes after my scheduled lunch, I was still sitting at the table alone, drinking a glass of water, when Ireland Saint James walked in. She looked around the restaurant, and the hostess pointed to where I was seated.
As she made her way toward me, she smiled. It caught me off guard when my heart started to pump faster. Unlike yesterday and in the clips I’d watched, today her hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail. It showcased her high cheekbones and full lips, focusing attention on just her face. Some women needed window dressing in the form of hair and makeup, but Ireland was even more beautiful without that shit. She had on a royal blue silk shirt and a pair of black slacks. The outfit was pretty conservative, yet she still managed to snag the eye of every man and woman as she made her way through the dining room.
I stood and tried not to let her see how much her appearance affected me. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry. I was early, but when I walked out to my car, my tire was flat. I had to grab an Uber.”
I extended my hand. “Please sit.”