Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Ellie Seyfried—now there’s a problem Six Sigma can’t solve.
“Tell me more about your client acquisition philosophy,” I add.
I try to pay attention to Brian’s answer. Honestly, I do.
But this thing with Ellie has me on edge, which is definitely not my standard operating procedure. Sure, she’s always thrown me off my game—even when Ryan and I were in grad school and she was still an adorably awkward college kid. But back then, I only saw her for occasional Seyfried family parties. And yeah, maybe I had a little crush, and enjoyed making her laugh way too much, but I thought I’d left all that behind.
Until now.
Having her in the office all week has seriously messed with my head.
Both of them.
If Ellie had any idea the kind of thoughts she stirs up—the kind of dreams that send me bolting for a cold shower at three in the morning, desperate for something to alleviate the ache and scrub my thoughts clean—my ass would’ve been hauled down to HR before the opening bell chimed on the stock exchange. And then she’d have her story gift wrapped with a bow, courtesy of my definitely-not-workplace-appropriate hard-on problem.
Fucking ironic, is what it is.
“…but that’s all thanks to my contacts in the energy and biotech industries.”
I drag my attention back to Brian, who’s supremely pleased with himself. Just like the last guy. And the woman before him. The latest crop of MBA grads isn’t lacking in confidence, that’s for sure.
I let him natter on a bit longer, then wrap it up with a few noncommittal comments about next steps before I usher him out the door.
When my phone pings with a text a minute later, I know I should be embarrassed at how fast I whip it out of my pocket, but I don’t have time for that.
Shit. It’s not Ellie.
It’s her fucking big brother, like an omen from the universe warning me to cool it.
Just locked in the Ian Fox meeting. Dinner tomorrow night.
Great, I text back. I’ll let Rictor know.
How are the interviews panning out? Anything promising? he asks.
No stand-outs. Setting up a few more next week.
All right, keep me posted. Ellie giving you a hard time?
If he only knew.
Nothing I can’t handle, I text, then toss the phone onto my desk.
I’m trying to decide what the hell to do for lunch now that Ellie’s off the menu, when in walks my assistant, Hannah.
“Eric Webb here to see you?”
“Webb?” I flip through the candidate file on my desk. Nothing for Webb. “I thought we were done for today.”
“Apparently this guy is a friend of Ryan’s. He says Ryan promised we’d squeeze him in?” Hannah scrunches up her face, her classic WTF look. “I’m guessing this is the first you’re hearing about it, too. And I’m also guessing you haven’t eaten anything since that disgusting kale smoothie this morning.”
“Yep. And nope.” Figures. Ryan’s been so focused on the Portland office, it doesn’t surprise me he forgot to mention the additional interview.
“Want me to blow him off and order your lunch?” she asks.
“No, that’s not necessary. Send him in.” Can’t be worse than Brian “Six Sigma” Andover, and lunch can wait.
Gives me an excuse to wait a little longer for Ellie, too.
Pathetic, Holt. You need to get laid, and soon, before you make a fool of yourself.
The new guy steps through the door, attaché case in hand, his smile guarded. He looks nervous—a touch gawky, too—wearing a suit that’s a size too big and a mustache straight out of a 1970s porno.
“You’ll have to forgive me.” I move the folder in front of me to the side. “Ryan didn’t have a chance to send over your resume, Mr.—Webber, was it?”
“Webb.” His voice cracks, but he clears his throat and tries again. “Eric Webb.”
“Eric Webb.” I stand up to shake the guy’s hand, which is slim and surprisingly soft—definitely not into pumping iron, this one. “How do you know Ryan?”
“At the risk of sounding cliché, he’s a friend of the family,” Webb says as we take our seats. “Our fathers went to Yale together. Frank was best man at my parents’ wedding.”
I nod, relaxing into my chair. Ryan’s dad Frank is a hard-ass, but he’s a good man, and definitely knows the business. If this guy is connected to Frank, he’s gotta be good people.
“So. Why should I hire you, Eric?” I give him the fastball, no time for chit-chat. Guy doesn’t miss a beat, though, fielding my questions with an ease his slightly unpolished appearance belies.
“You need me,” he says matter-of-factly, “to diversify your strategic value proposition. You’re getting great returns for your clients, generating lots of buzz on the street. But at the end of the day, you’re still following the same old playbook.”
I cross my arms and raise a brow. “Go on.”
“I specialize in attracting and retaining risk-tolerant, high-net-worth clients looking for unconventional strategies in a time of market volatility and global instability. I’ve got a nose for emerging tech—we’re talking right on the bleeding edge. Things most people never even hear about outside of science fiction.”