Chapter 4 Meetings And Mimosas

• Clara should’ve known Frank was up to something the second he offered her orange juice.
• Frank never offered beverages unless he was trying to soften the blow of impending doom.
• “Why are you smiling like that?” she asked suspiciously, eyeing him over the rim of the glass.
• “Because,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her in the private lounge of their office building, “I know how much you love surprises.”
• “That’s not true. I like schedules, boundaries, and coffee delivered on time. You’re thinking of Olivia.”
• Frank sipped his mimosa. “Well, today’s surprise comes in the form of a joint pitch meeting—with Julian Nightingale.”
• Clara nearly choked. “You lured me here with mimosas to tell me I have to work with that corporate peacock again?”
• “He’s not that bad—”
• “He’s the human equivalent of a 'Terms and Conditions' page. Exhausting. Confusing. No one wants to deal with him, but somehow we all have to.”
• Frank laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “You’ve got thirty minutes to get it together before the presentation. And for God’s sake, Clara, try not to roast him alive this time.”
• ⚡
• Julian arrived with a latte in one hand and a Bluetooth earpiece in the other, already halfway through a conversation Clara had zero interest in.
• “Yes, Sharon, I understand the press is outside. No, Sharon, I won’t sign another intern’s tie,” he said as he entered the conference room like it was his own private catwalk.
• Clara looked up from her notes. “You signed an intern’s tie?”
• Julian removed the earpiece with a smirk. “They said I changed their life. Who am I to deny them a wearable memory?”
• “Let me guess, you also charge for autographs.”
• “Only when they’re on luxury items.”
• Clara rolled her eyes so hard she nearly sprained something. She took a deep breath, counted to five, and reminded herself this was for work. Not for smothering him with a PowerPoint remote.
• They sat across from one another, tension thick as concrete.
• “I’ll handle the opening pitch,” Clara said, clicking her pen with purpose. “You come in on slide twelve.”
• “I love when you pretend to be in charge. It’s adorable,” Julian replied, leaning back with all the confidence of a man who’d never been told “no” in his life.
• She fixed him with a glare. “I’m not pretending.”
• “Of course not,” he said, smiling sweetly. “You're delusional, not theatrical.”
• ⚡
• The meeting went better than Clara expected—mostly because she pretended Julian didn’t exist for the first half. He, in turn, pretended to care deeply about her ideas, nodding at all the wrong times just to throw her off.
• Still, the pitch landed. The clients clapped. And Frank looked like he’d just been handed a puppy and a raise on the same day.
• “You two are a power duo,” he said, clapping them both on the back. “Let’s keep this momentum going. I want you working together on the Nightingale-Bellamy merger project.”
• Clara blinked. “Sorry—what project?”
• Julian’s expression mirrored hers. “Wait, Bellamy as in—”
• “You,” Frank said, pointing at Clara. “And you,” he added, pointing at Julian. “Are now co-heads of the transition team. Starting immediately.”
• Clara opened her mouth to argue, but Julian beat her to it.
• “Frank, I think this is the best idea you’ve ever had.”
• “Of course you do,” Clara muttered.
• “Oh come on, Bellamy. Don’t tell me you’re not thrilled to spend more time with me.”
• “I’d rather be locked in a room with a mosquito and no escape.”
• “Such vivid imagery,” Julian said, clearly enjoying himself. “See? This is why we work well together.”
• ⚡
• That night, Clara poured herself a glass of wine and stared at the ceiling.
• “Why does the universe hate me?” she asked no one in particular. “Why?”
• Her phone buzzed.
• Julian: Try not to miss me too much tonight. I know it’s hard.
• She stared at the screen, wine glass poised in mid-air.
• Clara: You’ve got the emotional maturity of a cheese stick.
• Julian: You think about me while eating cheese sticks? Kinky.
• Clara resisted the urge to chuck her phone across the room. Instead, she turned it off, threw it onto the couch, and muttered, “Cheese sticks deserve better.”