Her Favourite Rival

Megan pushed her hair over her shoulder. “Wow. He really gave you a going-over, huh? I pretty much said my piece, answered a few questions from the retailers and then buggered off.”

Audrey stared at her. “Really? He didn’t grill you on everything from your favorite color to whether you believe in the Easter Bunny or not?”

“It was an Easter Bunny–free conversation.” Megan’s brow puckered. “Do you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I have no idea.”

“I think it’s a bad thing. He was obviously interested in you. Me, not so much.” Megan shrugged philosophically, her expression clearing. “Oh, well. As soon as I’m knocked up I’m out of here anyway, so it probably doesn’t really matter what the Executioner thinks of me.”

“I think we need a different nickname. The Interrogator is much more accurate,” Audrey said.

“The Interrogator. Nice. Has a good, intimidating ring to it.”

Audrey sucked down a mouthful of wine. “We should probably eat something with this.”

They both had to get behind the wheel to drive home, after all.

“Already on it. Cameron is bringing curly fries.”

“I knew there was a reason we love it here.”

They’d discovered Al’s Place a couple of years ago. A dark and dingy little bar in the strip of shops across from Makers, the rest of their colleagues gave it a wide berth, making it the perfect place for post-work bitch sessions and two-woman mutual sympathy parties. The floor was sticky and the decor firmly stuck in the eighties, but Cameron always gave them lots of pretzels and was never stingy with his pouring.

“Okay, the big question for you,” Megan said, twisting so she faced Audrey more squarely. “If Whitman came over all Robert Redford in Indecent Proposal with you, would you or wouldn’t you?”

Audrey let out a crack of laughter. Trust Megan to find such a unique, irreverent way to put the afternoon’s ordeal into perspective.

“Come on.” Megan nudged her. “Would you sleep with him to keep your job or not?”

Audrey considered that. Whitman had to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, but he was in good shape, no spare tire or jowly chops. If she squinted and the lighting was right, he might be considered a silver fox. But there was no amount of squinting that could erase those steely, all-seeing eyes.

“Not in a million years,” she said.

“What was it that did it for you? The sausage fingers or the seagull eyes?”

“The eyes. I didn’t even notice his fingers.”

“Oh, you will, trust me. They’re hard to miss.” Megan shuddered, then took a sip.

Audrey huffed out a laugh. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“I’m thinking he’s a socks-with-sandals kind of guy, too. I bet he breaks them out at the conference, along with bad floral shirts with short sleeves.”

Audrey nearly choked on her wine. “God, I’d forgotten all about the conference.”

She’d been so consumed with researching her new boss it had slipped her mind that she and her colleagues would soon be flying to sunny Queensland for three days of intense business powwows with more than six hundred member retailers.

“Only ten days to go.” Megan raised her glass in mock toast.

Audrey didn’t lift her glass in return. This would be her second conference in the capacity of buyer, and she wasn’t looking forward to being cornered by random retailers and taken to task over some imagined slight or oversight or deficiency. Throw Henry Whitman and his X-ray vision and hard questions into the mix, and the conference began to look like an endurance test of epic proportions.

“Look at it this way—it’s three days’ worth of sucking-up opportunities. We can all sing for our supper and make the big man feel suitably powerful, then come home again and get back to business as usual,” Megan said matter-of-factly.

“You really think it will be business as usual?”

Megan’s blue eyes became serious. “No. I think Whitman is going to go through us like a combine harvester. But there’s nothing I can do to stop that from happening, so I am going to do my best and live my life and take the worst as it comes, if it comes.”

They were both silent as they contemplated the truth of Megan’s words. Cameron broke the moment by sliding a bowl of golden fries in front of them.

“Enjoy, ladies.”

“Bless you. Animal fats to the rescue,” Audrey said.

They both reached for a handful of potato curls.

“Who do you think will go first?” Audrey asked.

Megan sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe Barry? And possibly Gordon. In my experience, guys like Whitman always have their own team they want to bring on board.”

Since Barry and Gordon both worked in the financial area, Megan’s assessment made sense.

“Out of us, I wouldn’t want to be Tom.” Megan referred to the buyer in charge of building materials.

Audrey nodded in agreement. Tom was a lovely man, but he was close to retirement age and definitely old school in his approach.

“I tell you who won’t be going, though—Zach. Fifty bucks he gets a promotion out of all of this.”

Audrey reached for the fries. “He’s not that good.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but he is. He’s smart, he’s good at what he does and he could charm a snake out of its skin.”

Audrey rolled her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you have a soft spot for him.”

“Yeah, it’s called a vagina.”

Audrey shook her head at her friend’s outrageousness. “You are so lucky no one from work comes here.”

Megan stuffed a fry into her mouth before cocking her head. “You honestly don’t think he’s hot?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Audrey did know. She shrugged. “He’s okay. A bit too perfect, pretty-boy for my taste.”

“He’s not a pretty boy. He’s got that little bump on the bridge of his nose like he’s been in a fight. And he’s got that cowboy-to-the-rescue walk.” Megan mimed Zach’s confident swagger from her seated position.

“Does your husband know about your little obsession?” Audrey asked.