Chapter 3 - Stepping Into the Fire
I signed the contract twenty minutes later.
My first day at Northbridge Consumer Group was not like any corporate job I had ever worked. My office was on the forty-second floor, directly adjacent to Jack’s executive suite, separated only by a private hallway guarded by two men named Marcus and Gabriel.
My team consisted of four brilliant, exhausted public relations specialists who looked at me like I was a condemned prisoner walking toward a firing squad.
"Rule number one, Emily," warned Sarah, my lead analyst, on my first afternoon as she handed me a secure, encrypted tablet. "We don't ask about the shipping manifests coming out of the South Boston piers. We don't ask why certain nightlife venues don't show profits on Tuesdays. We manage the public image of the legitimate holdings—the hotels, the construction firms, the real estate."
"And rule number two?" I asked, looking through the glowing data streams on the tablet.
"Rule number two: Never enter Mr. Whitmore's office when the blinds are closed."
At 6:00 PM, my office phone buzzed.
"Emily," Jack’s deep voice came through the line. "My office. Now."
I stood up, smoothed my black pencil skirt, and walked down the private corridor. Marcus, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running through his left eyebrow, nodded respectfully and opened the door for me.
The blinds were wide open, bathed in the orange light of the setting sun.
Jack was sitting behind a massive desk made of reclaimed ship timber, his jacket off, his tie loosened at the collar. Across from him sat an older man in a expensive tailored suit, holding a crystal glass of bourbon. The older man had cold, watery blue eyes and a face that looked like it had been carved out of granite.
"Emily," Jack said, motioning for me to come closer. "This is Dominic Moretti. He controls our logistics partnerships in Rhode Island."
Moretti looked me up and down with an unvarnished, predatory gaze that made my skin crawl. "This is the little girl you hired to fix our public image, Jack? She looks like she belongs in a college library, not in our boardrooms."
I didn't blink. "And you look like a man whose shipping logistics lost three million dollars in delayed customs clearances last month, Mr. Moretti. Perhaps if you spent less time judging my appearance and more time auditing your manifest ledgers, your profit margins wouldn't be slipping."
The silence in the room dropped like an anvil.
Moretti froze, his glass stopping halfway to his mouth, his face turning a deep, dangerous shade of purple.
May you like
Jack didn't shout. He leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, a look of quiet, absolute satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
"She stays, Dominic," Jack said softly. "Now leave."
