Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (23 page)

“That’s
what I’m worried about.”

He was
in. He gave her a grin and stepped away, but she called after him, “Reid. What
happened? One day you were the boss, and the next Owen was telling us you’d
moved on to do something new. I thought you loved Plus. There’s all this talk
you were let go. Do I believe that?”

He
nodded. “I was an asshole. Plus has always had a no asshole rule and I guess I
forgot that as we got bigger.”

“Yeah,
you could be an asshole, but you never were to me. That whole sexual harassment
thing was bogus, and I’ve had some horrible bosses so I know what that’s like. I’ll
come get you when it’s time to go on, but if I need a reference you’re going to
make it so I glow like the sun.”

“Like a
thousand suns,” he said with a laugh as she swished by, her skirt bouncing.

That
left one more person he needed to speak to before he made it to Zarley. Adnan Kuchnitski.
He was waiting. Looking immaculate in a suit that was likely tailored in
Europe, shoes shined so they were glassy enough Reid could probably see his
face in them. Kuch didn’t try to ape the offbeat cool of Plus, but he embraced
it and won respect for not trying to meddle in the business he chaired. Except
where it had come to Reid. But then CEO sacking was a chairman’s prerogative.

“Reid.

“Adnan.”

They
shook hands, eyed each other, while people watched their little sideshow. The
tightness in his chest was back. Convincing Kuch to take the chair’s role was
one of Reid’s notable achievements. He was a catch and brought old-world money
and alliances to an upstart company. He’d been a guiding hand, a class act
who’d never made Reid feel anything but his talent was going to hold him back. Until
the day that changed.

“You
always had brass balls. What are you doing here?” Kuch said.

“I’m a stockholder.”

Kuch
looked at the ceiling. “Then you must see the sculpture exhibition we
sponsored. It’s wonderful.”

“Money
would’ve been better spent on experimental robotics.”

That
got him a finger point. “That sponsorship was from your time at the helm.”

Reid
grinned. “And I said we should’ve spent it on robotics then, but I didn’t push
the point. I wasn’t an asshole twenty-four seven.”

“Just
often enough you were a liability.”

“I know
you think that. You’re wrong.”

“If I
thought you could change I’d have done this differently. I met your date. Dev
did the honors. She’s a lovely girl. Brains as well as beauty. I’m pleased for
you. But she doesn’t know you weren’t invited.”

Did she
know now?

“I
didn’t enlighten her. You might do me the courtesy of enlightening me on what
your game plan here is.”

“I
spent my whole adult life on Plus. I’ve been out for less than three months. This
is my night as much as it’s yours.”

Adnan
smiled at someone over Reid’s shoulder then his eyes came back to Reid’s, no
more light in them. “Perhaps. But it’s never that simple with you. Tread
carefully. It will be more embarrassing to you than me if I have you removed
tonight.”

And Kuch
was gone, into the crowd of mostly staff, stockholders and strategic partners
and Reid was free to go to Zarley. But he paused, a flashback of all the times
he’d been forced to attend functions like this and sit beside bickering
couples. The men never paid enough attention, the woman were bored and wanted
to be entertained, the business was necessary but tedious. He’d never bothered
to take a date other than Sarina who knew the score. Why hadn’t he remembered
that?

Because
he was so smitten with Zarley he didn’t want to spend the night without her. And
he wanted to show her off like she was a trophy he’d won. There was something
sick about that. It wasn’t a mature adult response, that’s for sure.

He slipped
into the chair beside her as the appetizer was being brought to the table. “I’m
sorry.” He put a hand to her forearm. “I should’ve realized this would be no
fun for you and come by myself.”

She
pulled a face, so at odds with her loveliness he laughed. “Are you kidding? I
knew it would be something like this. You’re the prodigal son, you were going
to cause eyebrows to wag. I didn’t think you’d be pasted to my side.”

He
blinked at her. Not sure he’d heard her correctly over the hubbub of the room. He
leaned in closer and she put her hand to his face. “Don’t look so worried. Dev
looked out for me, it’s all good.”

He
caught her hand in his. The tight strain in his chest eased a little. “I don’t
deserve you.”

“Got
that right, Back Booth,” she sassed. “But you’ve got me.”

Not for
much longer if he kept thinking like an immature boy around her, if Owen was
right, and he couldn’t keep his asshole in check where Zarley was concerned. Owen
was often right. A tap to his shoulder. John Handy, a journalist he’d rather
not talk to but couldn’t avoid.

“Reid,
surprised to see you here. Excuse me,” John said to Zarley, ogling her.

Reid
stood and put himself behind Zarley’s chair to block the guy’s sight, and they
had an awkward discussion about why Reid was in the room and what he was doing
post Plus.

On the
table his appetizer waited while a group of programmers pounced on him. They
were full of righteous indignation at how he’d been treated and he knew, he
knew, to the twist in his gut, that was bad for him to hear, that he needed to
remember there were people in the room who he’d treated poorly, shouted at and
belittled, who had a legitimate reason to despise him above and beyond basic
jealousy.

When he
sat down again, the main course had been served and Zarley reached for his hand
under the table. “Are you doing okay?”

She was
some kind of witch. “Do I look like I’m not?” He couldn’t afford to look like
he was off kilter if the rest of his plan was going to run true, and he was
tense from all the smiling and nicely neutral conversation he’d had to make.

“You
look exceptionally handsome. Maybe not as handsome as Adnan. Whoa, for an older
guy, he’s hot, and you’re not as cute as Dev, but I still have a thing for
you.”

“I have
such a thing for you, it needs—”

“Reid, heard
you were here. Sly dog, and who’s this?”

He was
going to say their thing deserved an upgrade to something more serious. It
wasn’t a one-night stand that spilled over, or fling, or an affair, he wanted
it to be a relationship, but what did he know about that and he had to talk to this
wanker banker before he could get that clear.

He
introduced Zarley, who stood with him, to McKenzie Whitmore and then wanted to
pound the man’s face for the way he looked her over. Whitmore was on his third
wife, she was younger than his eldest daughter. He was sniffing around to see
what Reid planned next. It was flattering. When Reid’d first tried to get
finance, men like Whitmore with their own investment funds refused to take his
calls.

But
what was better was Zarley’s arm around his waist, the pressure of her body as
she leaned into him, knowing her eyes were on him as he and Whitmore talked
investment finance scuttlebutt and Silicon Valley rumors, and that she was
doing it so Whitmore knew exactly where her loyalties lay.

Fuck,
she was wonderful. In a room full of women on whom no expense to look good was
spared, Zarley was the only one he wanted to be with. He’d do what he needed to
do and get her out of here so he could make this lousy night up to her.

By the
time they got to eat the chicken was rubbery and the steak was cold and before
he got two bites chewed, Nerida bobbed down between him and Zarley.

“Hi, I’m
Nerida,” she said to Zarley, and to Reid, “If you really want to do this, come
with me now and remember what I said about a reference.”

He
caught Zarley watching him. “Save dessert for me.” He got up and followed Nerida.

Halfway
to the stage Owen nabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m
not going to embarrass you. I’m having a say about the company I founded on the
occasion of its tenth anniversary.”

“Not a
good idea.”

“You’re
causing a scene.”

Owen
threw his arm over Reid’s shoulder. “Nothing to look at here, just two old
friends shooting the breeze.” He faked a laugh. He was a terrible faker. “Don’t
do it, man.”

Reid
brushed Owen’s arm away. Kuch tried to catch his eye, Sarina stood in the
middle of the room and walked toward him. He went to the stage and stood behind
the podium and no one could stop him.

He
looked out at five hundred or more faces turned expectantly at him.

“Hi, I
hope you’re all enjoying yourselves. In case we haven’t met, I’m Reid McGrath. I
used to run this show.” He had to stop to let a quick round of applause die
down. There wasn’t anyone in the room who didn’t know he was no longer a Plus
employee. The official lie was that he was exploring new opportunities; the sacked
for being impossible to work for interpretation was far more intriguing.

“Thank
you. I founded Plus in the wilds of my dorm room, ten years ago, where I met
Owen, Sarina, and Dev. It seems like yesterday we thought a pizza with extra
garlic bread delivered was the best thing ever. Later I convinced Kuch to lend
a scrappy start-up his good name which makes me the first little shit—”

“Not so
little,” someone heckled.

He
paused for the laughter, “To pull the wool over the great Kuch’s eyes. He’s
been slipping for years, I tell you, years.”

A second
burst of laughter allowed him to take a breath. So far he hadn’t offended
anyone and Kuch was so well respected it would only enhance his image to have
it showcased tonight. He told another joke about their early days and current
Plus employees roared their approval with considerable catcalling.

Feeling
confident, he searched for Zarley’s face in the crowd and found it. She knew
she had his eyes. She blew him a kiss. Then he lit the fuse. He told everyone
how important continued innovation was, how the market was intensely
competitive, how project Ziggurat was designed to address the rapid changes in
technology and would protect Plus’ revenues and make sure it continued to be a
great place to work.

And
then he said the one thing he’d come to say that would make an impact. “Success
is as much about ideas as it is about execution. What gives me nightmares is
that you might fail to implement Ziggurat as well as you’re going to need to.”

There
was a subtle shift in the attention of the room, a rustle of clothing as people
moved about. He laughed into the microphone. “I’m probably being a little shit
again and worrying needlessly you’ve all got it under control. I look forward
to watching Owen and the team prove my fears are groundless.” There was some
nervous laughter, then he thanked people for their time and attention and
wished them a goodnight to another round of clapping.

But it
wasn’t as simple as that. He passed Owen on the stairs to the podium. Owen looked
at him like someone had died. He’d expected a headlock or foul language at
least.

He’d
turned an unnecessary spotlight on Owen’s leadership and Plus’ strategy, ensured
the share price wobbled, and made sure every investor in the room was questioning
why he wasn’t still in control.

He was
fighting for what he knew was right the best way he knew how. He was getting
his job back.

But he
didn’t expect what Dev did.

Dev was
waiting for him at the side of the stage. “Do you understand what you’ve done?”
Reid wanted to listen to Owen. Knew he’d alter whatever he was going to say to
respond to the challenge Reid’d laid down.

Dev
stepped in front of him. “You don’t need to listen to Owen. It doesn’t matter
what he says. He can’t win after what you did. You’re the moral authority in
this room. Everyone will take what you say as the truth. You just killed our
chances of getting Ziggy up and running without the most intense scrutiny. But
that’s not what matters. It’s what you did to yourself.”

He
looked over Dev’s head at the stage. “I’m getting back in, Dev. We’ll run it
all together again.”

“No,
that’s not how it’s going to go. You just proved me wrong.”

Owen
was doing a roll call of thanks. “About what?”

“I
argued with Owen, with Kuch, with anyone who’d listen that it was wrong to push
you out, that you could change, you could learn to respect other people and
listen to them, make more collaborative decisions. Use your genius for good.”

He
forgot Owen and focused on Dev. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“What
was the point. I lost, no one believed me. And now you did this. You proved you
can’t change, that you’re a bully, a superior, disrespectful dickhead. I’ve
been your friend since college. I’ve cooked you thousands of meals. I’ve stood
beside you and behind you and I’ve loved it all.” Dev broke eye contact and
looked at his tennis shoes. “I loved you, shit that you are. My life was better
because you were in it.”