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Say You Still Love Me / , (by K.A. Tucker, 2019) -

Say You Still Love Me / ,       (by K.A. Tucker, 2019) -

Say You Still Love Me / , (by K.A. Tucker, 2019) -

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Say You Still Love Me / , (by K.A. Tucker, 2019) -
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2019
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K.A. Tucker
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Devon Sorvari
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upper-intermediate
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14:23:57
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64 kbps
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mp3, pdf, doc

Say You Still Love Me / , :

.doc (Word) k_a_tucker_-_say_you_still_love_me.doc [1.05 Mb] (c: 29) .
.pdf k_a_tucker_-_say_you_still_love_me.pdf [1.84 Mb] (c: 40) .
audiobook (MP3) .


: Say You Still Love Me

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( , ).


Chapter 1 NOW A spoiled tart. Or was it spoiled brat? I purse my lips and try not to sneer at Tripp Porter as he drones on with a status update about the continuous permit delays, his monotonous voice flat enough to sink a yapping Jack Russell into a coma. Meanwhile Im struggling to recall exactly what this arrogant ass called me at the holiday party. Of course, he was oblivious to the fact that I was standing on the other side of the pillar while he bad-mouthed me, his crimson bow tie hanging loose around his collar, his tongue flapping after his umpteenth gimlet. It was the same night that Dad officially announced my leaping promotion to the newly created role of senior vice president at Calloway Groupmy stepping-stone to president when he retires. With an MBA from Wharton and ten years of experience at CG between summer internships and post grad, he thought I was ready. Clearly, Tripp Porter did not. And by the thinly veiled smirk that curls his lips every time he looks my way, he still doesnt. But that could also be because hes under the impression that he should be in the senior vice presidents role, and not reporting to the twenty-nine-year-old leggy brunette tart who once fetched his coffee. Spoiled tart. That was definitely it. Who the hell even uses that word, anyway? I let my gaze drift around the room of suitsCGs management team, mostly wealthy white men in their mid to late fifties, afflicted with varying degrees of male pattern baldnessand wonder how many of them share Tripps viewpoint, that Kieran Calloway has lost his damn mind, setting up his daughter to one day take over. That I should be finding ways to spend my trust fund, not wasting their time by dragging them into this meeting and demanding answers on two billion dollars worth of projects. Unfortunately for them, Im not going anywhere. And Im beyond fed up, because I heard the same bullshit update from Tripp in the last meeting. So what youre saying is that youve made no progress with the Marquee, I interrupt loudly, topping my blunt words with a saccharine smile as my French-tipped nails trace the walnut swirls of the polished table. We bought the struggling hotel for $120 million two years ago. Im the one who brought the project to the table. Im the one who pushed Dad to buy it, insisting it would make an excellent condo conversion. Dad leaned forward on it for me. And now, despite rounds of meetings and revisions to the blueprints, we still cant seem to get the citys approval for construction to begin. I catch glances exchanged and brows arching around the table. Some of these people must share my frustrations, right? What can I say, Piper, Tripp begins, adjusting his navy-blue tie around his stout neck. And theres that condescending smirk again. Ive already told Kieran that we should sell it and cut our losses. The groundwork for this project wasnt set properly, and its taking more time to fix the mess than I anticipated. Ive got a meeting with the city on the twenty-ninth to get to the root of the problem. I was the one overseeing the project until my promotion and when I left, it was on track. It doesnt take a genius to hear what hes implyingthat the mess is thanks to my poor directive. I grit my teeth to keep my composure. Thats nearly a month away. Yes, youre right, he says slowly. Annoyingly. Were now six months behind schedule, I emphasize sharply. The investors are inquiring. I dont have to tell Tripp, or anyone else here, how irate that makes my father, who prides himself on our remarkable track record for reliability and on-time completion. Tripp sighs heavily. I dont know what to tell you, Piper. Its the earliest meeting date that old shrew Adriane Guthrie would agree to. You know how inflexible she is. Well, maybe you dont, but ask your father. He reaches for his phone and begins scrolling through his messages, as if this conversation is over. I wasnt going to do this until after the meeting, in private. But since Tripp is hell-bent on making me look like some clueless bobblehead, maybe everyone around this table is in need of an education. I spoke to Adriane this morning. We had a lovely chat. I smile sweetly at Tripp, whose indifferent gaze has been replaced with suspicion. Adriane is a clever older woman whom I sat next to at a dinner event a few years back; we bonded over the same tastes in books and movies, and the same unsavory viewpoints about men like Tripp. Shes always been willing to make time for me. It seems you missed the last scheduled meeting Something important came up, he smoothly deflects. without the common decency to phone her, I finish. His bushy brows draw together in a deep frown; hes no doubt quickly thinking up some bullshit reason for that. I also spoke to Serge, I add. The senior project development manager handling the day-to-day work behind this project, a guy who puts in twelve-hour days and has a bad habit of chewing on pens as he works. Tripps eyebrows arch. He was told to forget about the Marquee and focus all efforts on the Waterway project. Told by you. The Waterway project is the crown jewel for this company. Thats where our focus is right now, Tripp retorts, his chest beginning to puff out as he gathers his confidence back. Yes. Its an enormous project. Too large, some are suggesting. Architecturally beautiful twin towers of mixed residential and hotel atop the citys waterfront market. And were still looking for investors for that, which means now is not the time to be dropping the ball on our other projects, I remind him tersely. Mark? I turn to my assistant, who sits beside me, studiously typing out meeting notes on his laptop. Did Adrianes assistant call back yet? Mark clears his throat, struggling to keep a serious face. Yes. She has tomorrow morning at nine available. The same time as Tripps standing tee-off time. To be fair, I didnt specifically ask for a Friday morning meeting when I called Adriane. Perfect. We all know Tripp is free then. I turn back to Tripp, whose cheeks are flushed with red. Make sure you bring the right people with you when you go in to meet with her. And call me on your way back with an update, which I expect will be favorable. Unless you need me to come with you to the meeting to help get the final sign-offs? From the corner of my eye, I catch a few smirks around the table. I dont acknowledge any of them, though, keeping my steady gaze locked on Tripp, my expression flat. No. Of course not, he answers gruffly. Good! I think were done here, then. I force a chipper tone. I collect my phone and my notepad and stand, feeling a room of gazes drift downward to my emerald-green dress, the sleeves capped to show off my toned arms, the waist cinched to flatter my curves. Whatever they may think about me running the show, none have ever hidden the fact that they enjoy the view. I dont particularly relish the attention, but I also refuse to hide my femininity behind wide-leg trousers and bulky blazers because they cant keep their leering eyes away. See everyone at the next meeting. I stroll out of the boardroom with my head held high, making sure my heels clack extra loud for Tripp, in case he missed the part where the tart just handed him his ass. That was deeply satisfying, Mark murmurs, closing the distance quickly to walk beside me, his laptop tucked under his arm. Lets just hope it works, I mutter, the wave of adrenaline that spurred me on now giving way to anxiety as I wonder what Tripps next move in this power play will be, and how Ill need to pivot. I swallow against the case of nerves and peer up at Mark, meeting his broad smile. But yes, it was, wasnt it? Mark is tallwell over six feetand wiry, which makes every button-down shirt he wears too baggy on his slender frame. Id love to give him a few pointers in the wardrobe department, but our employer-employee relationship hasnt reached that stage yet. Were quite comfortable in the plotting together to trounce misogynistic jerks stage, though. He reaches around me to pull open the glass door to Calloways executive wingexecutive alley, we call itand hold it for me. Thank you, kind sir, I offer dramatically, smiling as I recall the first time he did this, during his interview for the assistants position. I had faltered at the threshold, surprised by the gentlemanly gesture. He immediately began backpedaling, promising through stumbled words that the move in no way reflected his beliefs about a womans ability to hold her own doors open. He confided later that he was sure he had blown the interview. Meanwhile I knew right then and there that, while he had zero experience, he was the right person for the job. Polite, considerate, but also in tune with the twenty-first century. Youre welcome, milady, he says without missing a beat and with a terribly fake cockney accent that makes me chuckle. Deep dimples form in his cheeks. Hes attractive, with a full head of blond hair that he runs a gel-coated hand through each morning, at most, earnest blue eyes that lock on yours when youre in conversation, and a clean-cut jaw that makes him look a decade younger than his thirty-four years. If I were interested in dating, and not his boss, Mark might be a man whod pique my interest. But I am his boss, and Im eons away from heading back down the lets-get-to-know-each-other path with any man. Thanks mainly to the jackass in the custom-tailored navy suit lingering straight ahead. I sigh heavily. If there is one person who can deflate my triumphant high, its David Worthington. Whens my next meeting? Noon? I ask Mark. One P.M. His gaze narrows on Davids hand as it carelessly flicks the wooden blades of the delicate miniature windmill on Marks deska gift from Marks mom to celebrate his first desk job: a symbol of his Danish roots. A replacement of the one David broke a month ago, doing this very same thing. Mark dislikes Davidwith a passion, Id hazardbut he has yet to say anything openly. That could be on account of David being VP of Sales

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