Read Hardly Working for Free Online Page B

would be a sweet, intoxicating blast, but ultimately bad for you.
    I stopped staring at him. He definitely clashed with the office décor, the splodgy lemon custard walls, the burnt caramel Naugahyde furniture, the mangy, pockmarked beige wall-to-wall carpet. The big question kept nagging at me. Why was a glossy high-rise type like Ian Trutch playing CEO to a low-rise walk-up organization like ours?
    Jake appeared behind him. “Dinah, this is Ian Trutch. Ian, this is Dinah Nichols, our PR and communications associate.”
    He reached out his hand then clasped mine in both of his. They were warm and smooth. “Dinah. Very, very nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
    I swallowed. “You have?”
    â€œYou’re the girl who goes after the donors. Jake’s been telling me about you.”
    â€œHe has?”
    Ian Trutch still had my hand prisoner. I knew I shouldn’t fraternize with the enemy in any way, but when he let go of it, my whole body screamed indignantly, “More, more.”
    He added, “Join us, won’t you, Dinah? I’m just going to have a few words with the staff in the other room,” and then he touched my shoulder. I stood up and like a zombie, followed the two men out into the main room.
    As soon as Penelope saw Ian Trutch, she bounced to her feet and went up to him. “Welcome to our branch, Mr. Trutch. Can I get you a coffee?”
    Ian Trutch’s face became delectable again. He said, “Yes, thank you…and you are?”
    â€œPenelope.”
    â€œPenelope. A classical name for a classical beauty. Don’t wait too long for your Ulysses. I take my coffee black and steaming.”
    Every woman in the room was staring, breathless, vacillating between envy and lust.
    â€œSit down, Mr. Trutch. I’ll bring it to you,” said Penelope.
    But Mr. Trutch didn’t sit down. His tone became snappy. “There’s going to be a meeting in the boardroom upstairs in exactly thirteen minutes. Ten o’clock sharp. Everyone should be present.” He took one sip of the coffee Penelope had brought him, put down the mug and walked toward the back door. On his way out, he winked at me and said so softly that only I could hear, “Get ready for the massacre, Dinah.”
    A little laugh escaped me.
    He’d recognized me for who I was.
    The worthy adversary.
    I was looking forward to the battle, to showing him that our branch of Green World International was a great team. Excluding Penelope, of course.
    Jake looked slightly ill. He turned away and headed back into his office. I followed him in. He sat down heavily then looked up at me with his tired bloodhound eyes. His hand was already dipping into his bottom desk drawer. I had a microsecond of panic that he might have a bottle hidden in there but he pulled out a Bounty Bar, ripped it open, and finished it in two bites. Then, ignoring the little chocolate blob dangling from his moustache, he tore open an Oh Henry! and gestured to the drawer as if to say, “Help yourself.”
    â€œNo thanks, Jake. I’ll just sniff the wrappers. I’m counting calories.” I was always counting calories. Four thousand, five thousand, six thousand…
    He didn’t come out and say, “Ian Trutch doesn’t belong here,” but I knew he wanted to.
    â€œJeeee-susss,” sighed Jake, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I’ve got kind of a creepy feeling. A few years ago a feeling like this would have had me out of here and heading for the pub.”
    I couldn’t stand to see Jake depressed. “Well, let’s think positively about this.”
    He gave a sad little chuckle. “Ah…yeah, sure, Dinah. That would be the world’s greatest female cynic talking to the world’s greatest male cynic.”
    â€œWell…there are some donors out there who respond better to the kind of image that