Her eyes meet mine. Flustered, challenged, annoyed. And intrigued. Try as she may to act aloof, she's interested, just as she'd been standing next to me at the bar.
I know what she says next will surprise me. She always does.
"What's your exit strategy?" she asks.
Both my eyebrows rise. "We've just bought the company. We're not thinking of selling it anytime soon."
"But you will, one day," she says. "That's the strategy of venture capitalist firms, if I understand them correctly, Mr. Kingsley."
"Mr. Kingsley?"
"We should be professional," she says.
"We should," I agree. "I will lodge a formal complaint with HR about your atrocious taste in coffee."
Her eyes flare. "You should have used one and a half pumps. But don't deflect. What's your exit strategy?"
"Is that really a question on that little sheet of yours?"
"Mr. Kingsley," she warns.
"You've got the stamina to be a journalist," I mutter, but I lean back in my chair and consider her question. It's a fair one. Perhaps not something I want to have announced to the world yet, though. "There is one," I say. "Suffice it to say that Acture is committed to seeing the Globe as a booming, one-stop source for news, a place that has as solid a future as it has a renowned past, before we consider letting go of the reins."
"Cashing in on your profits," she translates. "Right?"
I smile at her. She knows I can't answer that.
Reluctantly, she sighs, looking down at her notepad. "This interview doesn't contain much substance."
"That's okay," I say. "That's not what your co-workers are looking for right now."
She taps her pen against the notepad. "They want reassurance, and information, and I don't have either of those things yet."
"Yes, you do," I correct her. "Not in the way you want it, perhaps. But you can tell them that there is someone at the top who has a vision and a plan. They're bound to be nervous after hearing about people getting fired."
Audrey pauses in her writing, eyes meeting mine. I can't decipher what's in hers. "Wow," she says. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"Yes. Why wouldn't I?"
She shakes her head and keeps writing, and my fingers tap annoyedly at the glass desk. It had been a standard answer for me.
"You're young to be this successful," she says, head still bowed. "Only thirty-two and CEO of this company."
"You remembered?"
"Unless it was a lie," she says. "You can't keep track of them all."
The reference to our earlier text conversation doesn't make me smile. I don't want to lose that. Being ridiculous with her, sending her texts designed to make her laugh…
"Wasn't a lie," I say. "And you're twenty-six."
"In four months' time," she adds. "But that's not relevant for this interview."
"Is my age?"
"Of course. I'm introducing Carter Kingsley, thirty-two-year-old partner of Acture Capital and newly appointed CEO of the Globe, to all of your employees. Very few of whom, I should say, have ever seen your face."
"I haven't called an all-hands meeting yet," I admit, running a hand over my jaw. "But I will."
Audrey purses her lips. They're without lip gloss today, I see, a warm, dusky pink that looks natural and soft. "Will you be accessible to your employees?"
"Accessible?"
"If any should have questions, concerns or… complaints about the way the changes are being implemented. Where should they go?"
"Ah. Well, they're always free to email me or Wesley, and we will do our best to answer their questions."
Audrey looks down at her notepad again. Probably surveying what she has, but judging from the faint crease in her brow, she's not happy. "What are the odds of me getting an actual response from you about any future plans? What you're going to implement next?"
"Zero," I say.
"Like I suspected." She rises from her seat and smooths a hand over her slacks. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Kingsley."
"Anytime, Audrey."
She pauses, hand on the back of the chair. "Miss Ford."
"Miss Ford," I repeat.
"I will send the interview to you, with your assistant in copy, as soon as it's done," she says. Her eyes aren't on me, but on the emblazoned name plate on my desk. Carter Kingsley, CEO, The New York Globe. Wesley had it made for me when I arrived. It had been an over-the-top gift from a suck-up, and I'd known it. Now I wish I hadn't put it here on display. Somehow, it didn't seem quite so ironic when she was looking at it.
"Thank you," I say. "I'm sure I'll be pleased with it."
Audrey is halfway to the door before she turns around. Her eyes aren't challenging this time. They're hesitant.
"Yes?"
"This won't affect my job in any way," she says. "Will it?"
Something inside me sinks at the question. Of course she'd wonder. And with that, the most normal interaction I'd had with someone, the most casual, no strings-attached conversation, is gone for good. Nail in the coffin.
She might not expect the same things my exes did, but she sure expects something. It's just not flattering.
"No," I say. "It won't. You never have to worry about that."
She breathes out a sigh. "Right. Okay, well… thank you, then. Mr. Kingsley."
"No, thank you… Miss Ford."