One Mad Night by Julia London Page A

it out. She couldn’t understand why Brad and Jason would bring in someone new.
    â€œWhat?” he asked, and she realized she was still staring at him.
    â€œA lot of money,” she repeated. “Do you mean a lot a lot or just a lot?”
    He chuckled with bewilderment. “I don’t know exactly what you mean, but I guess it’s relative. It was a lot of money to me.”
    She was dying to ask him how much, but not only was that incredibly rude, she feared it might cause her to fling herself out a thirty-first-floor window. She sagged against her chair. How could they betray her like this? “I don’t get it. I have worked my ass off for this firm and they haven’t offered me a lot of money. They told me this account was mine, that I was due, and then the next thing I know, they’re bringing in some hotshot from another firm,” she said, gesturing at him.
    â€œThank you. I think.”
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked, casting her arms wide. “Is it because I’m a woman? It’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it? You said it, Ian; this is a good ol’ boys club—”
    â€œHey, I did not say that—”
    But Chelsea wasn’t listening to him. She knew exactly what was going on here. She’d seen it with Candice Fletcher. Candice had worked at this firm for years and had done some of the best work Chelsea had seen. And she’d left last year, tired of bumping up against the glass ceiling, tired of working circles around men only to be passed over time and again. “It’s the good ol’ boys club, and they can’t deal with a woman who might be smart or capable . They want us all to wear tight skirts and say yes sir, no sir, do you take cream with that coffee?”
    â€œHey,” Ian said, and he put his hand on her arm. “I think you’re overreacting—”
    â€œThen explain to me why Jason would tell me this gig was mine and then offer you a lot of money and not me? There has to be some reason, right? I don’t think it’s my work because everyone says my work is great. It’s not my work, is it? So what else can it be, Ian? I think it’s because I’m a woman, and I’m not in here eating Lean Cuisine and talking about the Knicks!”
    â€œChelsea.” Ian squeezed her arm. “It had nothing to do with the fact that you’re a woman.”
    â€œWhat?” Her gaze suddenly riveted on him. The way he said it gave her the impression that he knew what it was, that he had discussed her with someone. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a woman …almost as if he knew exactly what it had to do with.
    It seemed as if Ian realized he’d said something, too, because he withdrew his hand and looked a little guilty.
    â€œWhat do you know?” she asked him.
    â€œWho, me?” He looked startled. He looked down at his plate and then at the window. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    He was lying. Chelsea could plainly see it. “Yes you do!” she cried. “You know something! What is it, Ian? Has Jason said something about me?”
    â€œNo,” he scoffed. But he stood up and picked up his plate. “I wish Brad had beer.”
    She jumped up to follow him. “Why won’t you tell me? It can’t be that bad.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to tell,” Ian said.
    â€œI don’t believe you. Does it have to do with the Tesla account?”
    She saw the hitch in his shoulders, but Ian put his plate in the sink, turned around to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and said, “I am telling you the truth. Jason has not said a word to me about you since I came here.”
    Chelsea studied his face a moment, looking for any sign of deception. He steadily held her gaze. “Okay,” she said, nodding. She didn’t believe him for a minute. She would get it out of him—she was tenacious