Recycled

Clad

I pinched the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge to groan as Mr. Moore continued to ramble on over the phone. "Yes, yes. I remember," I said, forcing a polite tone. He had been circling the same details for the past ten minutes, as if I hadn't already confirmed everything twice. At this point, I would have loved to tell him that time was a precious resource and he was squandering mine. But I couldn't.

Across from me, Max held a piece of paper above his head. His lips moved in a silent warning: *We need the funding. Don't do anything stupid.*

I grunted in response.

"Eh? What is wrong? Did I say something you didn't like, Mr. Storm?" Mr. Moore's voice crackled through the line.

I schooled my tone back to professionalism, swallowing my frustration. "No, not at all. In fact, I appreciate that you booked the ticket for me. It saved me a lot of trouble."

He laughed heartily, the sound grating against my patience. "Of course! You are one of my most valuable partners at the moment. I wouldn't want you facing any unnecessary inconveniences."

"I understand. And I greatly appreciate it," I replied, lifting a small potted plant from the reception desk where I had taken the call.

"Not at all, not at all. Oh, and before I forget—" His chuckle was light, as if what he was about to say was of little consequence. "You will be traveling with one of my daughters."

My grip tightened around the plant. My heart skipped a beat. "Oh?" The word was neutral, unaffected, but my mind raced. Was it Harley?

"Yes, yes," he continued. "I wanted to ensure you are comfortable and familiar with the environment. My daughter will be there to assist you with anything you need."

I immediately caught the implication behind his words. "Does Mr. Moore usually sell his daughters for business deals?" The words slipped out before I could stop myself.

Max, standing nearby, reacted as if he had just been shot, collapsing onto the floor in slow motion, his expression frozen in horror.

A long, deafening silence stretched across the line. Max's wide eyes screamed unspoken questions. I shrugged.

"Eh, Mr. Storm, what do you mean by that?" Moore finally asked, clearing his throat. His voice was controlled—too controlled. Strange. I had expected anger.

I smirked slightly. I supposed he had better control of his temper than he did back in high school. "Nothing," I said, shifting the plant in my hand. "I must have phrased that poorly—"

A relieved chuckle escaped him. "Oh."

I continued, my tone casual but sharp. "I meant that your family is quite dedicated to your business if they're willing to act as escorts for your clients during business trips."

He didn't seem to catch the insult. "Oh, don't worry," he said cheerfully. "The one accompanying you is my oldest daughter, Harley."

My fingers dug into the ceramic pot. My heart skipped a beat. *Harley.*

"She's unemployed right now," he added dismissively. "She was utterly useless at her previous job, so she lost it. I figured she should make herself useful somehow, so I asked her to accompany you."

*Clank!*

The sharp sound echoed through the reception area as the glass I had been absently holding slipped from my grip and shattered against the floor.

"What was that? What happened?" Mr. Moore asked.

I exhaled slowly. "Oops. Broke a glass. Nothing serious. Mr. Moore, I'll speak to you later. Thanks again for the ticket."

"Ah. Yes, yes, see you in London," he hurriedly added before I ended the call.

Silence stretched between Max and me.

I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling slowly.

"Well, that went well," Liam's voice drawled from the doorway of my office.

I turned to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching me with amusement. "But I have to ask—" He stretched lazily. "What kind of father talks about his daughter like that? I thought Harley was their cherished princess."

That was exactly what I had been thinking. Had the perfect, favored daughter fallen from grace? *Why?*

A strange feeling settled in my gut, but before I could dwell on it, Max groaned from his spot on the floor. "You just had to say that, didn't you?" He grumbled, rubbing his temples. "We need this deal, Clad. Why do you always have to poke the bear?"

I shrugged. "It's not my fault the bear keeps walking into my space."

Liam chuckled. "Either way, this just got a whole lot more interesting. You and Harley stuck together on a business trip? Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

I let out a dry laugh. "Or something else."

Max groaned again. "Just… try not to get us blacklisted, okay?"

I didn't answer.

Before we could continue, Max's assistant walked in, wheeling in a huge trolley stacked with papers.

"By the way, why does he have an assistant and you don't?" Liam pointed out dryly.

"We're working on that," Max responded, then turned to Mia. "Are these the resumes?"

"Yes, sir. Everything from those who applied and those hand-picked through connections," she said, taking a portion of the stack and handing them to Max.

"Thank you, and I'm sorry you had to work overtime sorting them out," Max said.

Liam raised a brow. "Why would she work overtime?"

"Because you fucking announced to the *world* that the hot bike-racing CEO needed a secretary, and now every woman within a fifty-mile radius turned in their resume," Max mumbled.

Liam laughed. "Oh, *that* live we did back then! Ha! That was classic. I was joking, but hey, they listened. I saved you from a lot of trouble."

Max scoffed. "Trouble? Your announcement turned this place into a *paper landfill*. We'll have to recycle half of these because they're useless."

Liam kept laughing, but then stopped, eyes narrowing. "Wait. Why are you quiet?"

I stiffened. *Shit.*

Max followed Liam's gaze.

They both saw it.

Max cursed under his breath. "This is wild."

Liam let out a low whistle. "Damn."

I picked up the resume, my jaw tightening. "Why is this one in the pile to be thrown out?"

Mia straightened. "Well, Max said that if anyone was underqualified or *overqualified* for the position, I had to discard them."

I turned to Max, glaring.

He gulped.

Because Harley's resume was about to be recycled.

And I wasn't sure *why* that bothered me so much.