3. Late

DARIO

I was already in a foul mood before the meeting even started.

Rico leaned against the edge of my desk, his blue-dyed hair slightly messy like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. My best friend and head of the camera crew knew me well enough not to push when I was like this.

“Tell me you’re joking,” I said, pacing my office even though I was one sentence away from snapping.

“I’m not,” Rico replied. “They signed with Infinitum this morning. We lost it.”

Of course it was them.

Another competitor swooping in last minute with cleaner terms and louder promises. Same playbook, different day. Still, it didn’t make the sting any less irritating.

“We had that deal for three weeks,” I said flatly.

“And now we don’t,” Rico added, careful this time. “They moved fast. Someone inside tipped them off or—”

“Fucking vultures. I don’t care how they did it,” I cut in. My grip tightened around my phone. “I care that they did.”

“You’re in a mood,” he said.

“I’ll get over it,” I replied.

“You better, because it’s time for the orientation meeting and the whole crew is waiting.”

I straightened my suit jacket, putting my phone into my pocket and headed for the conference room without another word. Let them see the real me from day one. I don’t do softness.

The room was packed. I stood at the front, scanning faces. Most of the new contract staff looked nervous. Good. They should be.

I started the meeting in my sharpest, no-nonsense tone.

“Welcome to FanHub. We are currently the second-best sports network in this city, and I have zero intention of staying there. Hard work gets rewarded here. Laziness gets you replaced. If you’re not ready to bleed for every story, every segment, every exclusive — there’s the door.”

A few people chuckled nervously.

I continued. “Time cards for every department close at exactly 9:45 a.m. No exceptions. I don’t tolerate—”

The door at the back opened quietly.

Every head turned.

Indigo Derrin slipped in, trying to be invisible. Her ginger curls were slightly messy, like she’d been running. She was breathing hard, chest rising and falling under a fitted yellow blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt that hugged her curves. Knee-high boots. The same dangerous energy from the interview, but flushed and disheveled.

11:30 a.m.

My irritation instantly flared into something hotter.

“Ms. Derrin,” I said loudly, cutting off my own sentence. The entire room went dead silent. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

She froze near the back row. All eyes were on her.

“Work starts at nine,” I continued, my tone leaving no room for excuses. “Not eleven-thirty. Why the fuck are you walking into my meeting two and a half hours late?”

Her blue eyes widened. Heat rushed into her cheeks, staining them pink. She opened her mouth to explain, painfully aware of every pair of eyes in the room fixed on her. “Mr. Cross, I—”

“Get out.”

The words landed like a slap. She stared at me, stunned. “Mr. Cross—”

“I said get out.” My tone left no room for argument. “We’ll see you next Monday, Ms. Derrin.”

Her face drained of color. “That’s a whole week.”

“You walked into a mandatory meeting two hours late. Consider it an opportunity to reflect on your priorities.”

She stood there for a second, a scowl forming on her beautiful face. That fire in her eyes — the same one that had made me hard during the interview — pleased me more than it should have. She turned on her heel and stormed out, the door clicking shut behind her.

I let the silence stretch for a moment, then continued as if nothing had happened.

“As I was saying… I don’t tolerate lateness. Ever. This is your only warning. Show up ready to work, or don’t show up at all. We’re building something here. If you’re not ready to give everything, there are plenty of other stations that will happily pay you to do nothing.”

A few people laughed at the dry joke. The tension eased slightly.

I wrapped up the rest of the orientation — expectations, goals, the competitive edge we needed to overtake Infinitum. When the meeting finally ended, I headed straight back to my office.

Rico followed me in and closed the door. “You were harsh on her,” he said.

I sat behind my desk, leaning back. My blood was still running hot. “She was late,” I said simply.

“A whole week, Dario? Seriously?”

“Because she thinks being my fiancée’s cousin gives her special treatment.” My jaw tightened. “I’ve spent years building this company. The last thing I need is people thinking connections matter more than professionalism.”

Rico folded his arms. “It didn’t look like she was taking advantage of anything. That's Leah’s cousin?”

“Yes.”

“If anything, she looked like she ran here.”

My expression hardened. “I hate people who use relationships as leverage,” I said. “Family. Friends. Fiancées. I don’t care who they know. The rules apply to everyone.”

Rico stared at me for a second.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions about a woman who barely got three words out before you kicked her out.”

I ignored that.

“Anyway,” I said, grabbing my keys from the desk. “I’d rather not talk about her.”

I stood. “How are preparations for the anniversary party going?”

That immediately shifted his attention.

“We have lunch with Leah and Kelsey in thirty minutes. We’ll know then. Kelsey’s handling most of the planning anyway — you know how she gets when she’s in event mode.”

I nodded. Kelsey —my wild, outspoken cousin— was an exceptional event planner, even if her confidence and flirtatious warmth sometimes blurred professional lines.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Rico stood. “For the record, I think you overreacted.”

I grabbed my jacket. “For the record, nobody asked.”

He laughed. “There’s the Dario we all know and tolerate.”

“Tolerate?”

“On a good day.”

I shook my head and headed for the door.

Seeing her walk in late, flushed and out of breath, had done something to me. I wanted to punish her. I wanted to bend her over this desk, yank that tight pencil skirt up, and smack her ass until her cheeks glowed bright red under my hand.

Fuck. I was already looking forward to next Monday way too much.