Wreck Me (Savage Bosses)

Chapter Four

Tahani

Long Nights and Pressure

At nine sharp the next morning, I sit in the boardroom, surrounded by the rest of the engineering team. Mr. Gates stands at the front, effortlessly commanding the room as Regina, his assistant, moves through the slides of his presentation with precision. There’s an air of anticipation, like we’re all waiting to see just what kind of ride we’ve signed up for under his leadership.

He starts his pitch, outlining the staggering numbers from his previous takeovers, throwing around figures that seem almost too big to comprehend. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an edge to it that promises change, whether we’re ready for it or not.

“I’ve crunched the numbers, and I know Iconic can go from ten million a year to being on track for a hundred with the changes we implement in the next sixty days.” His gaze sweeps the room before it lands on me—just for a moment, but enough to make my pulse quicken. “But that means long hours. Everyone will need to pull their weight to make it happen.”

I sit a little straighter in my seat, already calculating what this means for Zeenith. Sixty days is a blink of an eye in development terms, but I know I can meet any deadline if I have to. The real question is whether Mr. Gates will understand just how delicate and vital this project is.

The slide changes, and Mr. Gates continues, now showing the success story of another company he acquired. “As you can see from these numbers, my latest acquisition started with a net profit margin of nineteen million. In the first quarter after acquisition, we pushed it to fifty million, with new brands signing up daily to work with Epic.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “And when these profit margins happen for Iconic, they will positively affect your paycheck.”

I can practically hear the gears turning in the minds of my colleagues, calculating how this might change their lives. But my mind is somewhere else. This isn’t about money for me. It’s about the legacy I’m building with Zeenith, about proving myself. Still, I can’t deny the pull of his words. Fifty million in sixty days? That’s a level of success most companies only dream of.

“Impressive,” Mason chimes in, predictably eager to score points with the new boss. He’s always quick with the compliments, especially when it comes to higher-ups.

I suppress a smirk. Mason’s flattery is as transparent as glass, but it always seems to work for him. The room is quiet, all eyes on Gates, waiting for what comes next.

Mr. Gates nods at Mason, acknowledging his input. "It is impressive, and it will happen here, but even better. We need all of you on board to make it happen. Without this team, we don’t have new products to offer, and Iconic is nothing without innovation."

He continues outlining financial targets, rolling through the next slide filled with more numbers, graphs, and projections. By the fifth slide, my attention starts to drift. Grace, Mason, Braedon, Contessa and Ava—they’re all listening intently, nodding along like they’re absorbing every detail.

I glance at the figures on the screen, then back to my notebook. Financials don’t spark anything in me. If I’d wanted to spend my life chasing numbers, I’d be an accountant, not an engineer. My world is in lines of code, algorithms that make sense, that I can control and manipulate until they’re perfect. That’s where my mind thrives.

Mr. Gates keeps talking, but I’ve already tuned out. Instead, my pen scratches across the page, jotting down a potential fix for the Hightower iOS app code Ava sent me yesterday. The solution hits me mid-doodle, and I quickly write it out, piecing together the patch in my mind. I’m almost there, lost in my own world, when I hear my name.

“Tahani, are you paying attention?”

I freeze, my pen dropping from my hand. “I—uh, yes. I am.”

I straighten in my chair, eyes snapping to the screen in front of me. The slide has shifted to our assignments, a list of projects next to each engineer’s name.

Mr. Gates’ gaze stays locked on mine, his expression unreadable. “Your client load is heavy, but Grace and Jaqueline have assured me you can handle it.”

Clearing my throat, I nod, trying to shake off the haze of my earlier distraction. “That’s correct. I can handle it.”

I glance at the list, seeing my top clients: Wilford Industries and the Browns—Montie and Lissa, the Atlanta-based software engineering duo. True Colors Technology and Naytek Corp have been outsourcing major projects to me for years. The Browns have clients all over the world, and I know their projects inside and out. I could build their systems in my sleep, but even so, the workload looks heavier than usual.

Still, I won’t back down from a challenge. Not in front of Archer Gates. Not when everything I’ve worked for is on the line.

I take a breath, refocusing. This isn’t the time to get distracted by side projects. I have to show Mr. Gates that I’m not just another engineer in his portfolio. I’m the best. And I intend to prove it, one line of code at a time.

Mr. Gates addresses the room with that same calm authority, scanning each of us as if he's already calculated the exact workload we'll bear in the next few months. "We need focus and efficiency going forward. My marketing and acquisitions teams are beasts. They’ll bring in more work than Iconic can handle over the next two months, and that’s a good thing." His intense, dark eyes land on me again, like a heat-seeking missile. “While we’re actively hiring new engineers, it’s going to take a time commitment from everyone. Expect long nights.”

The words hit harder than they should. Long nights. Something about the way he says it sends a pulse of warmth rushing through me, and for a split second, I can’t seem to shake the heat settling low in my belly. Damn it. This can’t happen. I’m supposed to be thinking about coding, about Zeenith, not... this.

I shift in my chair, discreetly glancing around the room. Of course, no one else is paying me any attention. They’re all laser-focused on Mr. Gates and his next directive, hanging on every word. I try to steady my breathing, mentally chastising myself. This is my boss. This is my career. My future. I’ve been with Iconic since I graduated, and now I’m a senior engineer. I cannot afford to have my professionalism derailed by some involuntary reaction to an offhand comment.

I pull myself together just as Mr. Gates shifts into a detailed breakdown of our new development process.

"Regina will hand out some important changes. The first is your new daily workflow. It’s designed to boost production by at least twenty percent. Review it and let Grace know if you have any questions."

Regina drops two sheets of paper in front of me, and I pick them up and scan the bold, aggressive plan. Morning meetings, training sessions, mid-morning pair programming where we’re expected to watch each other code, and post-lunch peer review sessions to go over our daily work. It’s clear that he’s trying to squeeze every ounce of work from us, making sure not a single second goes to waste.

I let out a small breath. It's ambitious, and maybe even brilliant, but also... suffocating. I’ve always worked well under pressure, but there’s something about Gates’ style that feels like it’s pushing me in a different direction. One that has nothing to do with coding.

I glance up at him once more, his expression unreadable as he surveys the room. This is a challenge I didn’t expect, and one I’m determined to meet head-on. But right now, I need to remind myself that my work is what matters most, no matter what kind of reaction he stirs in me.

I fold the papers, slipping them into my notebook. Long nights? Fine. I’ll handle it, just like I handle everything else. But I need to keep this strictly professional, no matter how much my body disagrees.

“The second sheet you received outlines the new dress code,” Mr. Gates says, his eyes locking onto mine again. “There have been changes, and everyone is expected to adhere to them.”

I glance at the paper in front of me, my stomach knotting. A new dress code? Of course, the new boss has decided to shake up more than just our workflow. He might have that rugged, dark handsomeness that turns heads, but working for him is going to be tricky.

I remember the form-fitting green skirt I wore when we first met. His eyes swept over me from head to toe, and I tried to convince myself it was nothing. But during our one-on-one, his gaze kept wandering in a way that made me hyperaware of every curve.

And now, this new dress code seems to be a direct hit. Loose-fitting clothing? Really? I love form-fitting outfits. They make me feel confident and powerful. This feels like a personal attack, whether it is or not.

Mr. Gates wraps up the meeting. “Unless anyone has questions, that’s all for today. I’m looking forward to seeing this team prosper in the coming months. Let’s get it done.”

I gather my notebook, ready to slide out the door. But just as I stand, his voice, deep and brooding, stops me in my tracks.

“Tahani, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Sure.” My heart rate spikes, like a sudden sprint after a marathon. I try to calm the rush of nerves that become hyperactive, but I can’t shake the feeling that this conversation isn’t going to be simple.

He looks over at his assistant, who’s busy turning off the projector. “Regina?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Close the door behind you.”

The click of the door echoes louder than it should, like a signal that there’s no escape from whatever’s coming next.

“Have a seat, Tahani,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind.

I lower myself into the chair, trying to steel myself for whatever’s coming next. “Is everything okay?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral, though I’m tempted to add, besides you policing my wardrobe choices , but I bite my tongue.

I can’t read his expression, but whatever this is, it feels important. I just hope I’m ready for it.

He steps beside me, placing both hands on the conference table, leaning in just enough to establish dominance. “You seemed a bit preoccupied during the meeting. Do you understand what’s expected of you over the next few months?”

I raise my brow, refusing to be rattled. “I understand what’s expected of me.”

His gaze sharpens. “What’s expected of you, Tahani?”

“Long hours and a new workflow to reach our financial goals.”

He strokes his low-cropped, dark-brown beard before placing his hand back on the table. “That’s partially right. As a senior engineer, you’ll also need to work closely with me as new assignments come in. We need to maximize production.”

“I have no problem with that,” I reply, keeping my tone steady.

His tongue briefly slides across his heart-shaped lips, and for a second, I feel the need to revise my statement. On second thought, I might have a problem with that.

“It’s going to take true dedication from you,” he adds, his voice lowering, almost a challenge. “There will be long nights and a lot of pressure. Are you sure you can handle it?”

The way he says long nights with that edge of authority, combined with a lot of pressure, sends a conflicting pulse through me. My body reacts even though my mind tells it to stop. Still, I nod, keeping my voice calm. “I can handle it, Mr. Gates.”

“Good.” His lips curve into something that looks dangerously close to a smirk. “Meet me in my office at five p.m. I have some things to go over with you.”

As he pulls away, I find myself still thinking about his mention of long nights and the pressure he brings with him. My voice comes out softer than I intended. “Okay.”

I gather my things, but the air in the room still feels thick. Whatever comes next with Archer Gates, it’s going to be a test—and I can’t help but wonder what it’ll reveal.

As I walk to the door, I can feel his eyes on me, a heat boring into my back, but I refuse to look. My spine stays straight, every step purposeful as I exit the room. I make my way down the hallway, my mind racing with thoughts I shouldn’t be having.

“Hey,” Contessa’s voice pulls me out of my head. She stands just a few feet away, her eyes narrowing in concern. “What did you think about that meeting?” she asks in a hushed tone.

“Talk to you about it later,” I mutter, barely slowing down as I slip into my office and close the door behind me.

Leaning against the door for a moment, I exhale, trying to shake whatever is coming over me. I need space and time to pull myself together. These salacious thoughts of my boss can’t stay tangled in my mind. Not if I’m going to survive working with him.