Depending on where you work, the idea of a corporate trip might not be super exciting. But what about when there's a mysterious disappearance and the future of the company is dependent on no one finding out. Well it certainly shakes things up and also makes for some very interesting drama between the big high up officials who have a lot of power (and money) to lose if this all goes very very wrong.
Cosmopolitan has an exclusive look at Emma Rosenblum's sophomore release, Very Bad Company, which will no doubt will scratch your need for the next big summer read just like her first novel, Bad Summer People, did. And just based off the cover, it's exactly the kind of vibes that you're looking for. Ready to find out more? Here's some more info from our friends at Flatiron Books:
A gripping, darkly comic novel from the national bestselling author of Bad Summer People about a team of wealthy and powerful executives on retreat in Miami when one of them goes missing . . .
Every year, executives at the trendy tech startup Aurora gather the company’s top employees for an exclusive retreat in Miami, and this year Caitlin Levy―Aurora’s newest hire―is joining the team as head of events. The benefits are outstanding: a seven-figure salary, stock shares, a discretionary bonus, limitless vacation days―what could possibly go wrong?
When a fellow high-level executive vanishes after the first night, the disappearance has the potential to derail the future of the company’s sale and cost everyone on the team millions. Now more than ever, Caitlin and her colleagues must continue the charade―partaking in team-building exercises, group brainstorms, dinners―in order to keep the future of Aurora afloat amid all the fatal speculations.
Compulsively readable, Very Bad Company is a slick send-up of corporate culture wrapped in a captivating mystery.
Before you run to preorder Very Bad Company, don’t miss out on an exclusive excerpt below! And, as a special bonus, you can even click play to follow along with the audiobook too if that's more your vibe!
An Excerpt From Very Bad Company
By Emma Rosenblum
Caitlin Levy
Caitlin Levy hated turbulence. She also hated sitting in coach. But here she was, en route to Miami for her first business trip as head of events for Aurora, violently jolting up and down, her gold bangles jangling, stuck in the last row of the plane. She felt like she might be sick, but the seat belt light was on, and she was nestled between a large man with hairy forearms and a college kid who’d been snoring since the moment he sat down.
This was not the fancy executive life she’d pictured when she signed her contract with Aurora two weeks ago, but she’d been late to book the flight, and business class was already full. She’d walked past her new colleagues as she’d boarded, their headphones on, computers out, already sipping champagne. None of them had even looked in her direction, which was a relief—she’d have enough time for awkward, introductory chats when they arrived at the hotel.
Caitlin was traveling to Florida for Aurora’s executive retreat, an annual gathering of the company’s top employees. When Caitlin had accepted her offer, via DocuSign, Aurora’s eccentric CEO, John Shiller, replied with a one-liner: “Just in time for Miami!” (Not “congrats,” not “welcome to the team,” not “we can’t wait for you to dig in!”) It was obviously an important occasion, and so Caitlin had agreed to go, even though she hadn’t even officially started in her role. This was supposed to have been her time off in between jobs, which her husband, Mike, had moaned about. He was also annoyed to be left alone with the kids for four nights, so she could go “participate in bullshit team building exercises and get drunk with her new colleagues,” as Mike snarked, but Caitlin really had no sympathy. Her son, Joey, had asked if dad was “babysitting” while Caitlin was away.
“Your father is your father, not your babysitter!” she’d snapped, loud enough for Mike to hear in the other room. Though they both had big jobs, Caitlin, like most working women she knew, took on the familial mental load. She organized all the school stuff, doctor’s appointments, playdates, sports teams. She stayed home when they were sick. She re-arranged meetings when one of them needed her. Mike was an engaged dad, for sure, hands on in a way Caitlin’s father had never been. Mike changed diapers, he played with them, he read them books before bed. He and Caitlin earned around the same amount, but his job came first. Always.
Caitlin gripped the seat as another wave of turbulence hit. She was anxious, which was unlike her. She was forty and a success (last year, she’d made it into Craine’s “40 under 40” by the skin of her teeth). She’d been running events for large companies for nearly twenty years. She was very competitive. People she worked with called her “intense” behind her back. Once, an assistant mistakenly G-chatted her, “Caitlin needs to calm down!
She’s not saving the world, she’s planning parties.” (The assistant was immediately fired.) All of Caitlin’s past jobs were at known quantities; on the agency side at Edelman, then consulting for media companies like Condé Nast and Hearst, and, most recently, in-house at Viacom. They were name brands her parents and their friends would easily recognize. Aurora was not one of these, and though it had grown enormously since it launched in 2017, its newness made her jittery.
She put on her noise-canceling headphones and closed her eyes, attempting to both drown out the snoring and calm the nerves assaulting her body. Her new assistant had sent her the retreat agenda this morning. First, they’d be taken to the 1 Hotel to check in, after which everyone had been booked for a spa treatment. Caitlin had chosen an “Organic Awaken Resurfacing Facial,” which she hoped would take a year or so off her face. From 3:00 to 5:00 p.m. she could go to either the pool or the beach, or relax and catch up on emails in her room. The evening’s events started at 6:00 p.m., with cocktails at Watr, the 1’s rooftop restaurant, followed by an 8:00 p.m. dinner at ZZ’s, a private supper club in the Design District. The party continued afterward, with tables reserved at LIV, one of Miami’s most exclusive clubs. A DJ named ANZ, whom Caitlin had never heard of, was playing that night. (Why was everything in Miami composed of random letters that spelled . . . nothing?) Caitlin was exhausted just thinking about it.
She and Mike hardly ever went out anymore. They were so drained from work and the kids—Joey was seven, and Lucinda had just turned nine. When they’d met, Mike had been a creative director at Digitas, a trendy advertising company, and Caitlin was working at Condé Nast, producing marquee events like the Met Gala and Vanity Fair’s Oscar Party. They were always drinking, out dancing, dressed up and ready to go. That was then. Their lives had now flattened into forty-something routines: work, homework, weekend sports, birthday parties, school fairs. Jeans. Sneakers. Pajama pants at night. Kill yourself.
They lived in Bronxville, an expensive suburb just outside of the city, and Caitlin loved their house, a light-filled, four-bedroom white Colonial. She loved Mike, mostly. She loved her children, always. She loved climbing the corporate ladder, she really did. But she was deathly bored. Was this it? Had she reached her peak? She was an executive vice presdent at Viacom, producing all the TV networks’ events, including the VMAs and the MTV movie awards, plus the upfronts. It was a lucrative, respectable gig. She had power and money and, overall, it wasn’t that hard. She still had time for Joey and Lucinda, time to help plan the godforsaken school fair. She hadn’t been looking for a new job. But, of course, that’s the best time to get one.
John had cold emailed her one day before the holidays. Not a headhunter. Not head of Aurora’s HR. The CEO himself. How he’d found her personal email, which included her married name, she didn’t know—she basically used it only for school communication and spam. The sub-
ject line was “Hey.” She’d been sipping tea in her pristine, Shaker-style kitchen, looking out at her lawn, covered in a layer of early winter frost. She opened the email.
Caitlin Levy! You are a person I’d love to meet. We have a new role here for which you’d be perfect. Events are Aurora’s future, and you can be part of that! I’m cc’ing my assistant, Madison, to set up a meeting. It’s all happening. Cheers, John.
Cheers? Caitlin knew John Shiller wasn’t British, so she wasn’t sure what “cheers” was all about. She’d shown the email to Mike later that night, after the kids were in bed and they were having a glass of wine in front of the fire. It was Top Chef night, and they were both looking forward to it. Mike handed her phone back, one eyebrow raised.
“He sounds like a douchebag,” he said. He leaned back on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table, creating smudges where his heels rubbed against the glass. It made Caitlin crazy.
“And isn’t Aurora an advertising technology company? What does that have to do with events?” Mike ran his hand through his hair, which had thinned considerably over the past five years. There was a bald spot at the top of his head the size of a hockey puck. Recently, Caitlin had been having dreams in which she was cheating on Mike, always with some face-
less man. The details weren’t specific—usually Caitlin was the aggressor—and she’d wake up guilty and bothered, relieved for it to be over.
“They’re not just ‘some kind’ of adtech company, they’re the adtech company,” said Caitlin, bothered that Mike wasn’t impressed that the CEO of one of the hottest startups had sought her out specifically. In truth, Caitlin had to google “adtech” after she’d received John’s email.
She learned it had to do with managing internet advertisements across different channels, like search, video, and mobile, but the details were still fuzzy.
“Okay, I’ll grant you that,” said Mike. He was still at Digitas all this time later, leading their media group. Unlike Caitlin, who easily got restless, Mike was happy to stay in one place. “But why do they need someone to run events?” he asked.
Caitlin didn’t know. She hadn’t even responded to John yet. “I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out,” she said. Mike shrugged.
“Suit yourself. I’ve heard through the grapevine that John Shiller is a real blowhard. That he doesn’t know how to do anything but fundraise. But I suppose if he has the right people running the company, that’s all he needs to do. And you’d certainly be an asset to any executive team.”
Mike moved over to Caitlin’s side of the couch and started to rub her shoulders, redeemed.
Caitlin’s eyes jolted open as the plane rocked to its side, the turbulence bad enough to awaken the sleepy teenager in the aisle seat. He pulled his baseball cap over his eyes and quickly fell back into it. Caitlin took out her phone and opened the pdf of the presentation she was set to give tomorrow. It needed work, but she didn’t have enough space to open her laptop; her other seatmate’s arm was nearly in her lap. The first slide said: “Events at Aurora—a New World!” on a black background. The next was an introduction to Caitlin: her headshot, bio, bullet points of her greatest accomplishments at other jobs. She’d created two additional slides, one with the header “New Events Strategy” and one with “Revenue Goals and Opportunities.” But they were currently blank, and Caitlin didn’t know how to fill them.
Though she’d chatted with John about the company and its amazing tech, she was still unclear as to what she’d be doing in her role. When she’d asked what he envisioned for events at Aurora, or similar examples he could point to, he went all blustery and weird, changing the topic and looking off into the distance.
This was hardly John’s only tic. Before her first and only meeting with him, a few weeks after he’d sent her that email, Caitlin had done some professional reconnaissance. She’d read every interview he’d given (he was a prolific talker and spoke in full paragraphs; much of what he’d predicted for the markets came true). But she couldn’t find a single TV appearance on Bloomberg or CNBC, which must have been a purposeful choice by Aurora’s PR department. “He’s . . . weird” was something she heard repeated by people who’d met him. Also, some variation of “He’s very full of himself.” And most often: “He’s probably on the spectrum, just like every other tech CEO.”
Caitlin felt morbidly curious as she’d entered the lobby of the Freehand Hotel for their initial interview about this mysterious job.
John’s assistant, Madison Bez, had insisted they meet at a bar instead of at Aurora’s office; “John wants this to be totally discreet,” she’d emailed ominously. Caitlin had found him at a corner table, already sipping a whiskey, wearing a blue Lacoste crewneck T-shirt, bright orange pants, and white Nike sneakers. She laughed to herself about Madison’s note—if John wanted to hide, the pants certainly weren’t helping.
He stood to greet her, and she was surprised by how short he was—five foot eight, tops, smaller than she in her heels. He went in for a hug, which Caitlin wasn’t expecting, and she instinctively recoiled, making the whole thing even more uncomfortable. It ended up as a kind of mutual back pat. John quickly sat down, motioning for Caitlin to sit next to him, making it so they were both on the same side of the small table. Caitlin was wearing a simple black sheath dress, chic but professional. Sweat was causing the wool dress to stick to her lower back. She hadn’t been nervous like this in ages. It felt invigorating.
“Caitlin, Caitlin, Caitlin, where do we start?” said John. It was only 6:00 p.m., but the bar was starting to fill, and Caitlin was struck by the idea that someone she knew would walk in and think she was cheating on Mike. John’s face was very close to hers. He had a light brown beard and adjoining mustache, and narrow green eyes that illuminated an otherwise plain face. She realized he was waiting for her to answer. A pretty waitress put a Negroni in front of Caitlin. She gratefully took a large sip.
“How did you know I liked Negronis?” she asked. John laughed. “I do my homework before I meet people,” he said.
“So do I,” she countered, feeling bold. She wondered what else he could have heard about her. She smiled at him. Was she flirting? How strange. At thirty-nine, John was a year younger than she. She knew he was unmarried and dated around, usually pictured in Getty party photos with very beautiful, very young women. “For the most part, people gave you glowing reviews,” he said. “A few former coworkers, who shall remain nameless, called you ‘cutthroat’ and ‘overly ambitious.’” Caitlin felt herself flush.
“But,” said John, “to me that’s a positive. I want you to be cutthroat if you’re on my team! All the best generals are.” Caitlin had read that John was obsessed with World War II and had spent millions on memorabilia at auction. She’d heard whispers that he owned Winston Churchill’s private wartime diary and kept it locked in a safe in his house in Miami.
Before Caitlin could ask any questions about the job, John launched into a retelling of Aurora’s origin story. Caitlin already knew the basics: John and his two best friends, Dallas Joy and Robbie Long, were rising stars in New York’s tech scene a decade ago. They’d always wanted to start a company together, but Robbie died tragically from a drug overdose before they’d had the chance to. Robbie had been fascinated by adtech, so John and Dallas came up with the idea for Aurora over dinner one night in Brooklyn as a tribute to Robbie. They even gave Robbie’s fiancée, Meagan Hudson, a large part of the original equity. Dallas, the engineer, developed Aurora’s amazing algorithm, and John, the genius pitchman and fundraiser, got investors excited about it. Aurora grew and grew, revolutionizing the way advertising was bought and displayed online. Six years later, Aurora had over four hundred employees, office space in New York and Miami, and was valued at a half billion dollars.
“So you see, Caitlin, there isn’t any place you’d rather be working now than Aurora,” said John. His green eyes flicked back and forth across her face, never quite settling into contact with hers. “I wouldn’t say this publicly, but there is no better CEO on earth than me right now.” He gave a slightly deranged smile. “Not Elon, not Tim, not Sundar, and definitely not Mark, that little pussy.”
“Well, you sure are good at selling yourself,” said Caitlin. She knew she should feel turned off by his ego (and the word “pussy”), but his bluster was having the opposite effect. She leaned in, shifting closer to him, near enough to smell his musky aftershave.
“I can sell myself, too. But I need to know what the job is first,” she said.
“All that in good time,” said John. “I had a feeling you’d be the right person to complete our executive team, and I’m happy to report that—as usual—I was right.”
The meeting had continued in that way, with lots of banter but no substance. She’d left the Freehand convinced of John’s charisma but not much else. It didn’t seem like he had a baked events strategy, and Caitlin figured it was a fishing expedition rather than a real search. The feeling was confirmed when she didn’t hear from him immediately afterward.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to work for that guy, anyway,” Mike had said (he was almost too happy that it seemed to have gone bust). Caitlin had settled back into her job at Viacom, filling her days with the usual putting out fires and mediating employee spats, irritated to have wasted her time. Then, two months later, she’d received another email from John, this one with the subject line: “Offer.”
Caitlin, Caitlin, Caitlin, the email read. She’d opened it while sitting at her desk at work, on the thirty-first floor of One Astor Plaza, a block from Times Square. She commuted into Manhattan three days a week, happily leaving her life in the suburbs, taking the Metro North from Bronxville and then the shuttle from Grand Central Station. She felt in control at the office in a way that she loved, even when she wasn’t doing anything but staring at the downtown skyline. She liked wearing heels and putting on lipstick. She read on.
Here I am, back to offer you the opportunity of your lifetime. The job is head of events of Aurora. Your salary will be $2.5 million, with a discretionary bonus of $500k. You’ll get 200,000 shares to start, plus more based on your success. And I know you’ll have success! I believe in you. It truly amazes me how dumb most people are about their career choices. Please don’t disappoint me by being lumped in with that group. You’ll be hearing from Debra Foley, our chief people officer, shortly. She can walk you through details. Excited to have you on board! Cheers, John.
Caitlin reread the email to make sure she’d seen the number correctly. Three million dollars? She thought startups only paid small salaries. Plus that much equity in the company? It must be some kind of joke. She was currently making, all in, about a million dollars a year, and that was after some serious haggling with Viacom, plus several end-of-year raises. Before she could rethink it, she’d replied, Thank you for the offer, John! But isn’t that a lot? And what will I do all day? He pinged her back not five seconds later. I pay my generals well! And . . . you’ll figure it out. 🙂
After a few minutes, she’d received her first email from Debra Foley, laying out the terms of the offer and attaching a DocuSign for her to return. She had so many questions. She still did. But, against her better judgment, and without meeting anyone else at Aurora, she’d accepted the job. Mike had been begrudgingly supportive (he kind of had to be; she’d now be earning more than three times what he did). As a couple, they’d be making around four million dollars a year—more than enough to get a cute second house in Quogue or Montauk, which Caitlin had been wanting to do for years.
The plane was finally nearing Miami. Caitlin could see the blue-green ocean leading to the gridded city, white buildings rising toward the sky, the sun reflecting off the water. The forecast for the duration of the executive retreat called for clear skies and eighty-five degrees, and Caitlin was hoping to get in some beach time between team meetings and dinners.
She looked up to see a man walking down the aisle, eyeing each row, as if searching for a friend. She recognized him from his corporate headshot on Aurora’s “About Us” page: Zach Wagner, Aurora’s president. She’d read in his bio that he came from the world of traditional advertising, acting as chief marketing officer of several large retail brands, including Macy’s and American Eagle, before jumping to the other side and leveraging his relationships in his role at Aurora. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with springy black hair and a salesman’s attractive, open face. He was wearing jeans and a sports coat and cool-dad New Balances. The pilot had announced landing prep, so Caitlin assumed Zach was heading to the restroom, though she wasn’t sure why he’d come all the way back here. He stopped in front of her row and stared at her. She smiled tentatively, unsure if he knew who she was.
“Caitlin Levy? The Caitlin Levy?” Zach reached over the slumbering teen and held up his hand in front of her. Was she supposed to high-five him? She tapped his hand with her own.
“You must be Zach,” she said. “I’ve read so much about you. That was a great interview you gave in the Journal the other day.”
“Thanks! Nice to meet you!” said Zach. The plane was rocking a bit, and he held on to the seat to prevent himself from tumbling toward the bathroom. “I’m so happy you could make it on this trip. I’m sorry it’s eating into your vacation time, but I think it’s worth it. John, you’ll see, lives for the executive retreats. And I think that he has a big announcement to make tonight that you wouldn’t want to miss.” Caitlin was surprised by this news; John hadn’t mentioned anything imminently major during their interview.
“I’m glad I could come. It’ll be great to meet everyone before I officially start,” she said.
“I also know that John has huge expectations for you,” said Zach, raising his eyebrows playfully. Caitlin wondered if Zach knew about her salary. A friend-of-a-friend had told her that Zach loved to drink and was the life of any party. She’d also heard rumors that he could be hilariously off-color, a trait that served him well in the early aughts but recently had been getting him in trouble. Apparently, he’d held an all-hands meeting to motivate his team and had shown up in a Native American headdress, complete with face paint, whooping and cheering. It was a complete HR nightmare.
“And I hope to live up to those expectations,” Caitlin said neutrally. She wasn’t sure how candid to be. Was Zach on her side? Or had the “expectations” line been a dig about how she’d been overpaid? Caitlin usually thrived at workplace politics. She had a high EQ and could easily read what people truly wanted from her. But here she was entering foreign territory—an entire group of people she’d never met, some of whom had worked together for years. She’d have to observe their dynamics, and speak to them individually, before making any decisions about who to align herself with.
The flight attendants announced that everyone had to sit for landing. “That’s my cue,” said Zach. “Can’t wait to catch up later. I’m excited for LIV! Old-man-at-a-club alert!” He did a little wiggle for emphasis, and at the same time the plane veered to the left, sending him stumbling down the aisle. Caitlin swallowed a laugh.
“Sir, you need to sit down, now,” a testy flight attendant, already strapped in, called to him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he grumbled, turning to Caitlin. “Everyone seems to have lost their sense of humor lately. Have you noticed that? Goodbye and good luck!” he yelled as he made his way back to business class. Caitlin wondered if perhaps he should be pacing his champagne intake. They had a long day ahead of them.
She glanced back down at her phone, yet again opening her blank presentation. She’d just have to tell John that she didn’t have anything to say. She needed direction to craft a strategy, and she hoped to get face time with him to discuss it during this trip. But the empty slides left a pit in her stomach, the real-life equivalent of a dream in which you arrive unprepared to a test.
They bumped into Miami International, and Caitlin fled her row as soon as possible. In yet another humiliation, she’d had to check her carry-on before she’d boarded, as the flight was packed with no overhead bins left. She didn’t want her new coworkers to know; what kind of lunatic checks their bag for a four-night business trip? After exiting the plane, the Florida heat pleasantly penetrating the Jetway, she saw the Aurora group standing in a huddle by a Hudson News. Zach was on his phone, likely calling everyone Ubers. Caitlin put on her Chloe sunglasses, ducked be- hind a large, touristy couple, and headed toward baggage claim. She’d meet them at the hotel.
During the ten-minute walk through MIA, past the Caribbean gates, past the empanada restaurants, past the retirees sipping midday wines, Caitlin formulated her game plan. She’d corner John at the cocktails before dinner and explain to him that she didn’t feel prepared to give her presentation the next day. He’d have to understand, as he’d given her nothing to go on. Caitlin felt a bit queasy at the idea of disappointing her new boss so early on. She’d been an A-student, and later, a top-performing employee. She knew how to manage up and manage down, and her events were drama-free, perfectly planned, and made money. She supposed that’s why John had hired her in the first place.
Baggage claim was teeming with travelers piling suitcase after suitcase on luggage crates. Caitlin stood by her carousel, hoping she wouldn’t get stuck there for much longer. She didn’t want to miss her facial. Her new team should meet the best version of her, glowing skin included. She felt a tap on her back and turned to see a tall, striking redhead in a pink linen dress, her hair swept up in a messy ponytail: Jessica Radum, Aurora’s head of partnerships. Caitlin knew her from around town, though they’d never actually met. Jessica had attended events that Caitlin had planned—an attractive, successful woman in technology got invited everywhere these days.
Caitlin knew that Jessica and John and Dallas all went way back. They were part of the same gang in their twenties, and Jessica still acted as John’s arm candy at conferences and industry gatherings. What Caitlin didn’t quite understand was Jessica’s role at the company. Caitlin hadn’t heard of any meaningful partnerships between Aurora and others, and she wasn’t sure what Jessica actually contributed to revenue.
“Oh my god, Caitlin Levy!” said Jessica. Caitlin quickly took off her sunglasses, feeling foolish for wearing them inside. “It’s great you could make it.”
“Oh, thanks, it’s so nice to be here,” said Caitlin. Jessica was so tall that Caitlin, a not-too-shabby five foot six, had to look up to speak to her. “Just so you know, I don’t usually check my bags for a business trip,” Caitlin said. “They forced me to.”
“I always check a bag,” said Jessica. “I can never decide what clothes to bring to these things, so I just pack everything.” She giggled. Caitlin noticed that Jessica, who appeared to be in her midthirties, wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She wondered what the deal was there.
“John told me you’d be at the retreat. I’m thrilled to have another strong, female executive on the team,” said Jessica. “The women will now outnumber the men!” Her voice was deep and smooth, and Caitlin could see how people were drawn to her. A Barbie with brains.
Mentioning John so early in their conversation was certainly a power play. Caitlin had worked with both genders throughout her career, but women were generally more cutting and dangerous. Caitlin would have to keep an eye on her. “Debra’s here, too,” said Jessica, pointing toward the bathroom. Caitlin saw Debra Foley, Aurora’s chief people officer, walking toward them, wheeling a black carry-on. She was in sensible khakis, Keds, and a plain blue T-shirt, her sunglasses perched on top of her blunt bob.
“Debra, look who I found!” said Jessica, tugging on Caitlin’s sleeve. Debra smiled broadly, showing an attractive row of large, white teeth.
“There she is! Welcome, Caitlin, welcome to Aurora,” said Debra. She was shorter than Caitlin, with the sturdy build of a softball player. “I’m pleased we were able to get you in the door before the retreat. We have such a great agenda this year, and I know we’re all looking forward to your presentation.” Caitlin felt her stomach drop.
“Oh, it’s certainly nothing to get excited about,” Caitlin said. “If any- thing, I still really need to lock down my job description. I was hoping to do that here.” The carousel heaved on, dumping bags down the side. Caitlin and Jessica looked for their suitcases, dragging them off when they appeared.
“Shall we?” said Debra, indicating the exit to ground transportation. Caitlin had been planning on a solo ride to the hotel, but she swallowed hard and followed Debra and Jessica out the door, as odd a pair as she’d ever seen.
The hot, moist air hit Caitlin’s face as they left the building, and she instantly relaxed into it, absorbing the tropical feel. They piled into a waiting taxi, Caitlin’s jeans sticking to the scorching black leather seat. The driver rolled up the windows and cranked up the AC, then took off toward Miami Beach, heading over the bay on the 195 Causeway. Caitlin loved that Miami was so close to New York but such a different world. She loved the palm trees and the storms and the tight outfits. She loved that everyone was so tan. She and Mike and the kids came down here at least twice a year to visit Mike’s parents, who’d retired to Boca Raton. Recently, a few of Caitlin’s friends had moved to Miami permanently, and every time she came, she felt the tug.
“Get ready for a crazy night,” said Jessica, sitting in the middle seat, her long legs squished against Debra’s. Caitlin could smell Jessica’s perfume, sweet and vanilla-y. “John likes to throw a good welcome shindig.”
“Sometimes a little too good,” sniffed Debra. Jessica laughed. “Don’t worry, Caitlin, Debra’s an HR meanie until you get some liquor in her, after which she’s suddenly dancing on tables and buying shots for every- one,” she said.
“That’s not true,” said Debra. “And please don’t scare Caitlin, who’s so new.”
“You can’t scare me,” said Caitlin. “Remember, I plan parties for a living. I’ve seen it all.”
They pulled up at the 1 Hotel, the entrance hidden under a massive white awning. The door to the taxi opened, and what Caitlin thought was a valet turned out to be John Shiller himself, wearing red pants, a white Lacoste T-shirt, and aggressively oversize Persol sunglasses.
“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” he said, giving each of them a sweaty hug.
“Bienvenidos a Miami, as the great Will Smith once said. You are all in for an unbelievable time. Un. Be. Lievable. This town is hot, but Aurora is hotter, especially with some of my favorite female executives in for a visit. We’re going to have fun, we’re going to brainstorm, we’re going to emerge an even stronger company, if that’s possible. Now go enjoy your spa treatment and I’ll see you all tonight. I have an announcement that’s going to blow your minds.” With that, he turned around without saying goodbye, leaving the three women standing there together with their suitcases.
“Thanks for the help with our bags, John,” Jessica shouted after him. “So typical.” Debra laughed. Caitlin wasn’t sure what she’d gotten herself into, but she felt ready for the ride.
EXCERPTED FROM VERY BAD COMPANY. COPYRIGHT © 2024 BY EMMA ROSENBLUM. EXCERPTED BY PERMISSION OF FLATIRON BOOKS, A DIVISION OF MACMILLAN PUBLISHERS. NO PART OF THIS EXCERPT MAY BE REPRODUCED OR REPRINTED WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER.
Very Bad Company, by Emma Rosenblum, will be released on May 14, 2024. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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