One

      Women must have some kind of manual they passed around to each other, opened to the section labeled “How to Dump a Man.”

      If so, it would explain why for a record fourth time in a row, Warren Garinger had received the same text message: You’re the world’s worst workaholic. I hope you and your company will be very happy together.

      He didn’t think the women meant it as a compliment. Nor did they understand what it took to run a billion-dollar conglomerate. The Garinger family bottled and sold nearly half the world’s pick-me-ups. You couldn’t escape the logo for Flying Squirrel, the number one energy drink, no matter where you looked.

      Women did not appreciate the effort that had gone into that kind of success.

      Tilda popped her head into his office. “Got a minute?”

      Except that one. He nodded instantly.

      Tilda Barrett was the one woman he always had time for. Partly because he liked her Australian accent more than he should. “Sure. Come on in.”

      But mostly Warren liked Tilda because, as his marketing consultant, she’d exceeded his expectations. And that was saying something. His expectations were always sky-high, for himself and for everyone in his orbit. Flying Squirrel wasn’t performing as well in the Australian market as he’d like, and Tilda was changing that. Slowly but surely.

      “I saw the numbers on the new campaign. They’re promising,” he said, as Tilda strode into his bright corner office overlooking downtown Raleigh. Of course, he rarely glanced out the window unless he needed to gauge the weather in advance of a sporting event Flying Squirrel had sponsored.

      Today was no exception. Tilda commanded his attention easily, both because of her professional role and because of the one she played in