5. Natalie
5
NATALIE
I t was my turn to pick the music so of course Beyonce was cranking, but the upbeat dance music did nothing to lighten the mood in the creative department.
I glanced around at my new colleagues, hoping to connect with someone, anyone , but each head was bent over their drafting tables hard at work. The space had seemed deceptively cheerful the first time I walked in, with a double-height ceiling, gigantic windows, and music pumping through hidden speakers, but I’d noticed right away that no one was talking. I’d thought it might have been everyone needing to get used to the newbie, and I’d hoped that once I got through the awkwardness of the first day, people would relax and open up, but it felt like the entire creative floor was a minefield, and I had no idea at any given time what was going to cause an explosion.
Or, more specifically, what might cause Clint to explode.
“ Natalie ,” the sing-song voice echoed down from his loft office.
I gritted my teeth and glanced up to where Clint was standing, overlooking the design floor. We had intercoms; it would’ve been easier for him to page me that way. But Clint seemed to like the spectacle of calling me out so that the entire floor could listen in. I saw a few heads bob up, but no one glanced directly at me. They knew what was coming.
“Yes?”
“I need you to grab me a coffee from the kitchen,” he ordered. “I’m right in the middle of something and I can’t be interrupted.”
I bit my tongue and refrained from saying that he’d already interrupted himself with his stupid request.
It was the third time in a week he’d treated me like his personal gofer, and I needed to put a stop to it if I expected to be treated with respect. I mean, I was hired to be a designer , not an assistant, but Clint clearly didn’t get the message. I took a deep breath and did my best to keep the fury out of my voice. “Clint, I’m also in the middle of a task. I’m sorry, but now’s not a good time for me to take a break.”
The entire room seemed to freeze. I guess saying no to Clint wasn’t a thing?
“And what is it that’s so important that you can’t follow a direct request from your boss?”
I stood straight up and unfurled my shoulders, staring up at him like he was a demented Juliet. “If you’ll recall from the email you sent this morning, you took me off of the fabric sourcing project and switched me to the trench coat competitive analysis, which is due by the end of the day. I still have quite a bit to get through, given the tight turnaround.”
Calling it “tight” was generous, but I wasn’t about to come right out and accuse Clint of trying to sabotage me.
“Oh, that’s right .” He seemed delighted by the reminder of my insane workload. “You do have a lot to accomplish.”
I was shocked that he actually copped to it. I was about to lob another passive aggressive comment back at him when a voice piped up behind me.
“I’ll go. I’ll get your coffee, Clint.”
I glanced over and saw my colleague Rhea gathering her purse, and I wanted to run over and hug her. I’d adored the woman since the first time we shook hands. Her buzzed gray hair and oversized colorful earrings made her seem like an eclectic auntie. She was one of the older employees who had been around long enough that she was immune to personnel shifts, and she navigated Clint’s temper tantrums like a bored kindergarten teacher. She was basically untouchable, and I was happy that she seemed to be on my side.
“Rhea,” Clint chided. “That’s probably not a good idea. Don’t you also have something due to me by the end of today?”
She nodded as she walked towards the hallway. “Yup, a Q3 manufacturing plan. I could do it in my sleep. Don’t worry, you’ll have it before four.”
She threw up a peace sign and waddled away before he could respond.
I stifled a laugh as I sat back down and refocused on my laptop. I needed to get cracking if I expected to finish in time—which, truth be told, I didn’t think was possible. But I was going to die trying.
“Hey,” a low voice said behind me. “How’s it going?”
I turned around and found Lavonte pretending to examine a nearby swatch board. I hadn’t talked to him much but based on the way he dressed, he seemed like a fun guy. He managed to get every color of the rainbow on his body, from the bright wraps in his hair to the pom-poms on his sneakers.
“I’m making it happen.” I sighed and flicked my eyes up to make sure that Clint wasn’t watching. “I’m about halfway done.”
“Halfway?” he squeaked as he ran his finger along a chiffon sample. “Woman, that’s impressive!”
I shrugged. “I never miss a deadline, especially from someone like Clint. Although I’m getting a little worried given that it’s already three.”
“Well, allow me to throw you a lifeline,” he murmured, glancing up towards Clint’s office. “Go to the shared file called ‘inspo,’ then drill down to the file called ‘lewks.’ It’s hidden, on purpose.”
I chuckled as I navigated through the files, then gasped when I got to the one he told me to open. “Lavonte! Is this finished ?”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not one hundred percent. Clint assigned me the same competitive analysis a few months ago, then transitioned me off right as I was finishing up. I didn’t realize that he’d passed it on to you.” He gave me a little smile. “We gotta look out for each other, you know? Life around here ain’t easy. Consider it my welcome gift.”
“This is incredible, thank you!” I said, reaching out to grab his hand and give it a squeeze.
“It’s nothing. But you can bet I’m gonna call on you when my ass is in trouble, got it? You owe me.”
“Any time.” I smiled at him.
Even though the vibe in the department skewed prison yard, I felt like I was making a few allies. Rhea had tenure and a Teflon attitude, and Lavonte was good with secrets. Maybe I was going to be okay after all? If I focused on the positives—colleagues who seemed to be looking out for me and work that I loved—maybe I could get past the world’s worst boss? Within an hour I’d managed to combine Lavonte’s work with mine, and I sent a triumphant email to Clint with the document attached.
“Natalie,” Clint’s voice bounced off the walls seconds later. “Please come up here.”
Every eye shifted to me as I did the walk of shame across the room. Jacinda, the fit expert in giant, black-rimmed glasses, scrunched up her nose at me as I passed her workspace, a look that expressed both pity and solidarity. I climbed up the metal stairs, knowing no one was watching, yet everyone was.
“Yes, Clint?” I said warily. “I just sent you the analysis. Did you get it?”
His workspace was cluttered with boxes of forgotten samples and his wall was a mass of inspiration photos. Clint insisted that we keep our desks tidy, but he clearly didn’t follow his own rules. Frankly, I’d gotten the impression over the past week that he played up the idea of “messy creative genius” to hide the fact that he was actually about as creative as a rock—if rocks were loud, obnoxious, ineffective micromanagers.
He had his feet kicked up on his desk, his brown-and-white wingtips on top of a stack of work that someone had probably slaved over. Clint was always dressed impeccably, like every suit he owned was tailored just for him. But unlike our fearless leader James, whose suits made him look imposing, Clint dressed like he was the lead in a 1940s musical. The thick tweeds, plaids, vests, and bow ties made him seem deceptively approachable. I’d been lulled into thinking that the quirky bald man could actually be a mentor to me. It had only taken a few hours to learn better.
“Oh, did you?” He glanced towards his laptop. “Well, that’s not what this is about. Change of plans; I need you to submit a fall color scheme to me by Friday.”
My jaw dropped before I could remind myself to keep my face neutral. “That’s…that’s weeks’ worth of work. I’d need to access the archives and get trend analysis and talk with Connie and Adam to find out the creative direction we’re taking and?—”
“Yes, all of that.” Clint grinned and tipped his head at me. “I suppose you’d better get to work, then!”
“No…what I’m trying to tell you is that it’s basically impossible to finish by Friday.”
“Is that a fact?” he mused. “Well, given the shoddy designs you’ve submitted thus far, and the analysis you just sent that’s no doubt incomplete, I find it shocking that you’d say no to anything I assign you. Were you not told that you were hired on a contingent basis? That this is essentially a trial period?”
I steeled myself because I knew that he was wrong. “No, that’s not what my contract said, Clint. I was hired full time—no exception, no trial. I’m an official Branson employee.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “It might look that way on paper, but I’ve been running things here for years now, so let me tell you how it actually goes. This entire company runs on what my department creates. What I say goes, and if I say that a new hire isn’t pulling her weight, well…” He wiggled his fingers in a prissy goodbye.
No . This couldn’t be happening. I knew I was doing a good job, so why did he have it out for me? I could not lose this job. Forget paying tuition—if I got fired, I wouldn’t be able to pay rent. I had no cushion in my savings account, and I’d quit my other part-time gigs, so if Clint fired me, I was fucked.
“But… I’ve been hitting my deliverables since I got here.” My fury faded to fear as I realized this tyrant held my future in his hands. “I don’t understand why you’re unhappy with my performance.”
“Well, it’s not the first time a James Branson hire has gone south,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m usually the one who handpicks my team, so being forced into bringing you on is… Well, let’s call it an adjustment.”
“James knows what’s best for his company, and that’s why?—”
Clint’s eyes went wide with theatrical shock. “I can’t believe that you’re this uppity given your brief tenure with us,” he insisted. “Honestly, the more we talk the more obvious it is that you’re not a fit for Branson Designs, Natalie. Not on the design side, anyway. Maybe retail was the right place for you after all. It wouldn’t do to get… above yourself.”
My blood turned to ice when I realized what was happening. No way. I took a deep breath and tried to compose my thoughts, because as furious as I felt, I wasn’t going to let him push me into doing something stupid and saying something that would justify firing me.
I needed this job.
“You’ll have the fall color scheme by close of business tomorrow,” I managed. “You have my word.”
“Noon tomorrow,” he countered, smiling wickedly.
And that’s when I realized that the man was actually trying to sabotage me. He clearly didn’t like me, and worse, he hated the fact that James had hired me without his approval. Torturing me was a way of getting back at James.
I fumed on my way back to my desk, alternating between trying to come up with a way to complete the impossible task in time, and wishing I could report Clint to someone who mattered. The woman in the HR department who James had finally connected me with—so I could set up my insurance and 401K and everything else that full-time staff got that part-timers in the store didn’t—had acted like the president of the Clint Miller Fan Club. If I went to her, everything I said would probably go straight back to Clint, which would make my life in his department even tougher.
I was stuck, but I refused to let the asshole get the best of me. I threw myself into my chair and opened the files. My eyes started to fill with tears as I realized that finishing in time was impossible, but I blinked them back.
“Natalie…” Clint’s singsong voice drifted across the room.
I felt tension spread across my back as I looked up towards my tormentor. “Yes?”
“I meant to mention that the design pack you sent to me yesterday was in the wrong format.” His voice was loud enough that no one could tune it out. “You need to redo it.”
I’d worked on the pack until midnight the night before it was due, and had even conned Steph into double-checking the thing to ensure that it looked perfect. The program used for design packs was glitchy—crashing whenever you breathed wrong—so I’d been forced to start over a bunch of times. The whole process had been a nightmare, but I’d finished it, and I was proud of what I’d managed to do without any guidance from him. Clint now telling me that I’d done it incorrectly was enough to siphon away any of the calm I’d been working so hard to maintain.
I stood up and slammed my hands onto my drafting table, and every head in the room swiveled to me.
“You didn’t say that it needed to be in a special format, Clint,” I shouted up at him. “I’ve only been here a week and I’ve gotten zero training. You’re setting me up to fail, over and over again!”
My outburst didn’t seem to faze him. Clint shrugged at me. “We hire self-starters. Normally, people can figure it out. But I wasn’t the one who hired you.”
He disappeared from view while I came close to hyperventilating. Lavonte gave me a sympathetic smile from across the room.
Rhea walked in at the end of Clint’s speech, carrying two coffee cups. She detoured to my desk.
“Hey, you okay?” she whispered to me.
I tried to calm myself but it was too late. I was over it, all of it. Working hard yet still being unappreciated. Not getting any guidance. My own boss trying to make me look stupid in front of my colleagues. And being treated like an intern.
“Am I okay? No ,” I said. “I just realized that this isn’t going to work.”
Rhea started to say something, but I’d already jumped out of my chair. Nothing she could tell me would change the way I felt, and someone was about to get an earful about it. I stormed towards the elevator, ready to burn the whole place down.