6. Numbers Dont Lie （But People Do）
6
NUMBERS DON'T LIE (BUT PEOPLE DO)
MACKENZIE
Here's something they don't teach you in corporate sensitivity training: how to handle discovering that your new employer's paying women thirty percent less than men in the same roles. Especially when you're supposed to be fixing their culture, not exposing it.
"These numbers can't be right." I rub my eyes, staring at my laptop screen. It's nearly midnight, and I've been combing through Drake Enterprises' salary data for hours. The rows of numbers blur together, but the pattern is clear. And infuriating.
"Still here?"
I jump, slamming my laptop shut with a resounding thwack that echoes off the walls.
That thwack was earned. Because when Alexander Drake is standing in your doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking decidedly scrumptious, it might not be a good idea to advertise that he’s about to feature prominently in your next blog takedown.
"Just…” I reach into the nearest corners of my mind. “You kn ow, getting to know my new workplace," I slide the salary spreadsheet under a stack of papers. "What's your excuse?"
"My office is next door, remember?" He steps in, loosening his tie. "I could ask why you're analyzing confidential payroll data at midnight."
My heart does a quick dance. "How did you?—"
"The reflection in your glass wall." He gestures to the fishbowl I call an office. "Salary information has a very distinct format."
"Ah." I lean back, mind racing. "Well, as your new Corporate Culture Consultant, I need to understand all aspects of the company. Including compensation."
"Including the gender pay gap?"
Now my heart really does the salsa. "I don't know what you're?—"
"Please." He drops into the chair across from my desk. "You've been muttering about percentage discrepancies for the past hour. These walls aren't as soundproof as HR claims."
"Maybe I just really like math."
"Maybe." His green eyes fix on mine. "Or maybe you're wondering why a company that claims to value fairness is still paying women significantly less than men in similar positions."
Well. This conversation just got interesting.
"You know about the gap." I keep my voice neutral, even as my fingers itch to open my laptop and start drafting my exposé.
"Of course I know." He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect styling. "I've been trying to fix it for months."
"Trying?" I can't keep the skepticism out of my voice. "You're the CEO. Just... fix it."
"If only it were that simple." He stands, pacing. "The board?—"
"Oh, don't give me the board excuse." I push back from my desk. "You're Alexander Drake. Your name is literally on the building."
"And that building has shareholders. Stakeholders. Twenty years of established salary structures that can't be dismantled overnight without?—"
"Without what?" I stand too, anger making me bold. "Without the old guard getting upset? Without having to admit there's a problem?"
"Without causing a mass exodus of our highest-performing employees when they realize their colleagues were getting raises and they weren’t.” He stops pacing, facing me. "You think I like this? You think I enjoy knowing that brilliant women like you?—"
"Like me?" I step closer. "You mean the woman you fired?"
"The woman I hired back."
"After I threw champagne on you."
"Because you were right." The intensity in his voice stops me. "About the retention issues. About the culture problems. About all of it."
We're standing too close now. Close enough that I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, smell the lingering traces of his cologne. Close enough to be dangerous.
"If I'm right about that," I say softly, "what else might I be right about?"
His eyes drop to my lips for a fraction of a second. "Ms. Gallo?—"
"MAC!" A voice from the hallway breaks the moment. "You will not believe what I just found in the developer Slack channels!"
My sister Lucia bursts in, waving her phone. As my new “personal assistant”—a perk I’ve exploited with my padded consultant salary (even if her real job is helping me gather intel), she also has access to all the company communication channels .
Access she's apparently been using well past business hours.
She freezes when she sees Alex. "Oh. Mr. Drake. I didn't... um..."
"Ms. Gallo." He steps back, professional mask sliding back into place. "Your sister's dedication to her new role is... impressive."
"We Gallos take our work seriously." I move behind my desk, putting much-needed distance between us. "Was there something else you needed?"
He studies me for a long moment. "Just... be careful with those numbers, Ms. Gallo. Sometimes the story they tell isn't the whole truth."
He leaves, and I wait until his footsteps fade before turning to Lucia. “Alright, give me the breakdown.”
“Breakdown? No, forget the Slack drama," she hisses, closing my office door. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That!" She gestures wildly. "The tension! The meaningful gazes! The way he looked at you like you're the last panna cotta at Christmas!"
"He did not?—"
"Oh, he absolutely did." She drops into the chair he'd vacated. "Does this mean we're calling off the exposé?"
"No." I open my laptop, pulling up my blog draft. "If anything, this makes it more important. He admitted knowing about the pay gap, Luce. He's choosing not to fix it."
"He said he's trying?—"
"Trying isn't good enough." I start typing. "Not when women's livelihoods are at stake. Not when?—"
"Not when you want him to put his cream in your cannoli?”
My fingers freeze over the keyboard. "I don’t want him to put his…cream in my anything.”
"Sure you don’t.” She stands, heading for the door. "Just like you weren't checking out his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves."
"I was not?—"
"His very thick, veiny forearms." She grins. "With those fancy watch tan lines that say 'I make good life choices but also know how to have fun.'"
"Get out."
"I'm just saying," she pauses at the door, "maybe there's more to this story. Maybe he's not the villain you want him to be."
"He's not a villain," I mutter, staring at my screen. "He's a symptom of a bigger problem."
"Or maybe he's trying to fix that problem…Maybe.”
She leaves before I can respond, which is probably good because I don't have a response. Not a good one, anyway.
I look at my blog draft:
"brEAKING: Major tech companies talks big game about inclusion while paying women 30% less. C-suites love to claims 'it's complicated.' You know what's not complicated? Basic math. #PayGap #TechBros"
My fingers hover over the post button. It would be so easy. One click, and Drake Enterprises' dirty laundry goes public. The board couldn't ignore that.
But Alex's words echo in my head: "Sometimes the story they tell isn't the whole truth."
What if he's right? What if there's more to this than numbers in a spreadsheet?
What if I'm letting my past—my ex-husband's betrayal, the promotions I lost, the constant battle to be taken seriously—color how I see this situation?
"Dammit." I close my laptop. I need more data. More context.
And maybe, just maybe, I need to figure out why the sight of Alexander Drake's rolled-up sleeves is more distracting than it should be.
My phone buzzes. A text from Lucia: "BTW, that Slack drama? The developers are organizing their own investigation into pay discrepancies. Looks like you're not the only one asking questions..."
Perfect. Let them do the digging. Let them ask the uncomfortable questions.
Meanwhile, I have a CEO to investigate.
I grab my bag and head for the elevator. As I pass Alex's office, I glimpse him through the glass walls, bent over what looks like financial reports. His tie is completely undone now, hanging loose around his neck.
I force myself to look away. Focus on the mission, Mackenzie. The blog. The exposé. The truth.
But as I drive home, I can't help wondering: whose truth am I really after? The one in the numbers, or the one I want to believe?
The one that makes Alex Drake just another tech bro to take down, or the one that suggests he might be fighting the same battles I am, just from a different angle?
And why does the second option terrify me more than the first?
My phone buzzes again. This time it's Nonna: "If you're still at that office, I'm sending your mother to get you. With soup. And opinions about your work hours."
I smile, typing back: "Just left. Heading home now."
"Good. And bambina? Remember what I always say about judging the sauce before it's finished cooking..."
I roll my eyes. Trust Nonna to turn corporate espionage into a cooking metaphor.
But maybe she's right. Maybe I need to let this simmer a bit longer before deciding if it's worth serving .
After all, revenge, like the best recipes, needs time to develop its flavors.
And Alexander Drake... well, he's turning out to be a more complex dish than I expected.
Only time—and my next blog post—will tell.
But first, I need sleep. And maybe a cold shower.
Because those forearms?
Lucia wasn't wrong about those at all.