Chapter 17 Do You Think This Is Something to Be Proud Of?
The morning meeting dragged on like a slow torture session.
Clara Bennett couldn't shake the weight of Jason Ford's lingering, suggestive stares, his eyes roaming over her with shameless intent. Meanwhile, Stacy Chen's glares sliced through the air, sharp and venomous, as if she could pin Clara to the wall with her resentment alone.
When the meeting finally ended, Clara flashed a tight, polite smile and bolted for the door before Jason could trap her in conversation. As she slipped out, Stacy's furious voice echoed behind her: "What's your problem? Can't peel your eyes off that little snake, can you? Old habits die hard, huh?"
Clara's heart sank.
Over lunch, she spilled the details to Sunny Lin, who paused mid-bite, her brow creasing. "That's some rotten luck," Sunny said. "Out of everyone in this massive company, you had to run into those two."
"Since I'm stuck with them, I'll just have to play it smart," Sunny warned, lowering her voice. "I'm not in sales anymore, Clara, so I can't watch your back. And Stacy? Her uncle's a big shareholder—she's used to ruling the roost. It's gonna be a rough ride. Stay sharp."
"I'll be fine," Clara said with a small laugh. "If I don't give Stacy an opening, she's got nothing on me."
That afternoon, though, Stacy sauntered over with a task and a smirk. "We've got a tea break event coming up. Here's the guest list—top clients. Don't screw it up."
Clara took the list with a nod.
It was a short roster, maybe twelve names. Small event, but it had to be perfect to keep the big shots happy.
"Oh, and pay attention to Vivian Cross from Morning Star Group," Stacy added, her tone dripping with fake concern. "She's a force of nature—except when it comes to peanuts. She's allergic. No peanuts in her desserts, got it?"
"Got it," Clara replied, filing the detail away.
List in hand, Clara got to work. Newbie or not, she moved with purpose, handling every detail herself. By the time the tea break rolled around in Harrington's chic event space, everything was flawless—pastries lined up, coffee brewing, not a crumb out of place.
The guests trickled in, and the event hummed along smoothly. Clara lingered near the edge of the room, letting out a quiet breath—until a shriek cut through the chatter.
"Vivian Cross just collapsed!"
Clara froze, then darted over. Vivian Cross was crumpled on the floor, eyes bulging, her breaths shallow and ragged.
"What the hell happened?" someone yelled. "Vivian's allergic to peanuts! There's peanut butter in this cake!"
Stacy swooped in, her voice piercing. "Who handled the desserts? I told you over and over—no peanuts for Vivian! How does this even happen?"
Clara's chest tightened as Stacy's malicious eyes locked onto hers. It clicked then—she'd been played.
"Clara, this was your job!" Stacy snapped. "What did you do?"
Clara bit her lip, staying silent.
"Stop shouting!" Vivian's assistant barked, panic-stricken. "Call an ambulance, now! She's going downhill fast!"
The room dissolved into chaos. Clara steadied herself, weaving through the crowd to kneel beside Vivian. Her face was swollen, flushed—textbook allergic reaction. Without hesitation, Clara fished a small pill bottle from her bag.
"Here, get this into her!" she said, thrusting it at the assistant.
"What is it?" the assistant demanded.
"My brother Ethan's allergic too—I always carry these," Clara said, popping the pill into Vivian's mouth and pressing hard on her upper lip.
By the time the ambulance roared up to Harrington, Vivian's breathing had leveled out, the swelling easing. She blinked up at Clara, her voice hoarse. "Thank you."
"No big deal," Clara said, brushing sweat off her forehead, relief washing over her.
Paramedics swarmed in, whisking Vivian away. The room settled into an uneasy calm.
But not for long. The director hauled Clara and Stacy into his office, his face like thunder. Clara kept quiet while Stacy launched into a triumphant retelling, arms crossed and smirking.
"Clara," Stacy said, "I warned you about the peanuts. Did you just tune me out? Were you trying to take Vivian out?"
"Why would I?" Clara shot back, calm as ice. "I don't even know her. What I can't figure out is why the desserts I prepped got swapped."
"What are you saying?" Stacy faltered.
"Check this out, Director," Clara said, holding up a chunk of the cake she'd snagged on her way out. "This one's in a paper liner. Not what I ordered."
The director's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"I got the pastries from the bakery across the street," Clara said. "To keep the peanut-free ones separate, I told them to use foil liners. But Vivian's cake? Paper. I checked the room after—none of the desserts had foil liners. Someone switched them."
Stacy's face drained of color, her voice spiking. "You're pointing fingers at me?"
"Did I say your name?" Clara said with a faint smile. "I just said someone swapped them. Why so defensive, Stacy?"
"You—"
Stacy glared, her fists clenched.
"I labeled everything," Clara went on, unflinching. "Director, if you don't buy it, ask the bakery or pull their security footage. I'm new, but I'm not here to be framed. I want this looked into."
The director didn't need a map to see who'd done it. But with Vivian out of danger and Stacy's uncle holding shares, he wasn't about to rock the boat over a rookie.
"Clara, I've got this under control," he said, dodging the issue. "Step out. I need a word with Stacy."
Clara gave a curt nod and left.
Stacy started to argue, but the director shut her down. "That's enough!"
"What? You—"
"You think this is something to be proud of?" he growled. "If Clara didn't have that pill, we'd be in deep shit. Could you handle that?"
Stacy's face turned scarlet.
"Your uncle's shares don't make you untouchable," he said. "I'll put up with you for now, but cross the line again, and I'm done covering for you. Get your act together."
Stacy stormed out, fuming. She'd lost this round, and it only fueled her vendetta. From then on, she hounded Clara relentlessly—tripping her up at every turn. A month in, Clara hadn't closed a single deal, earning her a starring role as the team's cautionary tale.