3. Sorry I won （and I’ll do it again）
CHAPTER 3
SORRY I WON (AND I’LL DO IT AGAIN)
CHARLIE
I know two things about Emma Conway.
One, she’s Digital’s superstar.
Rumor is, Roberts wouldn’t even have his job under the CIO without the goodwill he received from an e-signature project she pulled off five years ago.
Two, she comes from money. Not billionaire big, but the designer threads and that icy attitude make it clear she thinks she’s above everyone else.
Cosplaying as a civilian is a hell of a way to get your kicks, but I’m not going to give her a gold star for getting her hands a little dirty. Some of us had to climb our way out of that dirt just to be in the same room with her.
She eyes me down. “That moment was mine, and you stole it. I worked my ass off for over a year. Designed the workflows, tested every aspect, wrote every piece of training material for it. Did you know that? Every word of every work instruction, every training video, every tip and trick was me.”
I didn’t, but it doesn’t change anything.
“Yeah, and then you zipped it together and handed it off to the rest of us to roll the damn thing out.”
Everything about her is severe, from the cut of her trousers to the murder in her eyes.
It’s infuriating how beautiful she is.
“I didn’t have a choice,” she says, crossing her arms over her white blazer. “I couldn’t exactly meet with all four thousand employees and hold their hands while they complained a button was in the wrong place.”
God forbid she do the real work. Instead, I was out there, grinding my ass, hand-holding engineers. “No, of course not. That’s a job for us lesser humans.”
Her glare intensifies. Guess she’s not used to being called out on her shit. Well, tough.
“I’m not saying you didn’t have to do your share of work,” she starts.
“Funny, that’s exactly how it sounds.”
“ But, ” she stresses, slipping out of her professional tone into something grittier, “Do you have any idea what it felt like for me when the COO got up in front of every single person here and personally thanked you for your hard work on the rollout when my name wasn’t even mentioned?”
“I earned that thank-you. After Digital dumped the system on us?—”
She huffs at that, but I ignore it. I’m sick of corporate thinking they can mandate additional shit and then act surprised when we can’t magically find extra time or people to complete it.
“I was the one who had to deliver it and all of your training to every person working in Operations. Engineer by engineer, day in and day out, listening to all those complaints you didn’t want to field. So yeah, when I had the chance to get a pat on the back, I took it.” I stand, smoothing my tie. Was it bullshit? Yes. Am I going to flay myself so she can feel better? Hell no. We both wanted recognition. She’s just pissed I beat her to it. “I assumed we’d both get thanked, but what the brass does is out of my control.”
Emma slowly rises from her chair. God, even her watch screams money. Gold band, classic face, probably vintage. It makes my twenty-year-old Casio look like garbage.
“Nothing is ever your fault, is it?” she asks.
As an insult, it’s so ridiculous, I could laugh. If she wants to hurt me, her aim is way off.
I can wear the right clothes and say all the right things, but I’ll never stop expecting life to pull the rug out from under me. Good things don’t come if I wait for them, and I have no interest in rolling over because she’s upset about not being publicly applauded.
“Maybe next time your parents should send the CEO a nicer gift basket.” For all I know, she’s drinking buddies with the guy. The rich play a different game.
The way her jaw drops feels like victory.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
True. But I know all I need to know.
Rich, beautiful, talented. Forget the silver platter, Emma’s life is probably dipped in gold.
Only one of us has opportunity in short supply, and it’s not her.
“Yeah, well, ditto.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “But I bet it’s real rough sailing through life with a black card and a handshake.”
Emma flinches, and pain flashes in her eyes. Fuck. I’ve been in enough fights to know when a hit lands. Great, now I feel like an asshole.
I scrub a hand down my face. “Look, I’m trying to apologize here.”
Trying and failing spectacularly. If Reese were here, the look of disappointment she’d give me would be enough to take a good ten years off my life.
I’m only twenty-nine. I’m not ready to watch my salt intake and say shit like “back in my day…”
“Oh,” Emma says, her eyes cold. “Will the apology be joining us?”
I let out a breath and consider quitting. Anything’s gotta be better than offering myself up as Emma’s personal punching bag for the rest of the year.
If I hadn’t earned my shot at this role, I would just walk away.
But if I backed off every time someone didn’t like me, I wouldn’t have made it out of middle school. Foster kids with smart mouths don’t win a lot of favors, but that’s what made victory so sweet when I finally learned how to beat the bastards at their own game.
Now I can walk into a room and have anyone I want chasing me like I’m a cheerleader in a frat house.
The moment hangs in the air, tight and tense between us.
When I don’t respond, she lets out a frustrated huff. “Excellent apology. No, really. Ten out of ten.”
When Emma walked into that meeting room a year ago, I was too pissed about corporate once again dumping its changes on Ops to stop myself from mouthing off. By the time I got my head out of my ass, I’d ruined any chance I had of changing her mind about me.
And now I’ve ruined the apology on top of that.
She should have been named during the company briefing. Even if the system sucked, the e-signature work was a lifesaver, and some of the staunchest of guys in Ops are still grumbling their thanks about that project, which is practically akin to professing their undying love.
Honestly, I can name half a dozen improvements her name has been attached to, so I don’t know why she’s treating this role like it’s a life-and-death situation.
Her time will come again.
Meanwhile, if I’m promoted, I can finally stop checking my bank balance fifty times a day. I want to take a damn vacation and stop fake laughing at jokes told by sulfur-fueled jackasses in upper management.
I want to stop pretending I like golf, for fuck’s sake.
“You’re right,” I say, because I’m a lot of things, but I’ve never wanted scumbag to be one of them. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes widen and her lips part, and there’s a moment where we’re just two people forced into the same crappy situation.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, a hint of softness peeking through.
Damn, what I wouldn’t give to crack her wide open. See if there’s more under there.
“Though I would have appreciated it more if you’d said it months ago.”
So much for that.
“Well.” I clap my hands once. “This has been great, but I still have my actual job to do.”
“I look forward to working with you,” she says, looking as pained as I feel.
I sigh. No matter what Roberts says, there won’t be any working together. Emma might have grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, but I was born with a pair of brass knuckles; I won’t go down without a fight.
With that, she turns on her heel and leaves.
I ignore how much colder the room feels after she’s gone.