6. Brooke
Brooke
My grandmother used to tell me to be careful about my face. It'll stick like that , she'd say when I pulled a particularly foul expression. When I was a kid, I'd scoff and pull my eyelids down and stick out my tongue. Today, though, I think she might be right. I think the grimace I've worn since yesterday's confrontation might be permanent.
"Don't you look happy," Felicity mutters as I swoop into the office.
"Yeesh. Frown lines, Brooke. Unless you're springing for Botox?" Darrell asks as he leans around his monitor to give me a once-over.
"I'm fine. It's fine. We're fine. Don't you think we're all fine?" I try to force my lips to smile. Based on the reaction of my team, it doesn't work.
"Wow. No. You look like someone just told you you're banned from sushi for a year," Darrell giggles.
Jesus. I'm supposed to be shielding the team from corporate bullshit, not bringing it in the door and flaunting it about. Usually, that's no problem, but with Dustin lurking around the corner? It's suddenly a lot harder than it looks.
"Seriously guys, it's chill. It's cool. It's coolio, even."
"No," the whole team choruses together, and I grimly accept defeat.
"Fine. Does anyone want coffee? I need, like, a gallon. Maybe directly into my veins," I offer with hands outstretched. That gets their attention off my face. They all chatter together about the various mix-ins to their java and I even catch a few words about the current project: new modules for the ecommerce sector.
I quickly set down my bag and head to the kitchen, where we have a fancy coffee machine that brews individual packets. Travis, our CEO, claims this kind is better for the environment than the classic Keurig based on the paper baggies of pre-blended coffee and flavorings. I'm happy to believe that.
Though, with Atmosphere acquiring us, how long will all of these fun little perks last? Will they start slashing the budget the instant Dustin leaves—or sooner? He claims he doesn't have the authority to do so, but why would they send him if not for financial intel as well as tech stack investigation? Or maybe they'll send another guy after him. Someone nicer. Someone whose heart I didn't break a decade ago.
"Morning. "
I freeze. I didn't hear Dustin come in, and I know he wasn't here when I started this little ritual. How is he so fucking sneaky? Warily, I turn to face him in the doorway.
"Good morning," I manage to grit out. "Did you have a nice evening?"
"Perfectly swell," he snarls. "I hope you didn't have any plans for tonight."
I don't, but I can't let him know that. "Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement. May I ask why?"
"Cancel it," he commands. "We need to discuss the integration of your team's stack into Atmosphere's. I'm absolutely swamped with back-to-back meetings all day today, and it can't wait until next week."
Next week? Shit, is it Friday already? God, I cannot stick around after hours on a Friday to be completely alone with him . "I'm sorry, that won't be possible."
"That wasn't a request." Dustin steps closer, and I can smell his soap. Something woodsy. I think Nora from HR would have a conniption if she walked in right now—he's too goddamn close. "Collaboration is one of Atmosphere's core values. Are you saying you don't align with the core values?"
"Of course I do," I mutter with a scowl. Nana was right—my face will stick like this. "I'll confirm with you before end of day."
"Glad to hear it. Enjoy your day, Ms. Dunne. "
Ms. Dunne. Did anyone ever tell you how hard it is to change your name both professionally and personally? Sure, getting married is the fun part. People congratulate you when you ask to update your records. It's a happy occasion. When you get divorced, though, all you get are pitying eyes and hushed apologies.
Try as I might to erase every part of Calvin from my life, some parts of the company personnel database are still branded with my married name. And no matter how many times I gripe at IT, somehow, my email always changes back to "Dunne." I'd like to point out the fact that my email signature says Moore. Leave it to Dustin to poke at wounds.
With the team's coffee orders stacked precariously on one of those little cardboard drink holders, I return to our section of the office and pass them out silently. I know they're whispering about me, but I just can't focus on it. I know they'll get their work done. They always do. I think they like to work extra hard to make me—and themselves—look good when I'm out of sorts. It's what I love about them. It's why I'm going to fight, tooth and nail, against fucking Dustin in this acquisition.
After a longer time than I meant to linger, I finally open my laptop and see the meeting invitation from Dickbag Dustin. Today, Friday evening, six-thirty to eight-thirty. What on earth could take two hours to discuss? On a Friday? I rub my temples and sigh before I can catch myself.
"What's the matter, boss-lady?" Andrea pipes up.
"Nothing. I'm just tired, that's all."
"Late night? Did Ricky keep you up with his diamond hands and puts?" Darrell snorts.
"Ugh, I wish it was that simple—I mean, no. I've just had a lot on my mind. You know, the baking side hustle isn't panning out as well as I'd hoped. But really, guys, it's going to be fine. We always have been, and we always will be. Just promise me that you'll give me some heads up if any of you decide to look for other employment, okay?" Hopefully, my forced smile will show that I'm joking—or trying to—but they just solemnly nod and turn back to their screens.
The day dragged by as I stared at the clock in the top-right of my laptop screen. I didn't have the heart to connect to my external monitor. A cold feeling of dread grew in my stomach over the hours. I couldn't even enjoy my sushi-rito lunch. That's a sushi burrito, and it's just about my favorite food abomination in the city. The gentle tingle from the spicy salmon didn't even perk me up .
My team packs up for the day at five, like they always do. I force another weary smile as they file out. Andrea's signature brightly patterned dress is the last bit of momentary joy I can force myself to appreciate. I envy her, you know? She's incredibly brash but has the competence to back it up. And her dresses are always so beautiful. Flowy sundresses in the summer, swishy floor-length in the winter. Always as bright as the sun or thereabout.
Today's dress was a pale pink background with vibrant fuchsia blooms in an all-over print. I have no idea where she gets them—she might sew them herself? She really is a talented woman, and I'm so happy I get to work with her. But that joy sours in my gut as the time inches closer to Dustin's meeting. I hope I can keep her job. I hope I can keep the whole team's jobs.
Ding.
Right on cue, an email notification pops up. Dustin has adjusted the meeting time to… ten minutes from now. Shit. I mean, good. Maybe I'll get out of here at a reasonable time. Hell, maybe it'll be just the perfect time when peak traffic has faded but before the frequency slows down. Yeah, this could be good.
Pop-pop .
Oh, goody. IT got him set up with Slack. His stupid little anonymous icon flashes into view at the top of my DM list. I guess he doesn't care enough to add a photo. Is that good or bad? I can't tell.