Chapter Six
Six
I’m like a cartoon kettle with steam coming out of its ears as I round the corner to where Connor sits.
I intended to launch right into it but stop short when I notice the desks around him—previously empty—are now occupied by three other guys, who clock my presence immediately.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a smaller, more sensible Annie is screaming at me to remember that we need this person to give us a job.
Connor pulls his headphones off. “Well, this is unexpected.”
He says this in a tone that conveys it’s exactly the opposite, and he has in fact been anticipating my arrival since the second he sent over the skills test. For the second time today, I have underrated my opponent.
He stretches back in his chair. “To what do I owe the honor? Or are you lost?”
I glance over at the guy sitting directly across from Connor. His eyes dart back to his screen the second our stares connect.
“Can I talk to you for a moment please, Connor? Privately?”
“I’m getting the impression that this is a real now or never situation,” he says, swiping a lanyard off the desk. “So I guess now it is.”
He follows me to the nearest meeting room I can find, a speakeasy-themed breakout space lined with deep oak bookcases and velvet couches instead of your usual tables and chairs.
It’s an almost comically inappropriate setting for this discussion, but I’m far past caring.
I whirl on him as soon as he closes the door.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Hello to you too, Annie. Such a pleasure to keep meeting like this.”
“Cut the crap,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “I know all about your little skills assessment prank.”
His eyes widen in a look of extremely exaggerated surprise. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
“DinoCode? Brian the Dinosaur? It’s a game for five-year-olds!”
“It’s not just a game,” he says, wounded. “It’s also a deeply beloved educational tool.”
“Is this some sort of—of—” I’m so indignant I can hardly speak. What is the word I’m looking for? “Hazing?”
“Nah. It’s just earlier you were so on your high horse I couldn’t resist the chance to mess with you a little bit.”
“Stupid little Annie can’t possibly understand the data, is that it?”
“Definitely not.” He has the grace to look sheepish. “But—if I might—maybe it was: Annie can’t possibly know all there is to know about something she’s never done before?”
The blush rips across my face like wildfire. Never in my life have I been called out so neatly.
“I was actually starting to feel a little bad,” he says, scratching his neck. “In fairness, I thought you’d click the link and figure it out immediately. When it took you all afternoon I started to worry.”
“Clearly.”
“I promise I was going to come and apologize,” he says, trying to placate me. “I got stuck on a call, that’s the only reason I haven’t come to find you.”
“Well, now that’s established, I would appreciate the real assessment.”
“I mean, if DinoCode was a challenge, I don’t think you’ll fare any better there.”
A noise I am in no control of leaves my body, a high-pitched squeak of frustration that sounds suspiciously like ugh!
He laughs, then reaches for an armchair to his left, dragging it over until it’s directly across from the sofa. He motions toward it.
“Can we at least sit down, please? It’s very off-putting trying to have a conversation with you glaring at me like that.”
I say nothing, but oblige him, dropping down on the sofa and crossing my arms for good measure. Connor takes the chair across from me, leaning toward me with his elbows resting on his knees.
“Listen, Annie, while I admire your persistence, and am genuinely a little bit in awe of how rude you’re willing to be considering you’re also at my mercy, it’s not going to work. This isn’t the role for you.”
He’s doing that thing again, like he was earlier. Trying to let me down gently. I hate it.
I cast around, desperate for something that might convince him to give me the job instead of throwing me out in the cold, and then remember what Alex told me back at Murphy’s, about the reporting tool they can’t get anyone to use. What did he call it again?
I’ve got it.
“What about the reporting dashboard?”
Connor’s entire demeanor shifts in an instant, going from playful to reserved.
“What about it?”
“From what I hear it’s not going so well.”
Irritation flits across his features, his eyebrows pressing together just a fraction before smoothing back out again. “I don’t know what makes you think that.”
Finally, finally, I’ve succeeded in putting him on the back foot. I’m sure Alex told me—he did, didn’t he?—that they had been working on it together last year. That’s a long project. A big project. And until today I’d never even heard of it.
“It’s an internal tool, right? To standardize reporting.” I’m trying to make it sound like I know more than I do. I hope it’s working. “But people aren’t using it.”
“People are using it,” he argues, without much conviction.
“Not enough people,” I say. “I can help you with that.”
He snorts like, yeah OK, sure.
“Do you know what I think, Connor?”
“I have a feeling I’m about to find out.”
“I think you need me. You don’t know it yet, but you do.”
He’s the one leaning back now, arms crossed, his whole posture guarded. I press my advantage.
“I saw your geek squad out there. You have enough people to help you with SML—”
“SQL.”
“Whatever,” I say, swatting his words away. “You have enough dorks to help you with the technical stuff already. I can focus on the rollout of your dashboard. It’s a match made in heaven.”
“Sounds like a match made in hell.”
He succeeds in winning his first smile of the day from me. I might actually have him here. This might really work.
“Give me the job,” I say, confident now. “I know what the product squads are saying. I’ll roll out your dashboard, and handle any of the other annoying admin eating up everyone’s time so you can focus on what’s important.”
“I need a data strategist.”
“And I am one,” I counter. “I can help you with all the data you can’t find on a spreadsheet. I’ll be like your secret weapon.”
He’s staring at a point beyond my shoulder now, his fingers drumming lightly against his lips. Then it happens: he thinks of something. I watch his eyes spark to life, then sharpen directly on me.
“I guess I could,” he says, like maybe there’s some big loophole after all. “We do need help with the dashboard.”
I do not trust his tone. “But…”
“But,” he continues, “there’s one thing I’ll need from you. Before I can approve the transfer.”
I eye him with misgiving. “What is it?”
“Just a formality, really. A box-ticking exercise, if you will.” He indulges in a dramatic pause, then comes out with it. “Admit I was right you couldn’t pass the skills test. And you were wrong.”
I re-cross my arms. “You know that already.”
“I do,” he says, head bobbing. “But I’m still going to need to hear you say it.”
“Surely that’s not necessary.”
“Humor me.”
He waits expectantly. I have a feeling he would sit here all day. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“FINE,” I say, sounding like a surly teenager.
He rolls his wrist like, go on.
I grind my jaw.
“You were…right.”
“And?”
“And I was wrong.” It comes out barely above a whisper.
He gives me a huge grin, full-wattage. His delight is palpable. I have never seen a person smile so big.
“Truly incredible to witness. I should have recorded that. I have a feeling it’s the first and last apology I’ll get from you.”
I roll my eyes. “OK, Mr. Fancy Data Scientist. I’ve been working here for six years, I’m not that useless.”
“You bombed a coding quiz for five-year-olds.”
“I can’t have done that badly.”
“Instead of a line of code, you wrote this is hard on the last question.”
“I…didn’t realize you’d be able to see that.”
He laughs, the sound of it pulling a reluctant smile out of me in return. “You’ve got to admit. It was funny.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“It was a little bit funny.”
“Says you,” I tell him. “I’m the one who failed the dino quiz.”
We both stand to leave, and he holds the door open for me, saying just before I pass through, “I’m not going to lie, I pictured this going very differently. I thought there’d be a lot more of you saying things like thank you, Connor, you’re amazing.”
“Thank you, Connor, you’re amazing,” I deadpan.
“I’m sorry I swore at you at the start of this meeting,” he says, obviously wanting me to repeat it. I scowl as I walk past.
“You know what, never mind,” he calls from behind me. “I accept your half-smile in lieu of apology.”