Chapter 6 Molly
Molly
I wanted him to be joking, I really did. I was hoping that Elijah wasn’t as inept as he acts, but I think, unfortunately, I am actually stuck with the least technically savvy person on the planet. My niece knows how to work a computer better than Elijah, and she’s four.
Well, I won’t be stuck with him for long. I’ve officially found the end of my rope. Took less than eleven hours together.
I slap my palms flat on his desk and stand up, gathering my computer before I walk directly out of his office and don’t stop until I reach Ryan’s office three doors down.
He has an open-door policy, so I knock lightly on the metal frame and when he looks up from his computer, I step right inside and skip the greetings.
‘This guy’s not going to work.’
Ryan’s eyebrows lower, concern evident as he looks past me as if seeking the guy at hand. Maybe Elijah is behind me, I don’t care. He’s gotta go.
‘Molly…’ Ryan starts like he’s trying to calm a wild animal.
‘Elijah barely knows how to work a computer–he didn’t know what an internet browser was,’ I say. ‘I know what was on the job requirements, and he doesn’t have competence in any of it.’
Ryan tilts his head, and his concerned look morphs into one of understanding. It’s the look he gets when he’s about to do some patronising, his favourite fucking activity. ‘I assure you that’s not true.’
‘Ryan—’
‘I interviewed him myself and he was exceptionally adept and technically sharp,’ Ryan defends, popping the p in sharp. I cannot picture this, not when Elijah stared blankly at me earlier when I told him to open task manager on his laptop.
‘Are you sure it was the same guy?’ I ask. Ryan smiles like I’m a silly little thing, but I keep on. ‘Like maybe the guy you interviewed has a twin who’s been living with the Amish for the last thirty years? Because Elijah is a liability.’
Ryan opens his mouth, then closes it. He gives that gentle smile again, scrunches his nose. My blood pressure actively rises watching him, so I drop into the chair across from his desk, laptop clutched in my hands. I lower my voice.
‘That was unkind of me,’ I say, though I could be much unkinder and it would be justified. ‘The thing is, as Elijah’s buddy, I’m concerned about his ability to do the role he was hired for.’
Ryan’s computer pings with a new message, and he ignores it. Big of him.
‘Now, Molly.’ Ryan takes a long breath. ‘I know you might be feeling a little jealous—’
‘I’m not—’
‘Or defensive, maybe? But Elijah went through multiple rounds of interviews and was the strongest candidate for the role. So, any perceived deficiencies might be a reflection of something you are feeling.’
I blink, his words stinging. My cheeks heat with embarrassment at his assessment that I’m just a jealous, slighted girl who was ultimately less qualified for the job that’s now been given to the least competent man I’ve ever met.
‘Did you know him?’ I ask after a moment. ‘Did you work with him somewhere previously?’
Was he in your stupid fucking fraternity or something? I would ask if it wasn’t a sure way to lose my job. The job that, while underpaying me for the work I do, pays my bills, my health insurance, and offers a 4 per cent 401(k) match.
‘I didn’t, but his experience and knowledge spoke for itself.
’ Ryan leans back in his chair. I force what I can manage of a smile, which isn’t much.
It probably looks as pained and angry as I feel.
There’s a veritable cocktail of negative emotions roiling in my stomach, and my eyes are burning, but I will not cry in front of Ryan.
I’ve been working hard for years thinking that eventually my performance and value on this team would be the thing to help me get better-paying opportunities, ones where I’m not showing adults how to fix things they could google.
I was naive to even think I’d be considered when management through our entire division is a total boys’ club.
Stupid, stupid Molly.
‘Upper management was really excited about Eli, you know? I think that you training him will reflect positively on you,’ Ryan says. His computer pings again and this time he does turn to look at it. Conversation over, I guess.
‘Right,’ I mutter and stand from his chair. I don’t thank him as I leave, but I do pause when he calls my name.
‘Good talk. Keep your chin up, yeah?’ Ryan says. His attention is back on his monitor before I can try to conceal my ire-filled stare. He’s probably not even working. I think he spends more time chatting about sports than he does processing or responding to escalated requests.
I turn down the hall towards my desk only to stop short when I see the root of my problems looking stricken outside his office.
I’m not sure how much of that Elijah heard, but based on the hurt crease between his brows, I would guess all of it.
Narrowing my gaze on him, I step closer until I’m standing about as close as I’d be to him if I was in his office trying to explain the very concept of a ticketing system to him.
‘Eli, huh?’ I mutter. ‘You’re sure cosy with management, aren’t you?’ I don’t care if it’s rude of me to accuse him of getting this job unfairly, he most certainly did.
‘I didn’t tell him he could call me that,’ he says.
‘Whatever,’ I breathe, and carry on, my shoulder barely grazing his arm as I brush past him. When I make it to my desk, Kenneth stands to peer over his side of the cubicle at me, a single eyebrow raised.
‘Trouble in paradise?’
‘Kenneth, just…’ I close my mouth and inhale deep through my nose, stupid tears threatening behind my eyes again. Exactly what I need, another reason for my male coworkers to think I am an unapproachable, volatile woman. ‘Drop it.’
When I glance up at him, he looks concerned, but indeed drops it.
I plug my monitor in, put on my noise-cancelling headphones and ignore my buddy for the rest of the day.
Despite my attempts to leave Drummond without speaking to Elijah, I hear him call my name as I speed walk through the lobby. It only makes me walk faster, but his legs are apparently a mile long, and he eats up the distance between us before I can reach the doors.
‘Molly,’ he says again as he falls into step with me. ‘Can we talk?’
‘Nope,’ I say, voice flat. ‘I have somewhere to be.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ he rushes to say as I push through the rotating door, separating us briefly. He hurries to catch up with me and when he speaks again, the earnestness of his voice gives me pause. ‘Please, Molly.’
I stop walking and look up at Elijah. When we’re not sitting side by side, he’s quite a few inches taller than me.
It’s overcast today, but away from the overhead lights in the office, his eyes look less black than mahogany.
He’s swapped the garish, wide-brimmed hat for a simple black cap from the Met, his dark hair poking out from beneath it.
His skin looks so smooth, none of the pesky acne I still get on my jaw, no blackheads, not even any visible pores on his nose.
I hate how pleasing and unbearably handsome he looks.
I hate him.
‘What? Afraid I’m gonna tell my boss that you don’t know what you’re doing? I already tried,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry he spoke to you that way. I didn’t know that you were–that you had also applied.’
His apology sounds genuine, and that almost stings worse. It would be better if he was an unrepentant jerk; would be easier to remind myself that he is my nemesis.
‘I obviously haven’t done this in a while. Working, I mean. In an office. I have a lot to learn,’ he says. And then, almost whispering, ‘I need this job.’
I must really be weak at heart because the honest pleading in his admission makes me feel like I do when I see a sad dog alone on the sidewalk.
He’s pathetic, trying to make excuses for being underqualified for the job I could do in my sleep.
I refuse to feel bad for the man who stole my promotion and practically just admitted he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
‘And I mean that I really, really need this job, Molly,’ he says. He sounds desperate. Lost puppy indeed. Gah, I hate this loser.
A group of suits from an upper floor walks past us, probably going to a department happy hour. I clear my throat and pull my shoulders back to make myself as tall as I can possibly be next to him. It does nothing.
‘So, what do you want from me? Are you asking me to help you?’ I ask.
‘Please,’ he says, as earnest as the last time. ‘I can learn. I will learn.’
I scoff, eye roll number five thousand unstoppable.
‘Goodbye, Elijah.’
‘I’ll help you get your promotion,’ he blurts, stopping me in my tracks.
Tilting my head, I try to assess if he means it.
Part of me resents that he thinks I need his help to get the promotion I deserve by my own merit, but maybe even he can tell how much Drummond management prefers promoting men.
Ultimately, though, he’s right. If the frustrating conversation with Ryan told me anything, it’s that he’ll believe Elijah over me, no matter how much I’ve proven myself over the years.
I’ve tried getting promoted and have been passed up multiple times now, every reason more stupid than the last. He has better people skills–he has less experience, but more education–he was the better candidate.
‘You’re shit with computers,’ I tell Elijah. ‘It’s embarrassing. You should be embarrassed.’
‘Desperately so,’ he agrees, and his almost-smile reveals a dimple in one cheek. I will not be charmed by it. ‘I am embarrassed.’
‘I won’t do your job for you.’
‘Wouldn’t dare ask it,’ he vows.
His apparent sincerity annoys me as much as it convinces me. It very well may be that I’ll never get promoted without him, which I resent. But he needs this job, and if he wants to contribute even a little bit, he knows he better stay close to me. Sounds something like leverage.
Dammit.
‘Fine.’ I sigh and hold out my hand between us. He eyes it warily, then brings his palm to meet mine. His skin may be cold as hell, but he has probably the softest hand in the world. He might be so shitty at technology because he’s just made a career change from being a hand model.
‘Fine?’
‘I’ll help you not suck. You’ll help me get a promotion,’ I say. He squeezes my hand one last time before letting it drop. He stuffs his in his pants pocket and smiles something delighted. It pisses me off.
‘I won’t let you down,’ he vows. I turn away after a short nod and he calls after me, ‘I will be locating PO addresses in no time!’
‘IP addresses,’ I correct without looking back at him.
Teams messages between Devi Jain and Molly Mason, 8 October 2026, 2.35 p.m.
Molly: Have you ever seen the new guy eat something?
Molly: Or drink a cup of coffee? Like ever?
Devi: I see you are having a productive afternoon!
Devi: But, no. Now that you mention it.
Molly: See, now that’s weird to me.
Devi: Everything he does is weird to you. You do not like him.
Molly: I walked in when he was drinking from his water bottle, and whatever he had left his teeth RED.
Devi: Like he’s just nursing cranberry juice all day as if he has an extended UTI?
Molly: No, not like that. Like a dark red protein shake??
Devi: Maybe he does meal replacement shakes, he’s fit like that!
Devi: Or maybe he doesn’t like people to see him eat?
Devi: Or maybe he has an eating disorder.
Devi: Omfg if he does, you are literally bullying him.
Devi: Stop bullying the new guy, Molly.
Molly: ??? I am not bullying him????? Just making an observation!!??
Molly: Maybe I would like him more if he shared small talk over coffee sometimes!
Devi: Well stop observing him and start observing the fic I sent you yesterday.
Molly: I’m working.
Devi: Oh, so now we want to work?
Devi: I am shaking my head so hard right now.