Chapter 34
The urge to laugh was strong as Cynthia packed the last of her office belongings. There wasn’t much to clear away, but the sheer act of cleaning out the space that had practically been a second home to her for the last fifteen years had been an eye-opener.
Kumar Construction’s design was one of heavy, solid wood furniture, muted colors, pastel landscapes dotting the walls, and clunky metal file cabinets. It was a traditional, old-school environment, created by a man who, while not necessarily resistant to change, didn’t chase it, either.
Cynthia’s office, however, had been an outlier. She’d made it her own with cool white tones, sharp edges, and metallic lines. One oversized painting had graced the wall: an abstract piece of bold, powerful brushstrokes.
It was a wonder it had taken her so long to realize she didn’t fit here, not the way she needed to.
“I can’t believe it’s your last day,” Jilly said from the doorway. She looked around the room with an unhappy frown.
“It’s time to move on,” Cynthia said. There was no bitterness in her voice—working under her father’s banner had been safe, but the unfamiliar was new. Exciting. She now knew that she thrived on her own, surrounded by people she liked who welcomed her opinion and listened when she spoke up.
“What will you do next?”
“I’m going to start my own business.” Cynthia hadn’t meant to sound cryptic, but when Jilly’s forehead crinkled, she added, “I’ll be doing the same things, just not under the Kumar Construction umbrella anymore.”
“We…That is to say, I…” Jilly hesitated. “I’ll miss you.”
Cynthia abandoned her cardboard box of belongings and folded Jilly in a hug. “Don’t miss me too much,” she said. “I’ll probably need an assistant soon.”
When she pulled away, Jilly’s face had brightened considerably. “I’d be honored, Ms.Kumar. You meant…You mean me, right?”
“Yes, Jilly. And it’s Cynthia.”
A half hour later, Cynthia brushed invisible wrinkles off the front of her black blazer as she stared hard at the sign for Conference Room B, her forehead oblong and distorted in its shiny, beveled surface.
She tilted her head back and was slightly mollified to see that her pimple patch had worked its magic.
Had she been a heroine in one of the romantic comedy movies Rohit loved so much, this would be an iconic moment of female empowerment, set to the tune of Diana Ross’s “I’m Coming Out.
” The part where the main character kicks down the door, guns blazing, and tears her boss a new one with biting remarks and damning evidence.
From top to bottom, she even looked the part with her hair slicked back in a low, understated ponytail, her most severe and serious pantsuit punctuated by the same don’t-fuck-with-me heels she always wore for these meetings.
She’d rehearsed what she wanted to say this morning, fell asleep visualizing what this moment would look like, how it would feel.
She’d imagined a biting departure à la Renée Zellweger quitting her job in Bridget Jones’s Diary or maybe she’d be coolly regal like Jennifer Lopez in Maid in Manhattan telling her mother she could figure out her own life, that she didn’t need anyone’s help.
But she knew better and had decided to just be herself.
Still, the sight of that oversized mahogany door released a flock of overcaffeinated butterflies down her sternum. You’re a queen , she reminded herself. And even when you don’t feel like one, the Ice Princess gets the job done, too.
Cynthia lifted her chin as she pushed the door open, pleasantly surprised to realize that when conversation came to an abrupt halt at her entrance, she wasn’t intimidated or uncomfortable.
She was ready.
“How kind of you to join us,” Keer said sarcastically, before lowering his voice. “Near the end of the meeting.”
“Probably woman troubles,” Larry mumbled with a snicker.
Cynthia rolled her shoulders back, ignoring the faint pinch between her shoulder blades. Not today. Still, she couldn’t help but swallow hard when her father leveled her with a pointed stare.
“This meeting is adjourned,” he said. “Thanks, everyone, for taking the time out of your busy schedules to attend.”
As the senior leadership team, trailed by her father, began making their way toward the exit, Cynthia placed her bag onto the empty chair next to her and cleared her throat. “I need to speak with you.”
Like a parliament of gray owls, several grizzled heads turned in unison to blink at her.
“My…dad,” Cynthia clarified, her voice sounding unnatural and loud. “I need to speak with my dad.”
With a start, she realized that before today, she’d never, ever referred to her father this way in front of the old men staring at her, their interest ranging from bored to mildly curious.
She’d been so focused on proving to them that her value, and her future as the CEO of Kumar Construction, had nothing to do with family ties.
That her ambition, competence, and relentlessness were marks of character and not just an extension of her last name.
She had wanted to be the chosen heir of her father’s legacy.
It hadn’t worked, but in this moment, Cynthia was glad for it. After today, she wouldn’t have to attend this stupid meeting anymore, nor would she have to work with this group of stodgy yes men who could not see her as anything but the boss’s kid.
Good riddance. She was focusing on being happy, and if fifteen years had taught her anything, it was that happiness was not to be found in this room.
Not for her, at least.
Rich broke away from the group but not before Keer offered him what looked like a commiserating thump on his back.
Cynthia rolled her eyes. Go choke on a donut.
She waited until her father was settled in the chair across from her before pulling a sheet of paper from her bag and placing it facedown on the table.
“What is it?” her father prompted, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked the screen.
Cynthia eyed his phone with disdain. She wasn’t settling for anything less than his full attention. Today, she would be seen.
“Dad, I have something important to give you,” she said.
“Mm-hm.”
“I’d appreciate if you put your phone away when I’m speaking to you.” The words came out more impatient than she’d intended, nervousness snapping the syllables tightly together.
Rich’s head flew up, his finger frozen in midair. “I didn’t raise you to talk to me like that.”
Cynthia was done worrying about that, too.
“I’m not trying to be disrespectful,” she said, but when her father nodded and turned back to his phone, she stood, leaned across the table and gently tugged the phone out of his grip.
“But I am trying to talk to you,” she said, placing his phone facedown on the table just out of his reach.
“And for once, I want to talk to you. Not at you, or to everyone else in the room in hopes that you’ll hear me. ”
Rich looked confused but he sat back in his chair, hands folded across his stomach.
It was a small win but enough to both strengthen and straighten Cynthia’s spine as she sat back as well.
She felt strangely vulnerable, her fingers buzzing with the need to fidget.
She wished Rohit, who was still laying low as per her father’s instructions, were here.
But just remembering him, his name at the forefront of her thoughts, gave her courage, and she blurted out the first words that rushed to her lips: “I don’t think you should fire him.
Rohit, I mean. If he wants to come back, I think he deserves a second chance. ”
Rich’s eyebrows knit together, but he remained silent.
“I know he lied about his credentials,” she continued, “but you and I both know that Rohit has earned his place here. You never got a university degree, either and look at everything you’ve accomplished.”
“Cynthi—”
“Besides, this place needs someone like him at the helm. Your leadership team is stale and male, Dad, and I’m not the only one who thinks so—”
“?‘Stale and male’?” her father repeated with a half smile.
Cynthia ignored the heat spreading to her cheeks. “You know what I mean. I just think we could do— you could—”
“I’m not going to fire Rohit,” Rich interrupted.
“You’re not? But he wasn’t in the meeting today.”
Rich shook his head. “He needs to keep a low profile for a while, but I never intended to fire him. If anyone understands his position, it’s me.”
Cynthia blinked and laid her hands flat on the table. “You do?”
“You think I was an instant success when I started Kumar Construction?” Rich chuckled.
“It was a struggle—I didn’t turn a profit for the first three years.
The only reason I was able to build all of this is because people in the community took a chance on me, an immigrant newcomer, fumbling his way through projects and red tape and about a hundred other mistakes that needed to happen.
” Rich’s voice gentled. “That’s what it was, Cynthia. Rohit made a mistake.”
When Cynthia blinked again, the sting of tears greeted the backs of her eyelids.
She wasn’t sure if it was the relief that Rohit’s job was safe or that, for once, she and her father were talking .
Really talking. Sure, she’d had to wrestle the phone out of his hand for his undivided attention, but he was listening and, more importantly, the hot, impatient spike that normally seared a hole in her stomach lining while she waited for her turn to talk and impress and prove her point was nowhere to be found.
It was a wonderful feeling, just existing, especially in this ostentatious, gleaming room that once had the power to make her feel physically ill.
Maybe this could still be an iconic moment for her. She could be regal and cool and confident, but from now on, it would be on her own terms.
“Have you told Rohit yet?” Cynthia asked.
“I’m going to call him later today.”
“With everything the company has been through these past few weeks, I’m surprised at how lenient you’re being.”