Chapter 7- Metiche
There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway when Lizzie got home. When she came in, she could hear animated voices spilling from the back.
In the eat-in kitchen, Lizzie found Abuela and Lidia chatting with George, who was all charm and confidence.
“There she is,” George said, sly smile sharp. “You didn’t answer my texts, so I hit up Lidia. She invited me.”
“I’m glad!” Lizzie said genuinely. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you, I just get kinda wrapped up in things.”
“?Más café?” Abuela asked George, pointing at his cup, to connect the dots between her Spanish tongue and his English ears.
He put his hands up in surrender. “Oh no, thank you! You could patent this stuff to wake the dead. One cup is plenty!”
Abuela laughed, patted his shoulder— Too hard?—and stood.
Lidia scooted closer to George. “So this campaign—”
“?Es amigo tuyo?” Abuela asked Lizzie, walking up to her conspiratorially, with a fake smile. (Friend of yours?)
“Más o menos… te cae mal?” (More or less. Do you not like him?)
“Algo ahí está falso,” Abuela whispered, finger to temple. “Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos.”(There’s something fake there. Remember, if you raise crows, they’ll peck your eyes out.)
Lizzie blinked. Abuela loved everyone—especially men who might be interested in her granddaughters. This was new.
George stood. “Gotta caffeinate and run. Lizzie—walk me out?”
She nodded. Goodbyes done, they stepped outside.
“How’s the project?” He asked.
“Good. Warehouse is 40% faster. Next week I’ll be in the office. I think it’ll be a bigger fight.”
“You’ll crush it. Just don’t let him push you out—like he did me.”
Lizzie opened her mouth, thinking the contract’s ironclad—but swallowed it, feeling that the observation would be callous.
George’s eyes flicked down. “You look hot today.”
Lizzie wasn’t sure why, but she heard Will’s voice in her head: “Don’t push it.”
“Oh—uh, thanks.”
“Gotta handle some stuff. But I’ll text you. I want to get to know you better.”
Or at all, Lizzie thought. She smiled, flattered by his attention still, but not sure how to react. She thought George seemed nice enough, but as was usual with most guys she met, she thought she felt less than she should.
He grabbed her hand and gave her a slow cheek kiss. He looked at her with hungry eyes and a sly smile. Lizzie knew she should respond somehow, but all she could think was how she wished she weren’t in this position, and she awkwardly said, “Thanks.”
George let out an awkward chuckle and let go of her hand. That was obviously not the reaction he was expecting. “Don’t leave me hanging, okay?”
He slid into his car and drove away. Lizzie stood there, not sure what to think.
What just happened?
She shook her head, and went back in to retell the whole awkward exchange to Abuela.
The project kept her from dwelling on it. In a blink, it was Monday.
Unlike the DC, where she arrived at 6 a.m. and beat traffic, office hours started at 8, and that meant rush hour. She arrived just before, frazzled from the drive, and walked up to the security desk. “Someone will escort you,” the guard said. “Wait here.”
Lizzie nodded and took a seat, anxiety ticking with the minutes. By 8:15, she was back at the desk. “Any issue?”
The guard glanced at the screen. “That’s odd, Miss. Molina said she’d be right down…”
“Miss. Carolina Molina, as in company lawyer, Miss. Molina?”
“Yes. She left instructions to let her know when you arrived.”
That explains it. Lizzie’s mood darkened. She was about to demand they page Mr. Pemberley directly when she saw Carolina’s shiny blonde head gliding toward her.
Carolina’s heels clicked like a metronome keeping pace coldly.
“Come on, come on, we are quite busy today,” Carolina said by way of greeting, already moving, not waiting for Lizzie to catch up.
Lizzie followed her into the building, up the elevator, and down what felt like the most convoluted path imaginable.
“I can imagine,” Lizzie said. “Surprised you’re escorting me with such a demanding schedule.”
“Well, we don’t want to bother anyone else—especially with Alisa and the Reed Medical team visiting today.”
Lizzie smiled at the obvious flex. “Certainly not,” she said, feigning concern.
They finally reached procurement—a room full of staff who didn’t seem busy at all. Carolina called over Jim, whom Lizzie had met before, and issued strict instructions: no wandering unescorted, no bothering the executive team. Then she turned on her heels and all but ran.
Jim looked apologetic as he showed Lizzie her desk. “Has the plan for this week changed?”
“Changed from what?”
“We got the agenda two weeks ago—your schedule, slotted for this week, with directions from Mr. Pemberley to give you whatever you needed. Something like a direction from Lizzie may as well be a request directly from him. Then, on Friday evening, Carolina sent a vague email saying all changes should pass through her.”
Lizzie’s heart rate spiked. Her internal temperature rose. Cubans called someone who was meddlesome and messed with things that didn’t concern them Metiche. Lizzie had thought Carolina was Metiche before, but now she felt that Metiche didn’t begin to cover it.
She shot Jim a reassuring look—he was mild-mannered, clearly sensing tension, worry streaking his face. “Don’t worry, Jim. The schedule hasn’t changed. I’m with you and your team this week. Follow whatever direction you were given. Any push back, you let me handle it.”
Jim exhaled in relief. Lizzie wondered if Will was somewhere in this building, cowering under Carolina’s pressure just like Jim. No matter, Lizzie thought. Results would be the best revenge.
“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands together as if to banish the tension. “Let’s talk procurement.”
The rest of the day went smoothly. Lizzie’s preparation paid off—she was systematic, methodical. The software installation came first. Then training: how to use AI to audit past purchases, flag unclaimed rebates, and dishonored discounts.
“Most companies find their first round of savings in the rear view,” she told the team. “Let’s start there.”
They dove in, calling out wins like a game:
“I got a $100 rebate on the Cox order!”
“Double delivery on Perkins—$768 back!”
“Wrong charge code on Shiner—another $208!”
With each shout, Lizzie wrote it on the whiteboard and cheered them on. The room grew animated, competitive, alive.
Then the mousy girl—quiet until now—gasped. “Oh my God.”
Lizzie walked over. “What’s up?”
“I think I found a big one,” she whispered, eyes wide.
“How big?”
“If I’m reading this right, our contract with Reed Medical includes a 30% volume discount.”
Lizzie nodded. “And?”
“We had a massive order this month. The discount wasn’t applied. We were overcharged by $200,000.”
“Nice! That’s not a bad return on half a day’s work. Flag it. Jim—send it up the chain.”
Outwardly, Lizzie smiled politely. Inwardly? She was laughing maniacally, imagining Carolina’s smug face when she learned that her coveted Reed Medical had cost them $200k.
By Wednesday, Lizzie was surprised not to have heard more. She asked Jim. “I sent it to the Reed team and exec leadership,” he said. “Nothing back.”
Odd. But no precedent for something like this; maybe they were figuring out how to handle it before coming to give her a pat on the back. She kept implementing: e-POs, vendor consolidation, and weekly audits.
At lunch, the team went to the break room. Lizzie stayed, logged in to check emails, while munching on a protein bar. The internal messaging system she’d been added to dinged.
WPemberley: Has the procurement team busted out the dance moves yet?
Lizzie smiled, happy that he gave her a direct line to message him and find out why her hard work had gone unacknowledged.
LBenitez: We save our dance moves for Friday. Unless you count the savings hustle, which they’re executing flawlessly ?? ??
WPemberley: I saw a report. A few hundred dollars so far. No “pallet pivot,” but savings are savings, right?
Lizzie stared. Reread. Still not understanding.
LBenitez: Are you kidding? We found over $200,000 Day 1…
The typing dots blinked. Vanished. Blinked again.
WPemberley: Did this get reported?
LBenitez: I was told they were, but wait one. I’ll confirm.
The team trickled back in. “Hey Jim—forward me that Reed Medical email from Monday.”
Two minutes later, it was in her inbox. The message is clear. Addressed to the CFO, a man named Leo whom she’d never met, and then Charles and Carolina in copy.
LBenitez: Confirmed. Sent Monday.
WPemberley: Send it to me. I’ll address it. Thank you.
LBenitez: ??
She sent the email as requested. Silence followed. He’d said he’d address it, so there was now nothing for her to do but wait.
Over the next few days, Lizzie typed a half dozen messages demanding answers at various levels of impatience, but ultimately she never sent any, feeling that her place was to find the savings; the internal stuff he could deal with, even if his apparent apathy was irritating her more and more with each passing day.
By Friday, procurement was operating under new protocols: same-day POs, locked quotes, and weekly audits.
No day matched Monday’s haul, and leadership never acknowledged the $200k Reed overcharge, which continued to annoy Lizzie, especially after she pointed it out to Will directly—but the implementation was a success by every measure.
And technically, there was nothing that said she had to be acknowledged or thanked for her savings, so she did her best not to think about it.
Lizzie had eaten lunch at her desk all week to avoid Carolina (or Will). But Friday, she bought bocaditos for the team—a capstone to a strong week.
Walking with Jim, they passed a glass-walled boardroom.
A woman sat alone at the head of a long table.
Her dress was tight and ill-fitting, despite the obvious expensive name brand.
She looked determined to wear a size or two smaller than she needed, and her body was bulging in odd places in protest. Makeup heavy.
Hair was a shocking red. Nails were impractically long.
Jewelry gaudy, loud. She slouched, bored, annoyed to even be there.
“Who is that?” Lizzie asked.
“That’s Alisa Reed,” Jim said with a knowing smile.
Lizzie smiled; the image of Will with this disinterested, annoyed-looking woman gave her a sick pleasure.
She looked like she belonged on Jersey Shore, not the boardroom of Pemberley Pharmaceuticals.
Lizzie tried to imagine her grumpy cat energy on Will’s serious, cold arm.
Just two unpleasant people spending time together.
She was exactly what Lizzie thought Will deserved.
It made her feel better about not getting any feedback from him. He obviously had his hands full.
Lizzie felt a bit guilty at deriving so much pleasure from these internal musings, and she mentally admonished herself.
She probably has a great personality, and he might be really into women with big red hair and electric blue nails, Lizzie thought.
But she couldn’t help it. The image of Alisa with Will made Lizzie’s week.
* * *
From the Desk of William Pemberley
HQ Office- 3:59 PM
Nothing makes sense anymore.
They told me to play nice with Reed Medical. “Good for the company,” they said. So, overcharging us $200,000 is good?
I bring it up and get an “oopsie.” A shrug. “Errors happen.”
Errors. Plural. Convenient.
I’m finding it hard to play the game these days. I’m finding it hard to be the representative of the Pemberley name the way Dad wants me to.
Alisa Reed.
The dinners, the trendy bars, the small talk about nothing. She doesn’t care about me. I don’t care about her. We’re both being pushed into an alliance that neither of us wants.
But the company “needs” it. So I’m constantly told.
And Lizzie.
I can’t look her in the eye right now.
She found the $200k. She handed it to me on a platter.
And I’ve done nothing.
She must think I’m an idiot.
Or worse — that I don’t care. I do care.
More than I should.
More than I can afford to.
What must she think of me?
If only I could stop myself from thinking about her.