Chapter Nine
Nine
Bhanu
Out of all the things I’d imagine doing on a lovely Hawaiian Wednesday morning, having waffles with roasted macnuts smothered in coconut syrup with my work nemesis wasn’t one of them. The open-concept room was quiet, awkward, with the sounds of chewing and gulping coffee and juice, and the swish of the fans. That was all. No talking.
At times, my eyes kept flitting toward Sunny out of habit, only to find him glaring at me. Ignoring him had failed. Offering a small smile had failed.
“What’s wrong with your face?” I prodded.
He cut through his French toast smothered in powdered sugar and whipped cream. This meal couldn’t be healthy for either of us. “What?”
“Is something wrong with your face? Because I know you can’t be this upset to have breakfast with me. I mean, you could eat at the counter, the couch, outside, even leave.”
He scowled. A line appeared between his eyes, making him appear serious and hot-tempered, the kind of person who needed to be in control at all times. But he was in control. He wasn’t sleeping out of a rental car or floating in the ocean. Also, I’d never known him to be ill-tempered.
“You just seem upset for someone who got a posh, emergency vacation villa.”
His expression softened. His brows unknotted themselves, his jaw less rigid, but that line remained in between his brows like it was fighting for its life. I almost laughed.
“I’m grateful,” he said. “Truly. You’re going out of your way for someone you don’t even like.”
I mean, he wasn’t lying, so I did not correct him.
“Definitely true, then. You detest me,” he stated.
“We’re not friends. You’re a bit of an ass. Can I say that? Yes. We’re not at work.”
“ I’m the ass?”
“One of us is, and it’s not me.”
“Says every ass ever.”
I nearly spat out the chilled POG (passion fruit, orange, guava juice) Diya had left for me in the fridge.
Sunny went to tip his cup of juice into his mouth. I snatched the glass.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“My sister bought that for me. Go get your own POG.”
He leaned back against his chair. “See?”
“See what? You can’t just stay here, out of my good graces, drink my juice, and insult me. Be careful. You might get kicked out.”
The Return of the Scowl should be the title of his memoir because there it was. “I better get going. We obviously can’t be civil. I might as well come clean with my friends about you. But you should learn to ease up.”
“I should learn to do nothing.” Although I pushed his glass of juice back toward him. It was almost empty, and full of his germs. There was no point in wasting it.
He looked at the glass like I’d somehow poisoned it right in front of him. “You’re always riding me. I mean, are you trying to make me look incompetent in front of others at work so I can’t become PM?”
“First of all, did you apply for the PM position?”
“Inappropriate,” he said without a fluctuation to his tone to hint one way or another.
“Coming from the guy who partakes of the Sunny versus Bhanu pool.”
“So you admit to trying to make me look bad?”
“No. I’m not awful. You’re not nice to me.” I crossed my arms. “There. I said it. You’re not nice to me, so why should I smile and pucker up for you?”
His brows shot up in surprise.
“Don’t blame me for your inadequacies,” I added.
“Wow. I was trying to nicely ask you to be a little more professional. It benefits you, too.”
“Okay, first of all, you condescending jackass.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Don’t sit here and tell me that I need to ease up or that I need to do anything professionally and slap on a label to call it helping me out. How much more professional can I be? I can’t sugarcoat. I’m not telling you anything that our managers wouldn’t tell you. I’m not yelling or demeaning. Sounds like you’d rather I tell you everything in private so you don’t get your feelings hurt.”
“A private conversation would help—”
“That’s not my job. I don’t have time to call you for every little thing. We all work together. We all tell one another what’s late and what’s wrong and what needs to be fixed and debugged and who needs to hurry up in front of others because someone is always waiting on someone else. That’s UX. If we took the time to do it all privately, we’d never get anything done. And I’ve never had anyone tell me that I was being a bitch.”
He put his hands up. “I didn’t call you that.”
“You’re implying it.” I gesticulated with my next words. “Woman equates to smiles and kindly relaying her thoughts so as not to offend others, particularly men with easily bruised egos, particularly in STEM fields; otherwise she must reevaluate her entire approach. Man equates to doing and saying whatever they feel is professional without regard to how others might feel because male leads equals automatic respect.”
Sunny blew out a breath. “I apologize if that’s how I came off. Not my intention. But I do think you’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“I’ve dealt with guys telling me all sorts of things since I could remember. I’m stating facts, not blowing anything up. If there’s something serious or an issue that warrants discretion, I do that privately. The fact that I have to sit here and explain that…let me ask you. Would you be having this conversation with me if I was a man?”
He glared at me, and I glared right back. “Yep.”
“BS.”
“All right. Never mind. We can’t handle this like adults.”
“Deflection. Classic.” I shoved another waffle bite into my mouth, pissed that it was cold and soggy now.
“Fine. You’re not terrible.”
“Amazing apology.”
“Let’s just leave it before this turns into some egregious debacle. You do your work. I’ll do mine.”
Some bitter, ugly little thing in me crowed. “You didn’t answer my question. I heard you’re going after the PM position.”
“And I shouldn’t? Or does competition worry you?”
“I don’t worry about you.”
Sunny finished his toast and ate a piece of fruit, then released a huge sigh. “Listen. Bane.”
He didn’t react to my RBF one bit, nor did he miss a beat.
“I support women in higher roles. I support women in STEM. I support whatever a woman wants to do with her life. But I also know my worth, my skill, my education, the results of my hard work. I aim to be PM, either with this opening or the next, or hell, even at another company. I know I’ll be a good PM, and that’s not to say you wouldn’t. But I have to take my chance, too. It’s a long shot because you’ve been there longer than I have, and I’m only assuming you applied for the same role.”
We returned to cold, cutting silence while finishing the last pieces and final drops of our breakfast. In a matter of minutes, Sunny tossed his napkin onto the empty plate in front of him and bluntly said, “Thank you again for letting me crash.”
“Thanks for the waffles,” I pushed out, equally blunt.
“I’m going to check the front desk.”
“You can call.”
“I can, but I also want to get away from you. I mean…out of your way. I’m sure you have lots of vacation things to do and benefit buddies to call.”
Was that a tinge of jealousy? All the anger left me like a heated pall drifting away. I smirked. “Good idea. Benefits sound nice.”
Then he left. Silently, without a rebuttal. Without so much as a second glance. God, he was so grumpy.