Chapter 28
28
When I’m working on something I’m truly passionate about, hours fly by with me barely blinking. Creating the Ditto presentation, much as when I was working on my Ever After pitch, doesn’t even feel like work. It feels like something I am genuinely good at: developing an idea from the ground up and figuring out the puzzle of how to turn it into a real-world scenario. Despite all the unexpected things that have happened during the research and development of the Ditto project, it’s the most fun I’ve had at work in months, possibly years. Susie is out in meetings all morning with strict instructions to “do not disturb,” so I’ve been holed up in her office putting the final touches on my slides, adding flair, cleaning up any rambling sentences and fine-tuning it into a clean list of prompts to back up my verbal presentation.
The shrill ring of her black office telephone makes me jump, but I let it ring out until the answering machine message plays, followed by a deep voice:
“Good afternoon, Ms. Jopling. My team has looked into your request. They retain the right to remove you from your role, but your board seat remains safe as per the terms of the acquisition. Please call my secretary so we can set up a meeting to discuss next steps.”
I freeze. I can’t press replay—she will know someone listened to it. Trying to process the words is like trying to remember the license plate of a car going by at ninety miles an hour. Is Catch Group trying to get rid of Susie? My gut twists; during Fate’s acquisition, she fought for all of us to keep our jobs. What would happen to the rest of the team if Susie was gone?
A Slack message from Yemi pops up on my laptop screen, pulling me away from the edges of the spiral:
OM: Free for lunch, dirty stop-out? x
GH: Meet you at the elevator in 5 x
If it wasn’t for the dull ache between my thighs and the not-so-subtle bite mark on my shoulder, I would start to think I made last night up.
“What the fuck?” Yemi leans forward in her chair.
“You can say that again.”
“No, but what the actual fuck!”
Sitting back in relief at sharing the burden of this problem with someone I trust, I take my first satisfying breath of air since Eric left the penthouse. “OK, let me know when the shock subsides.”
“Oh, I’m not shocked you had sex with him,” she says into her drink. “Frankly, I’m shocked it hadn’t happened sooner. And that you still went on that bloody breakfast date straight after.”
My iced matcha latte nearly comes out of my nose. “One: Weren’t you the woman who suggested I put his face on a dartboard? Two: I needed the real date experience for my presentation—it definitely cleared some stuff up for me...”
“I suggested the dartboard before you started going on these trial dates with Eric.” She shrugs and sips her iced hibiscus tea, eyes studying me intently. “Ever since you started this project you’ve been... glowing.”
My eyebrows touch the ceiling. “Glowing?” I repeat in disbelief.
“Yeah. You seem, like, more assured in yourself. I honestly was preparing for you to completely burn out with this extra work on your plate... but it’s like you have a new lease on life, or at least your career. There’s fire in your eyes again.”
I twitch my jaw, trying my hardest to hide how much I love that observation. She’s right: the last time I really enjoyed my job was when I was with William. I assumed it was my breakup that had created the ricochet effect on my work—I mean, who wants to promote finding The One when The One just completely screwed you over? But the Christmas party was only a few days later, and soon after that was the end of my friendship with Bancroft. The thought sits there. A seed of a thought, really. That maybe the fire going out really was because of losing Eric, and not William?
“You two light fires under the other.”
Was I the only one who hadn’t noticed how he challenges me, pushes me, and treats me like an equal instead of seeing me as a threat? I try not to think about how he denied seeing me as an enemy, saying he always saw me as an ally. He always thought of us as being on the same team, despite being pitted against each other at every available opportunity.
I stifle a smile until Yemi sighs. “Or maybe you’re right and this is just the glow of three orgasms in quick succession.”
“Oh my God!” I throw a scrunched-up paper straw at her. “I immediately regret telling you that part.”
“Speaking of, are you actually going to talk to each other like functioning adults or just pretend it never happened?” The ice in her glass clinks as she swirls her straw.
I shake my head, placing my drink on the table with a thunk. “I can’t think about it right now, not until the presentations are over. That seems like the most mature thing to do.” I nod at my own statements for emphasis. “Thank you so much again for the data. It really opened my eyes to what the user would want out of Ditto.”
“You think you’ve got the upper hand now?” she asks in between slurps.
“Not the whole hand, but maybe like two or three fingers,” I say, shoulder blades shrugging against the wooden chair.
“Sounds like that’s all he needed,” she mutters into her glass.
I bash my head against the table.
Forty-five minutes later I’m welcomed back to my desk by a scratchily written Post-it note stuck to my computer. Susie’s calling card is one of my absolute pet peeves, always leaving a sticky residue behind on my screen. I’m sure she does it deliberately. Slapping tasks in the middle of my screen to show what she feels should supersede everything I might be currently doing. Whatever whim of hers it may be it must immediately be given a VIP ticket to the front of Grace’s never-ending task queue. This time, the note ominously says: “My office.”
My stomach drops as I slink into the room; does she know I know about the voicemail? Seemingly not, because she spends the next few minutes berating me about the quality of my work. The expansion data report I gave her yesterday is apparently no longer good enough.
“You need to redo this immediately.” She rubs the top of her nose as though the work she claims needs to be redone is somehow going to cause her stress, not me. It took me an hour and a half to put that report together for her. Redoing it with an in-depth analysis will take several hours. I wanted that time tonight to put the finishing touches on my Ditto presentation and start doing a few practice runs.
I swallow my nerves. “I... I don’t think I’ll have time for that tonight.”
Susie’s eyes blaze as if she was waiting for me to say the words to spur her into a full-on tirade. She purses her lips and leans forward on her glass desk, her sharp eyes penetrating through any remaining self-esteem I was grasping on to like a cocktail stick through a grape. She speaks low and slow, mulling every delicious word as it hits her lips: “I only had one caveat for you doing this project for Catcher: You continue to fulfil your duties to me. This is a huge disappointment. Huge. You’ll stay late tonight until this is finished to a considerably higher standard.”
My chest begins a shallow heave; I don’t have time to do this work and start practicing my presentation. If I roll over this easily now, Bancroft is destined to succeed and I will continue in this never-ending cycle of coffee runs, guilt trips and spreadsheets.
Accepting my punishment, I turn on my heels to leave as the words I’m dying to say pile up on my shoulders. Bancroft flashes through my mind, his smug face when they give him the news of his promotion. How would he deal with this situation? He would say something. This is the time to say something. If I don’t get the Ditto job, do I really want to come back to this working relationship? I steady myself, balling my hands into fists and taking what I suspect might be my final breath.
“No... the caveat was I continue to do my duties as Marketing Manager while taking on this project, which I have done.” Separate from my brain, spurred on by what I can only think is the “fire” Yemi noticed in me earlier, my footsteps carry me closer to Susie’s desk. “I know something is going on with you at the moment and I’m sorry about that. But what you’re annoyed about is me not having time to be your assistant : something I don’t have time for and don’t get paid for.”
She huffs an unamused laugh. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
My voice trembles slightly. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It feels like an out-of-body experience. As if someone with some actual self-worth has grabbed the reins and is taking me for a joyride.
“Maybe I don’t, but you being under pressure doesn’t give you the right to treat me like this.”
It’s like the rush of adrenaline I got standing up for Iris at Matilda’s Bar, but better. Standing up for myself is a whole different ball game. With others, I can see clearly when they are being taken advantage of or treated poorly. When it comes to myself, I can’t see between the lines as clearly—even if the people around me are screaming it from the rooftops. Maybe that’s what happened with William? I finally begin to see the similarities between their two personalities. They called the shots and told me when things were progressing, and I just floated along, carried by their currents instead of swimming to the shore.
I blink furiously and clear my throat. “I used to look up to you. I am still so grateful to you for the chance you gave me but gratitude can only go so far.” I hold up the rejected report, which crinkled under my fingers. “As far as disappointing you: this report is fine work. This isn’t about the report. It’s about you wanting me to be your assistant forever at my own career’s expense.”
The well of tears, which tend to appear whenever I express any extreme emotion, bubble just below the surface, stinging my eyes. Do not cry. I blink back the frustration and take a deep lungful of air.
She adjusts her posture, straightening as if being spoken to like this has woken up her bones. She sighs. “I didn’t realize that’s how you felt.”
“It is,” I confirm. “I’ve felt like this for a while. If I don’t get the promotion, and start working for Ditto, things have to change.”
She stares at me blankly. “What do you want?”
Shit, she thinks I actually prepared this speech.
“I want you to hire an assistant. I can recommend some people. Not an intern, but a fully salaried assistant. And I would like a pay raise, to the level I should be at if I’d asked for annual raises in pay since working for you. Industry-standard.”
She crosses her arms. “OK. Have HR draft a new contract and I’ll take a look.”
I shoot her a polite smile. “Thank you.”
I turn to leave, actively having to stop my wobbling legs from collapsing over each other. The last thing I want to follow a power move is a slapstick topple in heels. High on the release, I try my luck one final time. I’ve come this far, I might as well go all in.
“Oh, and I want my own office. There’s an unused storage room down the hall; I can make that work.”
She raises her eyebrows, almost as if she’s impressed. “OK.”
“Thank you. And—I know it’s not much, but if you need someone in your corner, I will always have your back.” I nod for emphasis and give her a tight-lipped smile.
She taps her fingernail against her desk, her other hand massaging the bridge of her nose. “You know, just because you run a company doesn’t mean you are in control; there will always be people—or in my case, a boardroom full of people—deciding you aren’t good enough, that your years of contributions don’t matter because you no longer fit their ‘vision.’ I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel the same.”
“What ‘vision’?”
She waves her hand, summoning the reasons. “Apparently, I am too old to be the public face of Fate. It’s too depressing to have a single woman of my age representing the search for love. They want me to resign.”
My face scrunches in disbelief.
“Exactly,” she agrees with my expression. “Do you think Dharmash is getting this kind of evaluation? I get a wrinkle, and I’m on the chopping block. He pays a magazine to stalk an employee and the board gives him a pat on the back.”
My nerves stand on end. “I’m sorry?”
She tilts her head. “I thought you knew?”
I shake my head. “Knew what?”
“About Eric Bancroft?”