Chapter 2
Chapter Two
A bout forty people are crammed in the board room. There’s definitely a buzz. Coffee has kicked in and everyone is excitedly waiting for the big reveal.
My phone beeps. I notice my hand is shaking as I read the text from Adam, my boyfriend of eleven months.
Good Luck Baby, You Got This . Ambition means nothing without execution.
Adam Khan: dux of his school, thinks kitchens are over-rated because Uber Eats is more efficient, and considers artificial intelligence superior to humans. He’s actually excited about robots one day taking over the world.
We met on Hinge, and he was unlike the other guys I’ve dated: he’s stable and consistent and calm. So what if he always has some saying on his fridge that he looks at every morning to prep himself for the day? It seems to have worked for him, because just last week, he was offered the role of Head of Digital Strategy (despite many conversations, I still have no idea what this means) at Lincoln, a new tech Artificial Intelligence company.
Adam is the type of person that has CEO dreams. Recently, he mapped out the rest of our lives: we’d both get promotions, then we’d have enough money for a house deposit somewhere we actually like; he’d get me a classy solitaire diamond; the wedding would be at the local country club with a band because DJs are just too loud nowadays, and we’d honeymoon in Italy, because I published Lucy Alder’s book on long Italian lunches and I’ve always wanted to go. Florence. Positano. Places where lemons grow in pots, and the sea is a bright blue.
In a few years, we’d have two kids and start a property portfolio, or as he put it, ‘an empire’.
I’m about to text him back, when someone grabs my arm.
‘Gem! Are you feeling nervous? God, it’s like everyone in the entire company is here.’ Ruby scans the room. Before I can answer, she gives me a once over. ‘I thought you were dressing … like you . You look like an accountant.’
‘Yes, thank you for that.’ I try to shake it off. Her rather large red dress is hard to miss. It falls to the floor like a theatre curtain, stitched in gold brocade. She looks like she’s about to enact a Shakespeare soliloquy instead of attending a meeting. But she fits in, much more than I do.
‘Anyway, Tony wanted to talk to you before the announcement.’ She looks perplexed, worried.
‘About?’
‘He didn’t say.’ Ruby chews her lip.
For a second, my heart beats faster. I was late – the trains were delayed – and Tony wanted to talk to me. Was everything about this day an omen ?
But no, that’s insane. Of course it means nothing .
As if reading my thoughts, Ruby murmurs, ‘Does something about today feel off to you?’
I try to swallow but my throat is dry. Her worried face makes me feel jittery. ‘What do you mean, off ?’
‘Look.’ She points out of the window. ‘The sky suddenly has that weird grey-purple it gets before there’s a massive storm. And I picked this tarot card this morning.’ She digs inside the top of her long dress and pulls a tarot card from her bra. Her large, dark chocolate Filipino eyes widen even further as she flips the card into my hand and said in an ominous voice, ‘The Tower.’ On the card, there are people diving off a tower that is toppling over, and in flames. Across the entire image, the sky is full of lightning.
‘God, what is this?’ I hastily give it back to her. Not that I believe in that stuff, but I don’t want any juju imprinting suicidal people or burning buildings on today.
‘It’s unexpected change, or…’ Ruby explains.
‘Or?’ I ask quickly, but we are interrupted by the meeting starting, just as Ruby manages to say, ‘Disaster.’
‘Welcome, everyone!’
Tony enters the room and makes his way to the front of the room, quickly as if he’s about to be tackled. He’s not a fan of junior editors, feels that most of them are time wasters, and his main fear is to be locked in an elevator with an eager new editor who wants to tell him how much they’re keen to ‘change the world with words’. I know this because I was one of them (still am), but I learnt to shut up when he curtly responded, ‘We’re here to edit, not do brain surgery.’
Tony is wearing an open white Dolce shirt (we all know it’s Dolce because it has a rather large gold crown in the upper left corner just below the pointed collar), perfectly pressed lime-green Italian pants and horsebit loafers without socks. They’re probably Gucci or something. When we win literary awards or have a bestseller, that’s where the money goes: not to authors, but to our management team and their extensive closets and McMansion houses on the north shore. He dismisses the podium and microphone Bec the receptionist has set up, and uses his distinct booming voice to welcome everyone, twice more.
I take a quick glance around the room and note Gavin at the back leaning against a wall (already looking defeated), and Ben standing up at the front next to Tony as if he’s already won. Jesus, this guy. His hair perfectly in place. A small smirky smile. He turns his head and catches my eyes. Raises an eyebrow. I raise an eyebrow back at him.
So here we are, nemesis.
Tony booms. ‘I want to move on quickly to why we’re all here. There’s been a lot of buzz about the direction of Peacock Publishing, and our plan to service VIP clients in a different way from that of any other publishing house.’
Elsa, standing next to Tony, like a prize everyone wants to win, beams. ‘It’s a wonderful, exciting time.’ She adds a pause. ‘I’m sure this person knows what they can do with this role, they’re very capable.' She smiles somewhat in my direction. Or am I imagining that?
My throat feels dry, and my palms are immediately clammy. I resist the urge to rub them on my dress.
Tony pauses. ‘So today we’re here to announce that the new chief editor is…’
My heart is beating so loudly, my pulse throbs like a drum in my ears.
‘Someone who is exuberant and shows a passion for editing and a unique approach to the entire game. So without further ado…’
The room is suddenly deathly silent. I can hear a collective holding of breath.
‘Congratulations…’
My own brain repeats Gemma Evans. Gemma Evans. Gemma ?—
‘Ben McDonald.’
The room erupts into applause. My stomach drops. All the blood in my face drains towards my feet, and for a second I feel dizzy, woozy. This cannot be happening.
Ben is grinning widely, a dazzling smile, as he turns to face everyone, and waving his hand like a royal.
I fight back the lump in my throat. I force myself to clap. Try to smile. But inside, I feel empty, shocked. Don’t cry . Don’t give him the satisfaction.
Tony is still talking. ‘And of course we know that Ben moving up will leave a gaping hole, but we have another bit of special news. We have a very trustworthy and capable editor to fill in for us and take over Ben’s portfolio, along with her own. Congratulations, Gemma Evans.’
I gasp. People are clapping for me now, but it’s a slower clap, like it’s lost some of its energy. We all know why: it’s hardly a promotion. It’s the runner-up prize. Ben’s leftovers. Embarrassment flushes my cheeks, and my stomach knots. I nod thank you , but I just wish everyone would turn back around, so I could leave.
People are urging me to go and stand up the front, next to Weasel.
Hello, burning tower of hell.
Time slows as I move towards the front of the room. I turn around and face the crowd. My cheeks are burning red and I can feel tears starting behind my eyes, but I won’t give him the satisfaction, though I could feel him gloating a foot away from me.
When the clapping dies down and people start heading towards the refreshment table for coffee and celebratory muffins, Ben turns his awful self to me, and winks . ‘Does this mean I’m your boss now?’
I want to cut you into tiny pieces.
Thankfully Tony smiles and says, ‘No, Ben, not yet’, which feels like another gut punch right to the stomach.
Not yet .
‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ he says in such a sweet tone, but I know he’s mocking me.
And then they both stare at me, Tony and Ben. Waiting.
‘Congrats,’ I say then clamped my lips together. I need to keep my dignity and say nothing else, because holy shit , this day.
‘Don’t worry, Gemma, I’m happy to share with you some of my future plans.’
Tony nods, as if to say, yes, teach her.
And if it wasn’t his annoying comments that bladed me in the stomach, something else gets me even deeper. Future plans.
Suddenly, I can feel the future Adam and I have planned crashing down. Like that bloody tower.