by Chloe Finch
“You better, because I’m not taking the heat from Joe if you don’t.”
She smiled a tight-lipped smile that said leave me the hell alone now. He at least seemed to get the hint and left.
* * *
Grace leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes under her reading glasses. It had been hours, and she didn’t feel any closer to finishing than when she started. She wasn’t entirely sure it was possible to finish one of these things in a day.
Jessica was standing outside her cube, red handbag under her arm like a playground ball. With the backlight of the window, her tightly wound, red curls looked like a lion’s mane around her head.
“Let’s get some lunch,” she said.
“I can’t. I have to do this analysis for Joe before tomorrow,” Grace groaned. Lunch with Jessica was usually one of the few highlights of her day.
“Come on, it’s just one analysis. You know these assholes don’t care about that stuff; they care about schmoozing at happy hour. I’m thinking Chipotle. Or maybe that coffee place.” She pronounced coffee like caw-fee. Jessica plucked Grace’s handbag from the desk and held it out to her.
“Really, I can’t. Zach didn’t do an analysis for a client that’s due tomorrow, and he told Joe I was supposed to do it.”
“Are you kidding me?” Her perfectly penciled eyebrows shot up. “He’s got it out for you so bad. Too bad you can’t go to HR.”
“I was thinking,” Grace said slowly. “Would it really be so bad if I went to HR? It seems like the type of thing they’d want to know about, right?”
Jessica put her hand up, her florescent nail polish visible through the back of the acrylics. “I’m going to stop you right there, girlfriend. You absolutely can’t go to HR. I know you’re used to being in charge of everything, but out here in corporate America you’re not. You know who is in charge?”
“Joe?” Grace guessed.
“No, money is in charge.” She pinched the air like an Italian mobster talking about dough. “And you know who makes more money than anyone here?”
“Zach,” Grace said miserably. It wasn’t something you could easily miss. She once overheard a bro whispering to another, “We’re so lucky we got Zach Smith as our mentor. I heard he made more money his first year than the rest of his fellows class combined.” Setting aside the fact that would have been physically impossible, it was a well-known fact Zach was a rock star at Sterling. Salesperson of the year, four years in a row, the first time anyone had ever won that many times, blah, blah, blah. She must have heard it a dozen times by now.
“That’s right,” Jessica said. “Sterling doesn’t give a shit what he does as long as he keeps raking in gobs of money for them. He could kill a puppy with his bare hands and they’d say, ‘oh, that’s just Zach.’ If you go to HR making a stink about him, it’s your ass they’re going to fire, not his.”
She was right. It didn’t mean it was fair. Grace was used to a certain sense of justice in her life. Good things happening to good people, that type of thing. The past year had shown her that she couldn’t have been more wrong.
“I’m sorry, sweetie” Jessica said. She patted Grace’s arm. “I know it sucks. He’s awful. Do you want me to bring you back some guac?”
“I’m good, thanks.” With so much of the analysis still ahead, she didn’t have much of an appetite.
“Suit yourself,” Jessica started toward the elevators and called back over her shoulder, “I’m just saying, don’t come asking for mine later.”
* * *
Zach
At lunch, Zach was smoking a joint with Brad and another sales guy, Mike, in the alley behind the office. Brad was recounting the story of Zach pawning his analysis off on Grace.
“The best part is she’s actually doing it,” Brad said.
“Dude, you are such a fucking asshole,” Mike said, laughing. “I’m so proud.” He was sitting on a concrete block, apparently unconcerned that his suit pants would get dirty, although they were already covered in wrinkles. Only Mike could make a suit that expensive look sloppy.
“Whatever,” Zach said. He took a hit off the joint, exhaling slow, and handed it to Brad. “If Joe wants to stack the deck for her with my prospects, I’m not going to let her off easy. Plus it’s fun to mess with her.”
“That’s messed up,” Brad said, holding his breath. He pointed at Zach with the joint. “You are a total sadist.”
“You know me well enough to know that by now.” He flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve. He was being sarcastic, but it wasn’t far from the truth.
“I have another theory,” Mike said. “I think you want to fuck her.”
Brad laughed.
“Seriously?” Zach said.
“Come on, you know we were all thinking it. You have to get her out of your system.” Mike looked to Brad for backup. Brad passed him the joint and held his other hand up like he didn’t want to get involved.
“That is so not it,” Zach said. But Mike may have had a point. Since the moment Zach laid eyes on Grace, he had been picturing it. Bending her over his desk, slinky pencil skirt hiked up over her ass. Or fucking her up against the wall, those glorious little tits slamming into his face. Down on her knees, rubbing his cum all over her face…
If she was into it, that is. Messing with consent was seriously fucked-up, not to mention the least sexy thing ever. The fantasy was much, much hotter if she was completely seduced by him. Wanted his cock so badly she was begging him to hate-fuck her. Maybe Mike was right. Maybe he did need to get her out of his system.
“Look at his face—he’s totally thinking about fucking her right now,” Mike said, jabbing a finger towards Zach. He nearly fell off the concrete block laughing.
If Mike hadn’t been his weed dealer in college, he never would have hung around him in the first place. Then, when Mike’s dad got them both the job at Sterling (Zach had never even heard of the program, much less applied), he felt obligated to keep at least half-assing the friendship.
“Whatever,” Zach said again. He was getting seriously stoned. Not a good sign, considering he was supposed to lead an afternoon of prospect calls with the fellows. He tried to clear his head, but all he could think of was how Grace would sound screaming his name.
“Did I tell you I saw Derek the other day?” Brad said, tactfully changing the subject.
“Where?” Zach was jolted back to reality at the mention of his brother’s name.
“Yeah, I thought it was you at first, actually. I was walking to brunch down in the Village and passed him on the street. I was waving like an idiot, but I don’t think he recognized me. You didn’t tell me he was back in the city.”
So he was alive. Zach hadn’t heard a word from his twin in nearly six months. It had been blissful.
“How’d he look?” Though he’d rather set himself on fire than deal with Derek, he couldn’t help his morbid curiosity. Except for the one time in law school Derek grew his hair out, no one used to be able to tell the two of them apart.
“Honestly? He looked like shit.”
“Oh man, Derek,” said Mike. “I haven’t seen him in ages. How’s he doing?”
Zach shot Mike a look that said shut the hell up.
“Still being the family fuckup,” Zach said. He took the joint from Mike’s hand without asking. He had been hogging it anyway.
“That’s got to be quite the bar if you’re the good kid,” Brad said, trying to lighten the mood. Brad knew Derek, but not very well. He was a few years younger than them and had started at Sterling right before things between Zach and Derek got out of hand.
“You have no idea,” Zach said. And if he had anything to say about it, it would stay that way.
Chapter Two
Grace
Grace just barely finished the analysis. She was at the office until one in the morning working on it. By the time she got back to work the next day, it felt like she’d never left.
Today they were job shadowing, which
Grace found excruciating. Shadowing had taught her that salespeople, in general, had no discernible skills outside being charming. Half the time she was teaching them keyboard shortcuts she learned in elementary school.
She was dreading the day she’d be assigned to shadow Zach. The thought of being his personal slave made her want to crawl out of her skin. His torments were bad enough in a group setting; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like one-on-one.
Not to mention Grace didn’t like feeling like anyone’s personal assistant. She liked to be in control, always. Even as a kid she would sit on her best friend’s lap to ensure control over the keyboard when they instant messaged boys.
It wasn’t quite nine yet, and the mentors were horsing around at the front of the training room as usual. Brad backed up to throw a tissue box like a football, looking every bit like a retired high school quarterback. It sailed through the air, and both Zach and June jumped to catch it. Surprisingly, despite her stilettos, June was the one who got it.
She held the tissue box close to her chest and Zach wrapped his arms around her from behind in an effort to steal it. He dwarfed her small form. and she hugged the tissue box close. Her blonde hair fell in front of her face like an ad for Sally Hershberger. They were always like this, Zach and June. It wasn’t clear if they were dating or hooking up or what, but something must have been going on there. They were constantly all over each other, even though the rest of the time they acted like competitive, bickering siblings. He buried his face in her neck and she dissolved into giggles. It was disgusting yet riveting, like watching animals at the zoo. Suddenly, as if Grace had said his name, he looked straight at her and, maintaining eye contact, squeezed one of June’s breasts. He winked.
Grace’s stomach turned. Even worse, instead of telling him to go fuck himself as any sane person would, June turned around and got close enough to Zach it looked like they were going to kiss. Instead, she said something in his ear and reached down and squeezed his crotch.
Grace looked away, feeling her cheeks flush. She could practically hear Zach taunting her later. Gracie, you dirty girl, I had no idea you wanted to watch… The whole thing was revolting, but deep down there was a more horrifying emotion: jealousy. Gross.
Before she had time to dwell on that disturbing revelation, June was trying to get their attention at the front of the room.
“Morning, everyone. We’re going to get started with shadowing assignments,” she began.
A cell phone rang, volume on.
“Really, Zach?” June said.
He pulled the phone out of the pocket of his dark teal suit, unapologetically. “Hold on, this is a prospect we just did a finalist presentation for. You guys should actually watch this.” He addressed the fellows like he was doing them some big favor and looked to June for her approval.
“By all means,” she said sarcastically. She folded her arms.
He answered the phone. “Smith here. Anthony. My man, how’s it going? Glad to hear it.” Most of the bros were watching with rapt attention, as if they could possibly learn something useful from half a phone call.
“You’ve made a decision?” Zach said. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “You’re going with Sterling?” He pumped his fist in the air. Grace hated him so much right then. His stupid strong chin and messy-on-purpose hair and the way his eyes crinkled into the sexiest crow’s feet when he smiled. It wasn’t fair someone so hot was also so insufferable.
“I’m so glad to hear it. You made the right choice, Tony. And tell Madison good luck at her dance recital, will you?”
He hung up the phone and surveyed the room like it was a stadium. “That’s how you win a half-million-dollar account, kids!”
The room actually broke out in cheers. Seriously. Like this was some cheesy pro-capitalist movie. Grace rolled her eyes and went back to highlighting her notes. She heard June squeal and looked up in time to see Zach pick her up and spin her around.
A mix of contempt and jealousy rose in her throat. She rewrote her favorite date in the margin of her notebook: December seventeenth, five years from now. The date when, if everything went according to plan, she’d be done with this place forever.
* * *
Every other Friday there was an “optional” happy hour after work. Especially for the program fellows, “optional” really meant mandatory, as the mentors made abundantly clear (“Sure it’s optional, just like succeeding at this job is optional”). And unfortunately for the introverts and non-drinkers, happy hour usually went deep into the night and ended in a nightclub.
It was the third happy hour of the program, and Grace was already sick of them. They were at some bar that was checking all the right boxes to be hip, yet generic enough to make it actually uncool. The words “spritz” and “shrub” appeared all over the place on the menu and the decor was all brass and dark wood and exposed brick. It was like stepping inside a stock photo. Like every bar in Manhattan, the music was too loud, forcing everyone to shout to hear each other.
It was early, but most of the guys were already doing shots. There was a whole crowd around Zach, like he was some sort of celebrity, and he was animatedly telling a story. Sterling happy hour in a nutshell. There were a hundred things she’d rather be doing.
Grace never knew who to talk to at happy hour. It was her own fault for not making an effort to befriend the bros, but they hadn’t done much to compel her to try harder. Thankfully, Jessica appeared with two shot glasses in hand.
“Want one?” She said. “They’re handing them out at the bar like party favors, and I think your friend Zach is footing the bill.”
Grace made a face. “Zach is not my friend.”
“It’s called sarcasm, my girl,” Jessica said. “Now take this and help me run up his bar tab.”
Now that did sound appealing. She took one of the shot glasses. There were little specks of something floating around in it. “What is it?”
“Goldshlager. You’ll like it. Tastes like Christmas morning.”
“What’s the debris?”
“Flakes of gold leaf,” Jessica said. “Don’t worry, it’s edible, just a marketing gimmick. Cheers.”
They clinked glasses and threw back the shot. The liquor was syrupy cinnamon and burned the whole way down. She tried not to make a face. Grace hadn’t had much time for drinking in college, too busy running the company. She was attempting, at Jessica’s insistence, to make up for lost time now. “What are you doing on Christmas morning that reminds you of this?”
“Shots of Goldshlager.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised.
Across the room, Zach and the bros were getting rowdy. They were yelling and raising shot glasses in the air like it was the middle of the night. Grace glanced at her watch. It was six.
“Can you get over this?” Grace said. “They’re acting like he won the Superbowl.”
“Agree it’s a bit much. That’s a hell of a commission though. Twenty percent on five hundred thousand is what, a hundred grand? He literally just earned both of our salaries on one client.”
“Oh yeah,” Grace said weakly. She was so preoccupied obsessing over Zach and June she hadn’t even stopped to do the math.
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a major douchebag. I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind a hundred grand commission. The guy can fucking close.”
Grace couldn’t disagree. She recalculated her timeline to quit based on getting a client that big. Yeah, it would be nice.
* * *
By midnight the happy hour had moved to a nightclub and was still going strong. Grace hadn’t eaten anything, the side effect of endless happy hour, and was swaying on her feet. Some of the bros stopped for burgers at some fast-food place on the way to the club, but that sounded even less appealing than a dinner of bar nuts and lime wedges, so Grace hadn’t joined them.
By now it was late enough that no one would notice if she slipped out, yet she hadn’t. For one thing, she was getting drunker and drunker on
the steady supply of gin and tonics Jessica was handing her. And for another, she was having a surprisingly good time venting with her about the double standard for women in the program. How, for example, were they supposed to wear business formal to the office and then go straight out to a nightclub?
“Sure, it’s easy for them,” Jessica said. “They can take their tie off and suddenly they’re dressed for going out. What can we do other than changing at the bar bathroom? It’s not like you can change into a bandage dress in the office bathroom at 4:00 p.m. without looking like a psychopath.”
“I don’t even own a bandage dress,” Grace said.
“You know who knows what they’re doing?” Jessica clutched Grace’s arm as if she needed it to stay upright. She was beginning to slur. “This bitch June.”
“You shouldn’t call her a bitch,” Grace said. She was sounding pretty wasted, herself. “It’s misogynistic.”
“No, no, no,” Jessica was teetering on her shoes, and Grace wondered if she looked as drunk as Jessica did. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean it like Beyoncé says it.”
“Does Beyoncé say it?” For some reason it seemed very important to hash this out now.
“I don’t know. Lizzo, then. It’s called reclaiming, Grace. Take a sociology class, will you? My point is, this bitch knows how to dress for the office-to-club transition.”
June was out on the dance floor, wearing a high-waisted skirt and a white satin camisole with sky high heels. She was with a bro who was stiffly bobbing up and down while she danced around him like she was in a music video.
“How did she do that?” Grace said, indignant. June made it look so effortless. With her willowy limbs and long wavy mermaid hair she looked like a model. No wonder Zach couldn’t keep his hands off her. “What was she wearing at work today?”
Jessica had clearly been studying her. “She had the skirt down on her hips so it was knee-length and was wearing this prim tweed blazer—probably real Chanel—buttoned all the way up like an old lady. A fucking pro.” She shook her head, in awe of June’s skills.